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A little less self-consciously French than the East Village's other bistros, Jules serves up classics like steak-frites and duck confit in a rollicking, music-filled underground space. The Francophones here are as likely to be shaking their terrycloth-hot-pants-clad derrieres as tucking in to whole roast fish ("le poisson est bon," one diner cooed). So what if the hanger steak is a bit bland, or if the allegedly chipotle-spiked steak tartare has no kick ("so you can taste the meat," says our waitress)? After a dozen oysters (East and West Coast) and a bottle of Sancerre, you’ll be lip-synching along to "Je t’aime, moi non plus" in no time. — Matt Gross

Sat.—Sun., 11 a.m.—4:30 p.m.