This review almost didn’t happen. Nabbing 2 of the 24 seats at Petit Coquin, a buzzy restaurant that opened in February, proved tricky. It seemed that the San Antonio Express-News giving the bistro a five-star review had diners excited. But after watching reservation-website notifications closely (and sending some direct messages on Instagram), I finally got in—just in time for my deadline.
Petit Coquin (“little rascal”) is likely not what you’re picturing. The stereotypical Texas French restaurant tends toward spacious and lavishly decorated, like Brasserie Mon Chou Chou, also in San Antonio, or Toulouse Cafe and Bar, with locations in Dallas, Plano, and Houston. On occasion, I’m a fan of these big, brassy temples to escargot and crème brûlée, but there are also times when I prefer my dining experience with a little less fuss.
Located in the Southtown neighborhood, Petit Coquin caps a strip of one-story blue-and-white stucco buildings housing a boutique, a tattoo parlor, and cocktail bars. The dining room is nearly free of embellishment aside from a couple of long, horizontal mirrors to give the illusion of a larger space, a few frosted-glass pendant lamps, some moss-green tile on the bar, and the formidable Texas sun pouring in through the west-facing glass wall (don’t worry, the staff lowers shades when it gets hot). The menu is as brief as the wine list is long, the tablecloths are wrinkled, the soundtrack is early 2000s hip-hop and R&B, and your host, owner Chad Carey, will be at the bar, he says, “making bad jokes and eating sardines.”
Eschewing the profit-maximizing aspirations of many modern restaurants, Petit Coquin employs minimal staff and serves a handful of diners and dishes every evening. The result is an affordable three-course menu ($65 each time I went), a wine list with more than sixty bottles under $100 (and many, many more above), and a crew that seems genuinely happy to be there. Chefs dream of opening restaurants like this, where they can do whatever they want. How does that play out here? Best dinner party I’ve been to in a minute.
And that’s intentional. The dishes are what chef Max Mackinnon “would want to cook if you came over to my house,” he says, with two options per course that change based on what products he is excited about. A party of two can order all the dishes and easily demolish every bite, as my partner and I did.
Mackinnon knows when to deploy high-level technical cooking—scallops are lightly cured and poached before being chilled and plated as a delicate “tartare”—and when to hold back, as in his gorgeous, classic steak au poivre served alongside a crisped maitake mushroom in lieu of frites. Dessert is either riz au lait (a surprisingly complex rice pudding dotted with brown butter and containing both crème anglaise and meringue that Mackinnon admits he “worked on for a while”) or a cheese plate. Everything tastes like excellent, textbook French fare. He is not reinventing the cuisine, and I don’t want him to. I just want a perfect steak au poivre.
A recent New York transplant, Mackinnon moved here with his wife, Carenn, each bringing an impressive résumé specializing in French fare: Carenn, a sommelier and San Antonio native, is an alum of Frenchette, while Max was the chef at Libertine, a spot that was showered with critical acclaim when it opened in 2023. Together with prolific San Antonio restaurateur Carey, they opened a wine bar in Brooklyn last summer called Plus de Vin.
The restaurant’s simple interior. Photograph by Mackenzie Smith Kelley 
Pork shoulder and sausage with cabbage. Photograph by Mackenzie Smith Kelley
Petit Coquin’s wine list is filled with bottles the trio loves to drink: French, but not entirely; natural, but not exclusively. Carey, a large, jolly man, gave my table a small pour of wine while we considered the list, because, as he put it, “I can’t have you sit with an empty glass.” On one visit, he recommended a bottle of what he called “get-you-in-trouble wine,” because you don’t notice how quickly you’re drinking it. Priced at $75, the 2023 Les Bulands Beaujolais from Justin Dutraive was richer and more complex than I expected of an easy drinker. I somehow avoided getting in trouble.
Petit Coquin may not be the norm for French restaurants in Texas, but it resembles the places I’ve frequented in France. You may have to park on the street instead of handing keys to a valet, and you’d probably be more comfortable in jeans than in a cocktail dress, but you can lean over and trade a glass from your wine bottle for one from your neighbor’s. You can enjoy a dinner that was cooked for you and not for your Instagram feed. And, best of all, you can eat French food as I prefer to: simply, seasonally, and served with really great wine. In their desire to open the restaurant they wanted, Carey and the Mackinnons have given Texans something we needed.
Petit Coquin ★★★
Address: 1012 S. Presa, San Antonio
Phone: No phone
Hours: D Wed–Sat $$$
Opened February 12, 2025
This article originally appeared in the August 2025 issue of Texas Monthly with the headline “The French Restaurant Texas Needs.” Subscribe today.
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