I ate at the Paris bistro that's now owned by the richest man in Europe. It has many critics, but one dish won me over.

The richest man in Europe, Bernard Arnault, just bought Chez L'Ami Louis. The Paris bistro has mixed reviews and famously high prices, but I loved it.

• I dined at the Chez L'Ami Louis in Paris, which was just bought by the richest man in Europe. 
• The bistro's famous $130 roast chicken was incredible, and the portion was large.
• The food was delicious, and I wasn't mad that our meal cost 272 euros (just under $300).  

As a local to Paris for 15 years, I've often passed by the red-checkered curtains of Chez L'Ami Louis.

The seemingly exorbitant prices displayed on the menu by the door have long kept me from heading inside, but it's no secret this 100-year-old Haut Marais hot spot is among the city's most famous bistros.

It's even said to have welcomed famous patrons like Bill Clinton, David Beckham, Francis Ford Coppola, Keanu Reeves, and Brad Pitt.

With such a reputation, it's perhaps not surprising Europe's richest man, LVMH CEO Bernard Arnault, bought a majority stake in the bistro in June. Financial details of the deal were not disclosed.

In a statement, LVMH (the French luxury-goods conglomerate that owns big names like Louis Vuitton) called Chez L'Ami Louis "a go-to destination for those seeking an authentic culinary experience in the capital."

Even so, the bistro has famously had mixed reviews — it has 3.5 stars on Yelp, and a common criticism is that its prices are far too high.

Either way, I was curious to try Chez L'Ami Louis and form my own impression.

It was easier to make a reservation in person than by phone

The restaurant only has about 12 tables, so I knew making a reservation was my best bet if I wanted to get dinner here.

Reservations can't be made online, and I tried to make one by calling but was unsuccessful. (After reading many reviews, it seems it can be hard to get someone from the bistro on the phone).

Since I live nearby, I tried my luck visiting in person on a Wednesday morning in late June. Even before the lunch seating, the atmosphere at Chez L'Ami Louis appeared inviting.

As I entered the pre-war space, I was greeted by crates of fresh fruits and vegetables covering the aged wooden tables. Half a dozen staff were bringing the bistro back to life following its two-day repose (it's closed on Mondays and Tuesdays).

I walked to the back counter, where a solemn man asked if he could assist me. I asked for a reservation in French — a table for two, s'il vous plaît.

He studied his notebook and suggested a dinner seating for the following week. I eagerly booked a table for two on Sunday night.

Our reservation almost fell through, but we got lucky

My husband and I arrived at Chez L'Ami Louis promptly at 8 p.m. on the night of our dinner date.

The wait staff was in the midst of their nightly plating performance as I slinked past the 12 buzzing tables to let the host know we'd arrived.

After glancing at the reservation list, he looked back up at me and shook his head. He asked if I'd called yesterday to confirm my table, and my heart sank.

I'd misunderstood when I made my reservation: I had been expecting a confirmation call from them, as is the standard practice by many top restaurants.

Maybe the maître d' was moved by the dumbfounded, desperate look on my face, or we just got lucky. He told us to come back at 9 p.m.

When we returned, all eyes were on us

After a convivial apéritif in the neighborhood, we returned to the same curious stares from diners who were now onto their next courses. I smiled graciously as a nook was cleared, and we settled into the salmon-cloth-covered table.

Oval mirrors lined the brown lacquered walls, and the trippy black-and-white tiled floor felt like a statement. Near the open kitchen, baskets overflowing with ripe fruit looked prepped for a royal banquet.

A server in a white button-down and black tie brought us menus, and asked if we preferred still or sparkling water.

The prices were still a bit tough to swallow

I was tempted to order the fish of the day, but the price seemed so high — 150 euros (about $163) — that I'm not sure I would've been able to really enjoy it.

Was the côte de bœuf (rib steak) for two more reasonable at 205 euros? I wasn't sure. I've seen fish and meat dishes cost less at even Michelin-star restaurants.

We settled on the signature dishes of escargot (50 euros) and roast chicken (clearly for two with a price tag of 120 euros), then asked for the wine list.

A leather-bound tome arrived with an extensive selection of wines from around the country.

The bistro's well-stocked cellar apparently has thousands of bottles. With house wine at 25 euros a glass, we ordered a half bottle of Bordeaux at 65 euros, which felt like a bargain.

An international crew of locals and tourists surrounded us

While devouring a sky-high plate of toasted baguette with heavenly demi-sel (slightly salted) butter, I scanned the animated space to discover a room filled with faces both local and foreign.

At a nearby table, I recognized a fashion model used in a campaign by a Parisian brand whose clothing I happened to be wearing. The ladies next to us were from Toronto and eager to share details of their stellar meal.

To our other side sat a group of Frenchmen who appeared to be regulars, engaged in spirited conversation with the person who seemed to be running the bistro.

Our first dish arrived — and every buttery bite of it was sensational

Our anticipation grew along with our appetites as we observed overflowing trays of grilled beef and roast chicken passing overhead.

At last, our escargot arrived dripping in butter and garlic. We savored every one of our dozen succulent snails.

Once the bread and butter were deftly whisked away and the silverware refreshed, the main act began.

I quickly learned why the roast chicken is one of the bistro's famous dishes

After a brief acquaintance with our roast chicken, it was returned to us in parts and accompanied by a towering plate of shoestring fries.

With his first bite, my husband announced, "This is the best roast chicken I've ever had."

With a mouthful of tender, wood-oven-roasted chicken, I nodded in agreement. I also couldn't resist dripping the fries into the rich gravy composed of goose fat and butter.

By the second serving of the chicken (which, in its entirety, I think could've easily fed a family of four), my husband accurately described the meal as "French traditional eating at an excess."

Perhaps it's the excess that makes this restaurant worthy of its elite status.

I wish I'd saved more room for dessert

After our meal, we were so full that I understood why the lighter triple serving of seasonal red fruits with freshly whipped cream (26 euros) was a popular dessert choice.

But tempted by chocolate, we ordered the rich gateau au chocolat (25 euros) and were not surprised by the generous portion. It was more than enough for the two of us.

The chocolate cake was creamy, decadent, and very much on the sweet side. It was easy to inhale, and I particularly enjoyed its crunchy bottom layer.

Our meal cost nearly 300 euros, but I left with a smile on my face

Without cleaning my dessert plate, we paid the bill totaling 272 euros and left the still-bustling bistro smiling and satiated.

Maybe Arnault was just as charmed by his own Chez L'Ami Louis dining experience — so much so that he felt inspired to add the bistro to his portfolio.

But as for me, I'd definitely recommend Chez L'Ami Louis to those looking for an authentic French bistro experience. Just make sure you confirm your booking, dine with gourmands, and stay open to asking for a doggie bag.