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If you’ve sat in a neighbourhood bistro in an outer arrondissement of Paris, not too far out, somewhere tourists don’t go, but neat and genteel, you could well have been sitting at Le Rebelle in Mount Lawley.

Bit of a stretch?

Maybe, but like its Parisian counterpart, Le Rebelle has noisy energy, tightly spaced tables, bustling waiters and locals for clients. Like its Parisian counterpart it has a fine, fit-for-purpose wine list and it doesn’t feel the need to serve bistro classics like coquille St Jacques, crepe Suzette, onglet with chips and coq au vin.

Not that chef/owner Liam Atkinson hasn’t cooked these classics, but like his French cousins, he is doing modern dishes in the bistro style, some of it immediately recognisable as French bistro, others not so much.

How about a bucket of fries, not served with mayonnaise … no, no, no … these were garnished with a splodge of lurid green herb butter and snails. Yes, snails. On fries. Daring and clever. The chips were fried perfectly, the snails were tender.

Stracciatella can be a big yawn, but it is much loved, especially by the body conscious because of the cheese’s lightness and its typical fruit garnish.

Because my dining buddy enjoys Stracciatella, we ordered it. If only they were all this simple and this accomplished it might come off my Remove Before Dining list.

Peaches had been charred, seriously blistered, cut into slices, teamed with the corn cheese, bathed with a sherry vinegar dressing and scattered all about with toasted chopped hazelnuts. Balance. It’s always about balance and this was tightrope walking without a pole. Properly seasoned, it had a vinegary unctuousness nipping at the tastebuds like a friendly Jack Russell, with crunchy nuts adding a counterpoint to the stretchy, soft Stracciatella. All that and great flavour.

Crab toast was fresh crab, just steamed, not dry, tossed with a light mayo-based dressing and topped with dill fronds and micro leaves.

The toast batons had been surgically sliced, the thick rectangles of brioche had millimetre-perfect edges, proper knife skills when it comes to slicing soft bread. The toasting added crunch, but it was light enough not to impose brutish dark toast flavours on the delicate crab.

Halfway through the meal, it occurred to us we were eating food of significance. It’s rare to eat flawless dishes in restaurants and, while these plates were prima facie simple, there was technique, skills and experience bubbling away in the background. One doesn’t get these things from chefs that don’t push themselves and haven’t worked in good kitchens.

Fillet steak is an odd choice for a bistro. Actually, it’s an odd choice for any restaurant, unless you’re making Wellington or chateaubriand.

The French prefer onglet (hanger or skirt steak here) for a couple of reasons. It has mobs of flavour and is, well was, dirt cheap. Grilled quickly and served rare, onglet is as tender as primary cuts like sirloin and porterhouse and meatier than a tight-head prop.

It was ordered rare and served rare. That’s rare. It was well rested, so no patchy grey bits, just wall-to-wall blushing pink. It was juicy and tender and a beautiful piece of meat. Pity it was fillet. Underneath was blanched spinach, not creamed like at American steakhouses, but simply blanched, squeezed dry and seasoned. It was tender without being soft. Perfect.

In the canon of trad bistro classics, duck confit rules the roost. Dry-brined with thyme leaves for a few hours, the thigh and leg piece are submerged in a roasting pan filled with duck fat and slow cooked, fudgy, moist, dense and soft. Often chefs don’t brine it enough or cook it too hot or too fast or both, which is when it transforms into an unswallowable, dry duck jerky. Ew.

Le Rebelle’s was the real deal, a tender, salty interior and a crisp, rendered skin. A simple duck jus and a small salad were on the plate.

The wine list is a winner. There’s a strong focus on hand selected wines to match the cooking and, while the list is comprehensive, should you wish to go full baller, you can ask for the “special” list.

So, there you go, excellence all round. A proper French bistro with a classy crew in the kitchen and a smart bunch of professionals out front.

When dining is this good, the experience has a light touch. Before you know it, three hours have gone by and all you have left are traces of bearnaise on the chin, the crisp acidity of Chablis and a fading memory of that escargot sauce.

There were no bad memories – anxiously looking around for a waiter, cheap glassware, sloppy cooking, indifferent service, clueless servers - intruded on the experience.