Laurier Café keeps things refreshingly simple, considering its cuisine—classic-French-meets-modern-Texas—is so often capable of mucking things up with cumbersome ingredients. The décor sort of hints at the minimalism to come; it’s colorful, but contemporary and simple, with abstract art and down-tempo club music played at a conversation-friendly softness. Most of the clientele is over 50; leave the young to their experiments with bar food and shiny new openings, oui?

Dishes rarely feature more than four main components, and portions are on the smaller side—quality over quantity. Salads are splendidly spartan, allowing the natural beauty of their ingredients to shine. We’ve had remarkably light cassoulet, although still rich with duck and pork sausage flavor. While biting into the expert flakiness of a thin pastry, revealing neatly julienned vegetables and silky goat cheese within, you can’t help but feel that this kitchen understands that its job is to choose well and then get out of the way. There is, still, some innovation. Seared sea scallops are served on a bed of roasted, matchstick-cut beets—a classic French preparation—yet with a smear of Thai chili paste.

The wine list is similarly modest; most bottles are priced between $30 and $60 and broadly represent the most commonly sought-after varietals. There are few rare, small-production wines, but many are well-suited to the subtle success on the plate.