My rendezvous with am-o-o-o-ur

My Dear Saint Jacques,

I have been a cruel and thoughtless lover. I hope you can find it in your heart to take me back.

There was a time -- can it really be so long ago? -- that the cuisine of your native France was my one, my only, my very definition of gourmet gastronomy. But then I strayed. I dallied with Italian. I experimented with a few of those hot new American numbers. At times, I'm ashamed to admit, I even found myself desperately seeking sushi.

But then you came into my life and showed me what I'd been missing all these years. You opened quietly -- one might even say demurely -- last November in North Raleigh, in the space vacated when Jean-Claude's, another French restaurant (oh, the irony!) that died for lack of suitors. At the time, I confess, I was too busy playing the field to pay you the attention you deserved.

When I did enter your portals, your owner -- Lil Lacassagne, a native of Provence and formerly a ma"tre d' at Il Palio -- greeted me like a long lost friend. Your pretty little dining room bewitched me with tufts of dried lavender on the tables and chairs casually slipcovered in khaki. The unpretentious charm was a welcome relief from the flashy designer chic that is currently the fashion among ambitious restaurants. It was love at first sight.

But an enduring relationship is based on something more substantial than the fluttered eyelash of ambience. Only after I had thoroughly explored the temptations of your menu would I know, as we Americans are wont to say, if the chemistry was there.

Now that I've sampled liberally among the offerings of chef Alfonse Yapo, I can shout from the rooftops that "chemistry" doesn't do justice to the food. "Magic" is a more fitting term, especially when it comes to dishes such as Yapo's first course rendition of the restaurant's namesake dish, coquilles St. Jacques. How else can one explain the way the diver sea scallops, presented on a shallow pool of mushroom bechamel in a scallop shell, dissolve on the tongue and release the very essence of sweetness and sea air once you break through their delicate, impeccably seared crust?

Another appetizer, featuring Roquefort mousse slathered on a puff pastry croquant and flanked by a maroon fan of port-poached pear, is likewise enchanting. So is a rustic pate de campagne, whose rich flavor is amplified by green and black olives. And the textbook rendition of onion soup gratinee is a culinary magic carpet ride to a Parisian bistro.

Entrees further deepen the romance. Anyone who has fallen under the spell of the scallops appetizer will find it nearly impossible to resist the siren call of the entree presentation, in which the silver dollar-size shellfish are nestled on a gratin of endive and fennel, and garnished with crisp ribbons of fried sweet potato.

But then, how does one say no to Southern Aioli, an ode to pure flavors starring salmon, cod and shrimp, poached simply in court-bouillon and served with boiled vegetables and a garlicky aioli for dipping? Who can turn a cold shoulder to Saint Jacques' version of tournedos Rossini, a decadent dance of seared tenderloin of beef, foie gras and morel mushroom sauce? Or to sultry, wine-rich coq au vin, or medallions of roasted lamb served over a white bean ragout?

Needless to say, my dear Saint Jacques, all resistance was gone by the time the rich, buttery sweetness of your mousse au chocolat passed my lips. I went weak in the knees with the first bite of your tarte Tatin, even though the apples in your take on this classic upside-down cake weren't caramelized as is customary. And your chilled fruit soup, a Grand Marnier-spiked elixir spangled with plump fresh berries and orange segments, made me giddy as a schoolboy with his first crush.

Your wine cellar is unlike any other I know, with about 90 percent of its holdings bottled in France and the rest in North Carolina. The total offering -- some 45 labels, five available by the glass -- isn't extensive, but it is thoughtfully chosen. I've heard whispers that the list will soon expand to include first growth white burgundies.

I also understand that your menu will change soon and that some of the dishes I've come to cherish will be gone. I won't mourn them. Instead, I'll look forward to your summer menu, confident that it will lead to new adventures and a deepening relationship.

The warm smiles and attentive service of Lil Lacassagne, his wife Lorianne and your polished wait staff give me hope that all is forgiven. I know that it is a feeble excuse to plead that I wasn't the only one to stray. Many have had their heads turned by every new culinary fad to come along -- and, in the process, have forgotten about the sublime pleasures of French cuisine. I, for one, promise that I won't forget again.

Sincerely,

Your adoring and contrite gourmet.