By AF Reeves – @afreeves23

BISTRO FAYRE: Steak frites, langue de boeuf and boudin noir are exactly what you would wish to find. — Photos courtesy of AF Reeves

Some time ago, I wrote about a place across the bridge that begins with a Q, right by the water, a spot I still frequent and one I suspect a few of you have visited too.

At the time, I noted what felt like an emergent French culinary movement in Hà Nội, something quietly afoot in a pocket of the city.

Having recently spent some happy hours wading into the deeper, more authentic offerings of the Japanese quarter, it seemed only fair to do the same with the cuisine of another nation whose imprint on Việt Nam runs perhaps deeper still, however complicated that history may be.

TUCKED AWAY: Down an alley, across the bridge. It’s worth the trip.

There are a couple of finer dining French spots on this side of the river and, while the aforementioned Quinza bridges that gap, I was after something different: an otherworldly experience, the sense that I might somehow have pitched up in a little neighbourhood bistro half the world away.

Two winters ago, I had dropped briefly into this place I'd heard whispers of and indulged in a braised lamb that was the height of tender, rich and warming. It gave me exactly what a cold evening called for, and I was met by the regulars with a sense of mild bewilderment. Not unwelcome. Just curious. How exactly had I stumbled in here, of all places, on a night like this?

THE CLASSIC: Steak frites is an essential on any bistro menu.

Last weekend I returned properly. Les Oubliés, tucked down a quiet alley in Long Biên, was packed on a Saturday afternoon, and this time I was not so much as glanced at sideways.

"When we started, as we're right by the French school, we only had French," Geoffrey tells me later. "Now I can say we have about 40 per cent Vietnamese, 40 per cent French and 20 per cent others. We don't really advertise, so people speak together. It takes longer to build but it's more about the idea."

The diversity of punters may have evolved, but the sense of escapism, the cultural indulgence that only a genuinely authentic eatery can provide, has not bent nor even flexed for any of them.

We began with the pâté maison. Rustic, thick, meaty. Bread sliced cleanly and just the right size to remind one that the pâté was to be indulged in rather than rationed, with a healthy knob of butter and some pickles cutting neatly through the gluttony.

Washed down with a draught beer and a splash of Picon, I was content. Yet as I sat there, with the smell of the kitchen drifting across the room, I soon realised it was never going to be enough.

COMMUNITY PREVAILS: This little bistro does a lot to make people feel at home.

Next came the boudin blanc. Two plump, pale sausages so soft a butter knife would have slipped through them without so much as a struggle, lightly herbed and creamy enough at the centre to explain why the menu calls them white pudding.

Alongside it, a plate of langue de boeuf sauce persillade, beef tongue under a slick of parsley and garlic butter, tantalising and tender in equal measure. The meat fell apart at the touch of a fork, the parsley and garlic just bright enough to cut through the richness without ever overwhelming it. Garlic, butter, parsley, beef. Nothing more was needed and nothing less would have done.

Both plates arrived with garlic-glossed potatoes and sautéed courgettes, all flecked with thyme. The courgette, in particular, does the quiet work of these dishes. Without it, the boudin and the langue would each sit a little heavy. With it, lightly seasoned, sweet from the pan, fragrant from the thyme, they breathe. This is not a garnish. It's the balance of the plate.

BOUDIN BLANC: White pudding sausages served with thyme potatoes and garlic courgettes.

Next, because frankly I would have been remiss not to, the steak frites. You'd be a braver man than I to ask for anything more threatened by the flame than medium, but the meat delivers.

It's casual, pairs as well with fries and mustard as anything known to humankind, but don't come expecting an Argentine steakhouse. This is homely fare, not the gut-busting, Instagram-follower-gaining slabs of bloody beef on offer elsewhere in the city and that is precisely as intended.

The afternoon was busy in a way that only added to the occasion. A local football team had nipped in for post-match drinks. Families from the French school had gathered after a school outing. Regulars were three darts deep in the kind of familiar comfort that only your local's board can provide.

Stepping outside briefly to take a snap of the quaint little alley in which Les Oubliés resides, a small boy cycled past and greeted me with an enthusiastic bonjour. Even the only franco-curious among you will find it hard not to fall a little bit in love with the place.

PÂTÉ MAISON: Homemade is the message, well received.

We closed on a crème brûlée. The candied bronze of its top cracking with a satisfying snap to reveal the cool, vanilla-laced custard beneath and a raspberry tart, sweet and tart in equal measure, on a buttery pastry that knew exactly how much sugar to carry and how much to leave the fruit to handle.

I was already planning my next visit, mind drifting to Geoffrey's earlier recommendation.

"The sole or turbot meunière," he'd said. "The way of cooking it is really specific to my region. A nice combination with the fish and the lemon butter sauce." Brittany on a plate, in other words.

Geoffrey opened Les Oubliés in 2019 after arriving in Hà Nội 17 years ago to work with Didier Corlou. The name means "the forgotten ones", borrowed in part from a Gauvain Sers song he and his wife heard on a trip to France and, in part, from his own desire, after years of long restaurant shifts away from his family, not to forget them.

The cooking, in his own words, is "the feeling of family, like at home", drawn largely from the recipes his grandmother left him. She was, by his telling, the great cook of his childhood, the one who handed him both her book and her trade.

A SUMMER FINISH: This raspberry tart couldn’t be better suited to the season.

Most of what arrives on the plate comes from local markets. The rest, the cheese chief among them, has to come from the motherland. Geoffrey and his wife, Ly, however, are exactly where they need to be. Her wonderful calmness anchors the room while he works in the kitchen.

So, if flights to France feel a little fanciful this summer, don't fret. You're but a bridge away. — VNS

LES OUBLIÉS

Address: 3/462 Ngọc Thụy, Gia Thượng, Bồ Đề, Hà Nội

Tel: 0934 537 845

Price: A starter, a couple of main courses and two desserts for around VNĐ1 million (US$40)

Dining companions: Non-pretentious food lovers

Top tip: Try a splash of Picon in your beer!