Dining Review: The Franklin in Bristol

Dinner at this new French bistro in Bristol transports guests to Paris.

October 29, 2025

Karen Deutsch,

Duck confit with The Franklin Manhattan. Photography by Angel Tucker

One would expect David Fierabend to build a beautiful restaurant.

Tuna nicoise. Photography by Angel Tucker

He’s the owner/principal of Groundswell Design Group, known to Rhode Islanders as the company that transformed the center of Tiverton into a four-cornered ode to France, delivered in verses made of butter and gardening urns. So it’s hardly a shock that Groundswell moved north to Bristol to open a restaurant that models itself on a classic Parisian bistro.

The location of The Franklin (on its namesake street), however, is a little surprising. It sits on the perimeter of the Unity Park complex in a residential area that often necessitates parking on the fringes of someone’s lawn. But walking through the doors of the restaurant is an all-encompassing transformation driven by aesthetics.

Part of what makes the Groundswell vision work is that it exudes charm in a way that never feels hackneyed and that’s certainly true here. The small dining room is centered around a ten-person communal table covered in moody vintage market finds. The center candelabra, which drips wax with abandon, is flanked by sparkling votives, cut glassware, copious floral arrangements and small seasonal sprigs of fresh blackberry plants in vases.

Fierabend’s vision speaks proficiently in setting the mood, and while there are swaths of ornate wallpaper and lush paint, the dominant color sits somewhere between caramel and amber. It’s the spectrum of a burning candle: warm and intimate. The room holds about forty-two people (including the bar) but feels smaller, like a European living room — complete with settee — that happened to open itself to the public.

The interior is furnished with vintage find. Photography by Angel Tucker

Shrimp cocktail. Photography by Angel Tucker

The soundtrack is somewhat amorphous: more a mellow pulsing than melodic, which suits the dreamy overtures of the restaurant. Occasionally Henry Mancini’s “Pink Panther Theme” breaks through, but most of the time it’s a steady heartbeat keeping time with appetites. Brass gallery lights illuminate a wall of curated and collected personal artwork, but that wall is certainly not alone: The entire space is a study in romance, a love affair with the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen and all the ages it represents. (If humor is present in the artistry of The Franklin, it’s in the loo, where Astek’s Drunk Monkeys wallpaper sets the scene, complete with martinis and discarded bras.)

There are classic cocktails — many weighted toward cognac and vermouth. But a glass of wine feels right in a rich space like this and the servers — young, courant and irreverent — know it. “A glass of sablet rouge?” asked one. “She’s like a bold Côtes du Rhône and I like her. Very much.” There is a rotating duo of beer as well — perhaps an afterthought or a concession to Americans. “An IPA and a pilsner — that’s all I got,” said the same server, without an air of regret.

As for the food, it’s thoroughly French and handsomely presented. Plates are familiar, more often precious (like your grandmother’s good china set), purposely mismatched and always layered. Softened butter is carefully lined against the edges of carved glass compotes, paired with baguettes in delicate baskets.

The seasonal menu — which changes over for fall — is focused in scope, with a half-dozen appetizers and eight main dishes. Portions are modest as well: A plate of mushroom croquettes ($24) came as a Gobstopper-sized quartet. Shrimp, on the other hand, are colossal — though this indulgence comes at a steep price: Four shrimp with cocktail sauce costs $28. A special of (four) garlic butter shrimp with saffron aioli will cost you $37.

Roasted half chicken. Photography by Angel Tucker

The trend continues through the entrees which can, in some instances, imbue a lovely preparation with palpable angst. Seabass in a citrus beurre blanc is a pristine plate in several ways. The fish is seared and seasoned adroitly; it’s a pleasure to eat. But adorned with just a few florets of romanesco on top, it’s a sparse dish. A hungry person, no doubt, would need a side dish — and there are several — but the seabass is $47 and most sides are $14. (One — a Gruyere-laced macaroni and cheese — is $22.)

The chocolate pot de creme is divine. Photography by Angel Tucker

So there is something paradoxical about The Franklin in that the surroundings are so lush, so unbridled, while the food often works by way of restraint. Duck confit ($40) — one of the hallmarks of a bistro — is unctuous and rewarding but also gone too soon. The exception to this pattern is the roast chicken ($37), which is as much about the copious sweet, chervil-infused pan juices and cognac mushrooms as it is about the crispy chicken. It’s a well-rounded and complete dish that leaves a diner nothing less than fully gratified.

Among the twinkling lights and gilded surfaces, it’s the young staff that gives The Franklin an appreciative quirkiness. One server channeling Freddie Mercury announced that his favorite dessert was the rich and simple vanilla ice cream. It’s an unexpected declaration for a place that’s so fond of opulence, but it does speak to a shift that occurs when dessert comes out.

There are several selections, and all are worth getting. In fact, they manifest all that we love about a bistro and everything right about sweets: They’re familiar but sumptuous and everything feels like a treat. Dense cheesecake ($14) is studded with ginger, sitting on a thyme crust, and fruit crumble ($22) is served nearly hot with vanilla ice cream spreading itself thin on top. But it’s the pot de creme ($14) that steals the show. It’s a hefty portion that defines the texture of pudding: Half solid, half liquid, it’s topped with a thick layer of tahini caramel that sits right in the middle of childhood and everything that comes after.

The real question is whether diners will pay $100 or more per person to sit fully in the lap of Parisian ardor. It’s a gorgeous and all-consuming spot — a fully realized dream of culture and art. Groundswell Cafe has been doling that adoration out in $10 increments for some time but, add in bottles of French wine, dim lighting and a seat that is all yours for an evening, and it may be worth far more.

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