If you’re looking for service that’s a stereotypical blend of efficiency, practiced scorn, and flirtiness, reserve a table at Chez Georges—and make sure it’s the one on rue du Mail in the 2nd, or risk a disappointing visit to one of many spots with the same name. This Chez Georges is a time warp that begins with a handwritten menu in a looping French penmanship that hasn’t been taught since the ’60s. Share a massive bowl of salade lyonnaise with thumb-sized chunks of lardon, and save space for one of the very meaty mains, like a hearty veal liver slab served next to a mound of shoestring frites you dreamed every sidewalk café made. If the idea of eating guts turns your guts, the pan-roasted chicken is terrific, served with roasted tomatoes in summer or mushroom cream sauce in fall. The wine list worships Burgundy but is ultimately overpriced, so do as the locals do and choose from the more reasonable selection crammed into the margins of the food menu.