America may have sent one of its own to France, kicking the saddles of cyclists up and down the Pyrenees, but here on our own turf in the humble little restaurant community of Potrero Hill, the French rein supreme at Chez Maman. The 10 counter seats are blanketed with cozy warmth emitting from the hot grill, while the few outdoor tables awkwardly angle diners into the sunny, bustling hill community.

The menu, which remains the same for lunch and dinner, is very French. There is a selection of warm tender crepes such as the Savoyarde with béchamel, tomato, prosciutto and Camembert ($9.50) Toasted paninis, similar to those found all over the streets of Paris, are compressed slices of crispy griddled bread layered with delicate slices of smoked salmon, dill, crème fraîche and briney capers ($9). The sandwich is compact with a simple variety of flavors and textures — the antithesis of the American Dagwood.

The menu is also a little faux-Mexican, boasting a selection of five quesadillas that are grilled well, but tend to miss the mark conceptually. The signature dish, however, is neither French nor Mexican, but very, very American. The restaurant elevates the holiest of national dishes, the hamburger ($9 + $1.50 for cheese), above all else. A choice of goat, cheddar, Gruyère, Roquefort or brie all become a gooey, rich accompaniment for the toasted pugliese rolls delivered fresh, twice daily. The roll is a third larger than the burger, but the light slathering of garlic aioli along with tender onions melted in olive oil make it difficult not to eat the entire bun — even after the meat is gone.

Above all, Chez Maman’s frites are ethereal. They exist somewhere between the crispiness of a McDonald’s fry and the vibrant potato flavor of an In-N-Out spud. The lightly browned sticks are generously seasoned and softly dusted with a pinch of herbs. European etiquette, as defined by Vincent Vega in “Pulp Fiction” seems more appropriate for the delicate potato flavor. “You know what they put on French fries in Holland instead of ketchup? Mayonnaise! I seen ‘em do it man, they drown ‘em in that shit.”

With the twin of his popular crêperie opening in Bernal Heights and another slated for Union Street later in the year, restaurateur Jocelyn Bulow may be out-cooking Americans at their own national dish.