The Dallas area is just now starting to fill in with non-Texas steakhouses, finally recognizing the appreciation other cultures—Italian, French—share for slabs of red meat. Mignon may have been the first of this lot, an advanced scout picketed along the old cattle drive trail that became in modern times Preston Road. Somewhat ironically, the restaurant seems at times misplaced.

On most nights, steaks are satisfying and their pomme frites stellar, at least by the Dallas area’s modest standards. Serenity descends upon guests inside, while those on the patio drowse over a contrived little pond. Randomly, however, a wave of French attitude sweeps through the place. Servers snap up their noses, courses arrive at the table whenever, armies of wait staff pass by before one deigns to stop to see just what you might want. Steak turns to stringy leather and seafood disappoints. The next time, everything is back to its placid best, from a rich and spicy steak au poivre to the folks working up front. Maybe this Janus-faced nature leeches from the concept itself, a disjointed measure of French bistro and Dallas pricing.