Chateauneuf

By EWAN McDONALD for viva

Brittany's black and white stripes flap, listlessly on a muggy night, beside our Southern Cross in Ponsonby.
Olde World meets New World at Chateauneuf in the Old Fire Station, across the street from its associated gourmet food and wine store. "Try it, then cross the road and buy it to make at home" is the idea of Roger Fromentein, who owns a hypermarket in north-west France and whose market has, it is fair to say, arrived in the city with a fair degree of hype.

Chateauneuf completes a quartet of Gallic bistros in the area (if they carry on like this, French food might just catch on). Provence deserves its cachet as one of the city's better restaurants, inspired by the southern cuisines. Late last year St Arnou, the former brewpub, lured Jean-Jacques Bourvis and his country dishes of Toulouse and the Basque Country from the Bohemian next door. A homely eatery is run from the gorgeous, dark-panelled dining room of the Birdcage Tavern, at the foot of Franklin Rd.

From the moment the three of us walked in the fire-engine-red - and wide - doors, Chateauneuf sounded the genuine article. The staff chattered to one another in French, and it wasn't the sort you learn for School Cert.

In Le Salon upstairs (downstairs is Le Cafe) two-thirds of the tables were full, and you could bet your last euro that most diners were visitors from the eastern suburbs. No one apart from the staff was in black, which is always a giveaway in this part of town.

Like most small French restaurants, only four entrees and four mains are offered: tres traditional dishes. The surprise is in the wines: French, categorised by region, at prices that John, from Brisbane, described as the best he'd seen, particularly for champagne. We drank two reds - a so-so Vacqueyras ($35), because we'd been to the town, and a Paulliac, because at $49 we could afford to.

That helped to make up for the food which was disappointing. No: this was the sort of meal that has led many Francophiles to despair of a country that once gloried in its cooking. The bocconcini, tomato and prosciutto salad tasted weary; the classic gratinee de coquilles St Jacques unremarkable; the sliced potatoes adorning the filet de boeuf frizzled to a dark brown crisp. Atop pasta, the duck breast was greasy, an insult to the memory of a similar dish at Aux Charpentiers in St-Germain. The only dish to write home to Maman about was the monkfish in saffron cream sauce. You'll pay $11.50 to $14.50 for entrees, up to $24 for mains including vegetables.

It was an entertaining evening, though, and the entertainment came from a large TV in the rather grand red-bathed dining room which played throughout dinner (well, we left without risking dessert).

Wonder what they call Friends in France - Nos Amis?

Open: Le Cafe 8am-11pm; Le Salon from 6pm.

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