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Having moved to a space three times the size of its original shoebox spot on Bleecker Street, this stalwart French-American bistro is now as fashionable inside as the neighborhood crowd it draws. Floor-to-ceiling windows, sour cherry-red walls, and red and white accents throughout counterpoint chocolate-colored wood tables and a rustic chandelier made of woven tree branches. Downstairs in the cellar, the tiny annexed Rouge Wine Bar oozes intimacy with sweeping curtains, a plum-colored banquette, and 125 vintages by the bottle (thirteen by the glass). However cozy the place may be, it’s not its lush look but the mythical weekend brunch that keeps locals spilling through the doors. The restaurant’s famous French toast—a stack of dense, eggy slabs of wheat bread piled high with seasonal berries—is as good as it’s rumored to be. The kitchen is less inspired at dinner, turning out by-the-book brasserie plates. Dense, velvety wedges of meatloaf, brushed with roasted tomato-chipotle ketchup are a notable exception. Dessert and a good vibe are reasons enough to come: Gingerbread tinged with cinnamon and nutmeg, and sweetened with molasses and real whipped cream says it all. — Nita Rao

Reservations are accepted for dinner hours only; brunch is first-come-first-served

Meatloaf, $19; warm gingerbread, $6