“There’s a whole lot of magic when you’re in Paris,” goes the Stephen Stills song, “Midnight in Paris,” a celebration of a man in an endless dance with a beautiful woman somewhere in the city.
Paris likes to pretend it is a city of the night. Certainly, it shimmers when the sun goes down and the lights go on. But finding magic after midnight can be a challenge. City Hall turns off the lights of most public structures, including the Eiffel Tower, at about 1 a.m. Most bars close an hour later.
There are all-night clubs, of course, many of them globalized spaces that may make you wait in line and may even welcome 16-year-olds if their party dresses are cool enough. A safe — but predictable, crowded and overpriced — tourist destination is the Publicis Drugstore at the head of the Champs-Élysées, a one-stop, late-night spot to eat, drink and buy newspapers and groceries.
But for after-midnight perfection, dine late and well near Les Halles — Chez Denise (5, rue des Prouvaires; 33-1-42-36-21-82) for leeks vinaigrette and calf’s liver with frites, or the less-pricey Le Tambour (41, rue Montmartre; 33-1-42-33-06-90) for reliable old-fashioned onion soup and homemade foie gras.
Then, if you’re feeling adventurous, head to the Cercle Clichy Montmartre (84, rue de Clichy; 33-1-48-78-32-85; open until 5:45 a.m) near the edgy Place de Clichy for a game of pool. A gentleman gamblers’ haunt in the 19th century, renovated as a working-class restaurant in 1901, the Cercle was used by the Nazis as a horse stable and military barracks during World War II. Reopened in 1947, it dazzles with 30-foot ceilings, carved moldings and grand mirrors. Worn bent-wood chairs and bar stools, patched tile floors and tawny, nicotine-stained walls give it just enough Zolaesque grit.
A stained-glass window that spans much of the ceiling with its cherubs and blue-and-gold Florentine touches is, truth be told, made of Plexiglas. Several years ago, the panes of the glass ceiling started to fall. The Plexiglas was a safe and cost-efficient way to replace it, said Luc Richard, the Cercle’s owner, who inherited the business from his father-in-law three decades ago.
The dress code (nice slacks and “city shoes” for men) is rarely enforced, although a decades-old sign that announces it still hangs. American pool, French pocketless billiards, even British snooker can be played here.
The only disincentive is the 30-euro fee for an annual membership (required by law this year since there are games of chance including poker and a bizarre French form of roulette called multicolore in the back).
Ask for Mr. Richard, a small man wearing an oversize suit and speaking Maurice Chevalier English. He goes home around the corner every evening for dinner at 8 but is back at 11. He’s trying to devise a system to reimburse pool players for the membership fee. For the moment, he’ll offer the newcomer a drink — a gin fizz, perhaps, or a brandy — and deliver it with a delightful story.
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