IN PLAIN FRENCH : Simple, Honest Fare Served in a Homely Room: Let Them Eat Frites!

I was shocked when a friend of mine, who has lived in Paris more than 20 years and who enjoys food more than almost anyone I know, confessed that he has never eaten in a Michelin-starred restaurant. His haunts are modest, old-fashioned bistros that rarely appear in any guide. He knows which one makes a great rabbit in mustard sauce, which has the best country pate or blood sausage. The next time he comes to Los Angeles, I know just where I’ll take him--to the new bistro at Citrus.

A few months ago, ebullient owner-chef Michel Richard divided his L.A. restaurant in two: on the left, the original Citrus; on the right, the Bar Bistro. Walk in the door, and it’s hard to resist the magnetic pull to the left, where lush plants, lavish flower arrangements and twinkling lights create a casually festive setting. The bistro side seems a little forlorn, like a party where half the guests didn’t show up.

Richard is surely one of the city’s most creative chefs, exhibiting a formidable sense of design when it comes to his signature dishes. But slapping a few posters of Brittany on the wall along with a pastiche of menus from his favorite French restaurants does not a bistro make. The chairs are nicked and scarred, the seats stained. In terms of decor, he’s got to do a bit more if he wants to attract the overflow from Citrus into this unlovely space.

Richard is at the bar, chatting with friends one night. Catching sight of a couple entering the restaurant, the portly chef rushes out, arms spread wide. “ Mon ami! “ he booms, enveloping the man in a big bear hug. He then proceeds to lead the couple into Citrus proper. The two Industry people seated next to us are in a snit. Somehow (an oversight, no doubt), they couldn’t get a table next door. Only as a favor to Michel, they point out to the waiter, did they decide to try the bistro. Well, they’re not having any more of it. Stuck in the middle of the room, where anyone who walks in could mistake them for the B-list, they insist on crossing over to the promised land. They’ll wait, they say. And they do. We, however, are still game--if they would just turn down the raspy Joe Cocker.

Right away, I like the familiar French names on the short bistro menu: poulet roti , steak au frites , moules a la mariniere , escargots en feuillete . Specials like veal kidneys and monkfish with zucchini sound appealing. The prices, even more so.

When the food comes, any traces of disgruntlement vanish. This is real French cooking--not the high-flying cuisine of restaurants with eyes on the Michelin stars or the intricate French-California dishes that Richard and chef de cuisine Alain Giraud put out at Citrus, but the kind of cooking that made many of us fall in love with French food in the first place: chicken-liver mousse, daube de veau , gratin of coquille St. Jacques. . . .

I’m delighted to find that the special saucisson plate is rosette de Lyons (a French salami), served with a pile of olives and puckery cornichons. Something as soul-satisfying and simple as this or the jambon de bayonne --rosy ham streaked with white fat--is hard to find. Then there are plump leeks ing vinaigrette, gaily strewn with chopped parsley, egg white and tomatoes. And a great version of champignons a la grecque , the chilled, marinated mushrooms given a lift with a little fresh tomato.

You can have a cool, refreshing cucumber-laced tomato soup or a thick, comforting puree of cabbage garnished with chopped ham and buttery croutons. Instead of rustic pate, Richard offers a delicate, molded mousse de foie blonde . No complaints with the ballotine of Provencal vegetables, a mosaic of eggplant and tomato set in a vibrant aspic, or with piles the escargots , plump little nuggets in a jewel box of fragile puff pastry surrounded with a moat of emphatic green sauce. Order the roast chicken here, and you get an entire small bird, crisp and juicy, with an enormous pile of perfect fries. At $10, I doubt very much there’s a better value in town.

A few dishes are eminently suited for a serious bottle of wine, especially the daube de veau aux carottes with tiny caramelized onions and big, tender chunks of veal in a remarkably deep-flavored sauce. Or the beef filet stroganoff or the veal kidneys with noodles in a

whole-grain mustard sauce. The tough, chewy lamb steak doesn’t win points, but the butter-tender flageolets make up for it.

Richard, who began his cooking life as a pastry chef, focuses on straightforward bistro desserts here, notably a dark-glazed apple tart, a plain, absolutely delicious chocolate mousse and a bowl of strawberries marinated in Beaujolais.

If Richard gets inspired enough to cheer up the bistro’s decor, people may be clamoring to get a table at this side of Citrus, too. And when they do, they may be just as seduced as I was by this honest French food.

The Bar Bistro, 6703 Melrose Ave ., Los Angeles; (213) 857 - 0034. Open Monday through Friday for lunch, Monday through Saturday for dinner. Full bar. Valet parking. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $36-$56.