A lucky find on glitzy South Beach, the unpretentious Washington Avenue hot spot took the place of the similarly charming L'Entrecte de Paris, where Francophiles came for cheap steaks, salmon and excellent frites.

Those classic dishes are usually as good here, and the tiny cafe has the added attraction of an expanded, after-hours menu of comfort food that tastes best after a few glasses of wine.

Backed by former race car driver David Meuniere, the chef and gregarious late-night host is Maurice Azoulay, a professional tournament poker player who makes you fall in love with the kind of retro bistro fare that might otherwise seem out of place in swinging South Beach.

The menu, a virtual photocopy of the one at Azoulay's L.A. cafe, looks like it was slapped together -- misspellings and all -- by a French movie buff or crazed stalker using magazine cutouts and Magic Marker. No typos in the prices, though, which are a fraction of what other places in town get for similar fare.

Delicate salads including endive and arugula and simply dressed tomato share space with lovely goat cheese, a divinely steamed artichoke, various pastas, filet mignon with a creamy cognac pepper sauce, l'entrecte bordelaise and chicken amandine.

The rustic pté de campagne has all the right elements, from its thick white cap of lard to the sourly crisp cornichons. A smoother and even richer foie gras tourchon excels with its unmistakably buttery bite. Both ptés, along with a vegetable version, are served too cold and the wine too warm, but the atmosphere makes up for it.

The non-vintage French wine list offers a only a dozen or so whites, reds and champagnes, but enough to pair with this simple menu. We stuck with the Cte du Rhnes, served in tiny, almost shot-sized glasses but still a Beach bargain at $6 a pop.

A fine poulet de poivre, two meaty breast halves, lounge in a cognac cream sauce with a restrained but pungent shower of rough-cut black peppercorns on top. A luscious pile of just-wilted asparagus spears and simple button mushrooms is comfort food extraordinaire.

Hachis parmentier is a hearty, shepherd's pie-like peasant dish of flavorful minced beef with parsley and shallots sandwiched between two dense layers of mashed potatoes with a broiled topping of Parmesan and Swiss cheese.

I know, I know; you don't order tiramisu at a French bistro, but the cute young waiter said it was the best dessert available. And it was -- a bit dense but wonderfully rich, full of mascarpone with just a hint of cocoa and espresso. On another visit we ended with a perfectly adequate, lemony crème brlée.

Service is sweet if somewhat bungling. The pompadoured young waiter forgot bowls for artichoke discards and neglected to bring water or take away menus, but always had a smile.

Amazingly, there is no charge for soft drinks, and children, we're told, get a plate of whatever they want gratis.

After midnight, Chef Maurice turns DJ and starts spinning a divinely kitschy mix that ricochets from Edith Piaf and Charles Aznavour to Bill Haley and The Rolling Stones. By 1 a.m. the place is filled with red-lipsticked dames, club kids and an after-work crowd of restaurant and hotel workers ogling the ingénues who inevitably end up dancing on the bar.

Even if the food is sometimes hit or miss -- we had overcooked salmon and chewy entrecte matre d'htel -- you can't knock a place that's twice the fun and fully half the price of other spots in the neighborhood.