There are so many plants around the entrance of A Tes Souhaits you'd be forgiven for thinking this is one of those feminine restaurants where flowers and fancy frills take precedence over the food. The sight of the sous-chef squatting by the kitchen door plucking a wild fowl should disillusion you of that soon enough.

Apart from its name (it's the French equivalent of "gezundheit" or "bless you"), there is very little else that's flowery about A Tes Souhaits. The dining room has the plain polish of a country hostelry, perhaps somewhere in the mountains of central France: a dark wood floor, chunky wooden beams across the ceiling, upright chairs, upholstered banquettes running along two walls and absolutely no pictures, chandeliers or other curlicues.

This is a place for serious trenchermen, not for dilettantes or frivolous followers of food fashions. Apart from the bottle-lined window affording glimpses into the kitchen, the only visual focus is a fireplace -- unfortunately false -- the upper surface of which has been made into a miniature shrine to the art of French gastronomy: Laurent-Perrier bottles in three sizes, a restaurant guide and a series of recipe books by three-star chefs from Joel Robuchon to Michel Guerard and Pierre Gagnaire.