This little brother of the more elegant Yvan, next door, hasn’t decided what he wants to be when he grows up: restaurant or nightclub. Somehow he manages to be both, like the waiters, who double as DJs. They crank out a mix of upbeat French standards, world music sounds, and the occasional American ‘80s chestnut while the raucous clientele eats, talks, and occasionally dances in the aisles. The party, like the music, gets louder as the evening progresses.

What you won’t find in this three-story madhouse is tourists; that is, unless you were there the night Anne-Sophie took us out with her French girlfriends. We 12 took up about half of the downstairs floor. Yvan isn’t "petit" in name only!

Mojitos for everyone guaranteed a rowdy start to the evening. Our waiter was as over-the-top gorgeous as he was flirtatious, turning down the music long enough to shout out "Enfin seul!"("Finally, we’re alone!") across the crowded room at all 12 of us girls!

While the food isn’t the main draw, it isn’t bad. The prix fixe menu at 27 euros seemed extensive, but most entrees were sold out, excepting a "Panaché de Poisson", (assorted fish plate). Barbara grumbled that this was a conspiracy to hide the fact that they were serving cut-up pieces of yesterday’s leftovers. Those of us who ordered à la carte did better. The escalope de veau was a big hit at 15 euros, and a mouth-watering artichoke heart and goat cheese appetizer was the star of the table.

Disregarding the conventional wisdom about not mixing alcohols, we ordered two excellent, inexpensive (22E) bottles of red wine, a Chateau d'Arsac and a ’96 St. Nicolas de Bourgeuil. Plus an overpriced bottle of Veuve Cliquot Brut, and finally a new discovery, Liqueur Pomme Verte, an after-dinner drink that tastes just like a green apple. All that booze might explain why, when a distinctly Middle Eastern sounding ballad came on the stereo, the entire French half of our table (as well as the table next to us) burst into song along with the female vocalist. The French have impressively global taste in music. And I’m pretty sure they have a special affinity for eating and singing at the same time. The last time I was in Paris, Anne-Sophie took me and 10 of her closest friends to "Les Copains d’Abord", where a singer with an accordion cranked out traditional tunes à la Jacques Brel which the entire restaurant sang along to.

Note: You probably know that everyone smokes in Paris, but I should warn you – the smoke at Le Petit Yvan was amongst the thickest and most oppressive I have ever encountered. So go at your own risk!