Paris Steak

The clearest order at Paris Steak is a sandwich. Dry-aged beef, butchered in-house and rested thirty days, arrives on ciabatta with arugula, Parmesan and house-made chimichurri — a composed steak meal that happens to fit in one hand. That single plate explains the restaurant faster than the rest of the menu does. Paris Steak takes the kind of beef program most kitchens reserve for a formal steakhouse evening and hands it to Liberty Village without the white tablecloth or the reservation. The premise, set by owner Peter Armanious, is that premium dry-aged beef should be approachable, and the sandwich is where that idea lands.

The rest of the menu reads as variations on one theme. Steak Frites gives the same thirty-day, six-ounce cut a more settled bistro frame — a steak with Duck Fat Fries and a choice of peppercorn, béarnaise or wild mushroom jus. The Steak Sandwich itself comes in sirloin cap, striploin and ribeye, so the same idea can be ordered three ways. Beef carries into the burgers, too: a Ribeye Burger on brioche with housemade Dijon fig and pickled onions, and a Parisian Cheeseburger beside it. The sides hold the French line — Duck Fat Fries finished with beef tallow and Parmesan, a French onion soup, an arugula-and-Parmesan salad — and the dessert to save room for is a Biscoff banana pudding that gives a beef-heavy meal a soft finish.

What ties it together is the butchery. Paris Steak ages and cuts its own beef, and the menu is arranged to show that work rather than bury it under a long list of entrées. The sandwich format is the tell — it strips away the ceremony of a steakhouse and leaves the beef exposed, where a dry-aged cut has nowhere to hide. Even the fries pull double duty as a steakhouse reference and a French one, cooked in duck fat and tallow, so a side order still points back at the beef.

Paris Steak opened in 2025 and runs on two levels, and the split is the point. Upstairs is a counter built for a quick daytime stop; downstairs is a bistro with art on the walls, wine and music, where the same kitchen stretches into a longer meal. Peter Armanious owns it, and local reporting at the time named Edward as the chef, though the kitchen's leadership has surfaced only in passing. Catering runs alongside both, which keeps the beef program working beyond the counter and the bistro downstairs.

How you use Paris Steak depends on the hour and the appetite. There is no online reservation link, so it reads as a walk-in: the upstairs counter absorbs a fast lunch, and the downstairs bistro holds a slower dinner over a glass of wine. The kitchen serves lunch straight through to dinner every day of the week, and the drinks list runs to wine and beer rather than a full bar program. For anything larger than a single table, catering runs through the restaurant directly, so the same dry-aged program can travel to a gathering.

The result is a steakhouse that behaves like a sandwich shop and a bistro that behaves like a butcher — a beef-first restaurant that treats a thirty-day dry-age as an everyday order rather than an occasion. Liberty Village gets a place where the serious version of a steak dinner can be had standing at a counter at lunch, and the unhurried version can stretch across an evening downstairs. Paris Steak spends its ambition on the beef and almost nowhere else, which is why the sandwich, not the steak, is the thing to order first.