The room is hushed in that vaguely muffled French sort of way, with a team of well groomed, faultlessly polite servers marching to and fro. Unadorned wood tables, banquette seating, slate flooring, and an open-kitchen are highlighted by a lime green colour scheme. On the wall, four clocks are set to different time zones.

The menu itself has fewer pretensions: The French fare is drawn from the classic traditions of French country fare, which is why Bistrot has become the latest gathering spot for the city’s ever-growing population of culinary geeks. The kitchen deftly mixes French techniques with local ingredients and spices yet banishes heavy cream-based sauces in favour of simpler extractions.

A tarragon cream broth and a squirt of citrus transform a fine bowl of plump mussels into an extraordinary one. The plate of chicken liver terrine, duck and pistachio pate, pork rilette and prosciutto is generous and refreshing. The salmon rillettes ($13.00) are almost as good, the fish bathed with lemon, green onion and fresh herbs. The buttery flavour of the smoked duck tart is simple yet robust amid a subtle caramelized onion.

For mains, the fisherman's stew ($18) arrives stainless steel bucket. The Pernod-fueled dish bursts with salmon, prawns and cod and dotted with a julienne of vegetables. A few slender clams were added which softened the light spice. You have probably had something similar, but you are probably glad to have it again.