Basilic

Basilic feels like being invited into a Swiss aunt's kitchen that learned how to flirt with French technique. It is tiny, wood-paneled and dim, the kind of room where conversations stay low and the clink of cutlery sounds important. On Raclette nights cheese bubbles under a warming lamp and the air takes on the sweet, nutty smell of melted alpine dairy. Order the duck and let it arrive glossy and yielding, or pick the nightly sea bass plated with tiny edible flowers. There is a prix fixe tasting menu that stretches polite restraint into something generous, mushroom spinach soup one minute, a caramelized walnut chocolate bar the next. The staff moves like a small crew at sea, efficient and quietly proud. Make a reservation weeks ahead. Bring someone who likes slow meals and very good wine by the glass.