Kid-friendly restaurants in San Francisco: Mel's Drive-In (3355 Geary, 415-387-2244), a '50s diner in the Richmond. Jukeboxes at every table offer toddlers the endlessly entertaining activity of pushing the silver buttons. Mifune (1737 Post, 415-922-0337), a sushi bar that lets kids grab food as it floats by on little boats. The Cliff House Seafood & Beverage Co. on Seal Rock in Sutro Heights (1090 Point Lobos Av, 415-386-3330), right near the beach at the end of Golden Gate Park. The real draw is the Cliff House itself, situated on a bluff with breathtaking views . Kids will enjoy (supervised) roaming around outside and checking out the games at the replica of a Victorian arcade. Dog-friendly restaurants in San Francisco: San Francisco is more somewhat more anal than France about letting dogs inside. (Putting on dark glasses, carrying a cane and strapping a harness on your schnauzer is just tacky.) Therefore, outdoor cafes are your best option. Take a stroll on Columbus Avenue in North Beach, where there are a number of outdoor cafes like Rose Pistola and The Steps of Rome. In the Mission, try Cafe Macondo for cappucinos, just a few blocks from dog-friendly Dolores Park.

The French are different from you and me. When they eat out, they bring tiny dogs to the restaurant and put them under the table.

All French people are issued a tiny dog at birth. It arrives, wrapped in a brown paper parcel tied with twine, accompanied by a pack of Gauloises, a beret, and passes to the Jerry Lewis film festival. The French love their tiny dogs with a blinding ferocity, and the dogs generally reciprocate by behaving politely at all times, cultivating a bemused, absent look like Jean-Paul Sartre. French restaurant dogs lie silently beneath the folds of the damask tablecloth, thinking deep thoughts, never barking. They are regularly fed little morsels under the table. Sometimes their owners pick them up, put them in their lap, and give them surreptitious kisses.

Americans, on the other hand, have an unnerving tendency to show up at fancy restaurants with squalling babies in tow. Babies behave much less civilly than dogs. Babies shriek and throw food (and, as we all know, flying chicken chunks can really do some damage) and call attention to themselves in the most declassé way. A Parisian maître d' can easily accommodate a tiny dog with a dish of water and maybe even a small hunk of gristle (generally from the gristle pile cultivated expressly for the feeding of American tourists). The other diners may not even notice the coddled chien. But it's hard to miss the purple-faced infant bellowing the Barney song over and over while gaily tossing cutlery hither and yon.

Frankly, I think the French (while generally wrong about everything from Mickey Rourke to Greenpeace to the necessity of nuclear testing in the South Pacific) may be on to something. They do love children. They just don't think they belong in grown-up restaurants. Americans, who pride themselves our their open good natures and lack of pretension, have historically tended to disagree. Americans have taken this democracy thing, this sharing thing, this togetherness thing way too far. Even the best-behaved baby loses it now and then; a well-trained dog is infinitely more predictable.

Advice to Americans: McDonald's has many very attractive franchises. Or you could introduce the little darling to dim sum (generally loud, and chicken feet are good for teething), or to a family-oriented pizza place. Or hey, put it on an airplane. We expect babies to scream there, and it's not like they can ruin the meal.

Advice to French persons: Try to be nice when we take our babies to restaurants in your homeland. We're probably on vacation. If we take our babies to your restaurants in our homeland, we deserve to be treated as snootily, as imperiously, as rudely as possible. Do your worst. Enjoy it. Consider it payback for Johnny Hallyday.