Okay, so the name says French (Hail Provence!). But the menu says—we’re not exactly certain (Salade Cèsar?). Sure, the place looks like a head-on collision between a stone cottage and a Laura Ashley freighter. It has blue and yellow floral linens, simple wooden chairs, and a light and airy countrified feel. You can nosh by the fountain on the outdoor patio—open air charm by day, twinkly by night—or take-in your Provencal sup in the main dining room amid the warm woods and fabrics done up in quaint, cozy-as-all-get-out patterns—Gallic camp.

The menu? Maybe that’s camp too. You can get garlicky escargots, a heck-of-a quiche, a big bowl of mussels, and some creamy lobster bisque. But the cassoulet kind of breaks wind, what with its mushy beans, insipid duck, and listless sausage. You’ll want to skip the peasant-tries.

Get nonplussed: the wine list doesn’t stick to French or even mostly French (it’s filled with the sweet Cali Chards and fruity Merlots for those who just switched from Coke Zero). Then again, don’t miss the Grand Marnier soufflé. High tea (with finger sandwiches!) in the afternoons Monday through Saturday, too.