French through and through

IF you’ve ever been to southwestern France, you’ll have eaten duck confit over and over again, along with every other part of the duck, including the foie gras. Nobody ever gets tired of it, it seems. And why should they? Duck is one of the most delicious things on earth.

At Maximilians, chef Marc Boussarie gets his confit exactly right. It’s the real thing, the duck leg and thigh, salted and cooked in its own fat. There’s no mistaking that taste or that texture. Browned to a mahogany crisp in the pan just before serving, the confit is crunchy on the surface, moist and flavorful underneath, alluringly salty.

That’s not the only thing that feels just right at this very French spot in North Hollywood. The decor is spot on too -- every bit as dowdy as one-star restaurants dotted all over France. With its vintage black-and-white photos of Paris, old-fashioned sconces, heavy draperies at the windows, and the ugly sideboard with a blackboard leaning on top that lists the desserts, it could be a neighborhood spot in Cahors or Annecy.

One dining room leads to another, with a small separate bar to one side. The first room is just big enough for a handful of tables. And though a wallpaper mural of a Parisian street scene makes an attempt to open up the space, the effect is pure kitsch, like the print of Monet’s famous painting of a bar at the Folies-Bergere that hangs in the bar. The second, which is much darker, could be romantic if you’re so inclined, but look up, and there’s the glare of the lights from the open kitchen, something you’d rarely see in France. There, that wonderful confit would most likely be a main course. Here Boussarie offers it as an appetizer (I’ll take two, please). But instead of serving the Hudson Valley duck with the traditional potatoes, he’s paired it with a salad of frisee, walnuts and diced Asian pear. The pear’s slight crunch and tart juice are a perfect complement to the duck’s rich flesh.

The appetizer menu also includes an unusual brik. That’s a Tunisian turnover made with a sort of filo dough and, in Tunisia, usually filled with tuna and a raw egg. Boussarie’s version, called croustillant, is stuffed with braised oxtail, which makes perfect sense served with a celery root puree. This dish is very French in its way: Brik and other Northern African dishes reflect France’s history as a colonial power.

*

Worth the gamble

THE special one night is lobster flan. At many places, you’d be taking a big chance ordering something as fancy-sounding as that. My job is to take chances on unlikely dishes, so I brace myself, but in this case I’m pleasantly surprised. He came up with a lovely, tender flan that holds the subtle flavors of lobster and stock together in a fine mesh. A refreshing parsley salad made with perky, absolutely fresh leaves and studded with bits of lobster meat provides a nice contrast.

Butternut squash ravioli make a single layer on the plate, garnished with flecks of color and napped, ever so lightly, in butter. You could argue that the dough, made in house, is a touch too thick, but the flavors of butternut squash, sage and brown butter are wonderful together. It reads as Italian, yet tastes indisputably French.

Tuna tartare is inevitable, I suppose, if a restaurant wants to have customers. But this one, made with impeccably fresh bluefin tuna, is the equal of some I’ve had in much more expensive restaurants. Hand-chopped and mixed with minced shallots, it sits on a velvety layer of avocado brightened with lemon and served with both Meyer lemon preserves and crackling crisp parsley crostini.

Halfway through the meal, we have to ask: Was this space by any chance once a mortuary? The waiter takes the question in stride. A lot of people think that, he says, but no. What makes us think so are those white pillars in front and the luxurious size of the parking lot.

Seated in the second room one night, I almost feel like an intruder watching the chef and his two young cooks behind the counter of the open kitchen. It’s nothing special, just stainless steel and the usual professional equipment, certainly not designed for viewing. But there it is, the kitchen as theater.

It’s fascinating, though, how quietly they work, how competent and sure the chef seems from the moves he makes, never hurried, never frantic. That quiet confidence shows up in the food at Maximilians. It turns out the chef is French but has been in this country for more than two decades.

The wait staff is a step up too, diligent and warm. I notice a server one night expertly polishing glasses in the small bar. She looks awfully familiar. Then I remember where I’ve seen her before. She’d waited on me at a restaurant last year in the Sonoma wine country. When she moved to L.A., she tells me, she posted an ad on Craig’s List that went something like this: Wine-savvy waiter seeks work in wonderful restaurant. And it was Maximilians that hired her.

On an unexpectedly busy weekday night, a lone young waiter works both dining rooms by himself but manages to stay cool, calm and collected, dishing out attention to us latecomers when he can. I hear the murmur of French from a table in the corner, and when the chef gets a minute, he stops by to visit with the guests, chatting in rapid-fire French. This isn’t a star turn, just someone who happens to be a chef catching up with friends. It’s a wonderfully natural moment.

When the waiter announces the specials, usually two or three each night, listen up. The fish specials are always worth noting, as the chef is very good on fish. It could be wild striped bass, a beautifully flaky but firm fish cooked simply in brown butter with olives and capers, their tartness playing against the rich slick of nutty butter and the gentle flavor of the fish. Or tea-steamed Thai snapper with spring jumbo asparagus, mushroom foam and pancetta dust. Or seared Scottish salmon with crisp, skinny spaetzle (noodles made by extruding dough into boiling water through a device with holes), bacon and Brussels sprouts in a wild mushroom sauce. The latter is always on the menu and always a good choice.

The exception is the bouillabaisse, which is very dull, primarily because the seafood available here just doesn’t have the same flavor as those tasty little rockfish from the Mediterranean that give the broth its depth. And if the broth is pallid, what’s the point?

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Authentic tastes

AMONG the meat courses, the best is veal osso buco, which is preceded on the menu by the adjective petite, which is not to say the portion is small, just that instead of a plate-size piece of meat, the cut is much smaller. The meat is braised to tenderness, napped in a lovely wine-based sauce and served with tiny green French lentils. Boussarie provides a spoon to ferret out the marvelous, glistening bone marrow.

Jidori chicken, the Japanese breed you see mentioned on all the best menus, appears here too as half a roast chicken. Jidori is chicken with flavor and a firmer texture than most free-range chickens. Here it’s accompanied by eggplant mousseline and sauteed Swiss chard. If the chef has a fault, it’s that some things, like that chicken, tend to be over-sauced.

The wine glasses are better than some you’d find in France, where you’ll often be given bulletproof ballons. And though the wine list is just two pages, mostly California with a few French bottles, you can easily find something worthwhile to drink. Maybe Rosenthal Chardonnay from the Malibu estate made from grapes sourced in the Central Coast, or Vatan Sancerre from the Loire Valley. There are also a couple of nice surprises in the dessert wine category, such as a 1999 Chateau Guiraud Sauternes and a 1995 Felsina vin santo by the glass.

Desserts, all made in-house, include a fine chocolate souffle. The chocolate isn’t super dark, but the bitter is balanced perfectly with the sweet, and the texture is just what it should be, like bites of cloud, served with a side of fromage blanc ice cream and, if you like, a dark chocolate sauce poured into the center of the souffle. An apple tart is marred by a tough crust but worth ordering for the cinnamon ice cream that comes with it. Buttermilk panna cotta has that luscious buttermilk flavor, maybe a touch too much gelatin, but I love the roasted strawberries surrounding the ivory mound of custard.

In warm weather, you can eat or take coffee and dessert in the outdoor patio and pretend you’re somewhere in France, despite the hulking SUVs and the Priuses parked in the lot. Close your eyes and just taste: Maximilians is as French as it gets on this side of the Atlantic.

**

Maximilians

Rating: **

Location: 11330 Weddington St., North Hollywood; (818) 980-6294

Ambience: Sweet little French restaurant with two dining rooms and a small separate bar. The decor is a bit kitschy and light from the open kitchen a bit glaring, but the polished food and thoughtful service make up for it. In warm weather, you can sit outside on the patio.

Service: Warm and professional.

Price: Dinner appetizers, $6.50 to $12.50; main courses, $20 to $31; dessert, $8. Lunch appetizers, $6.50 to $11.50; main course salads, $10.50 to $12; sandwiches, panini and pasta, $10.50 to $12; main courses, $11.50 to $16.50; desserts, $8.

Best dishes: Duck confit with frisee salad, butternut squash ravioli, bluefin tuna tartare, wild striped bass with capers and olives (a special), seared Scottish salmon with spaetzle and bacon, veal osso buco, chocolate souffle, buttermilk panna cotta with roasted strawberries.

Wine list: Two pages of mostly California and some French selections. Corkage, $15.

Best table: One in the corner of the first dining room.

Special features: Lovely outdoor patio for summer nights.

Details: Open for lunch Tuesday through Friday from 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. and Saturday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; for dinner from 5:30 to 10 p.m. Beer and wine. Lot parking.

Rating is based on food, service and ambience, with price taken into account in relation to quality. ****: Outstanding on every level. ***: Excellent. **: Very good. *: Good. No star: Poor to satisfactory.