Creative Loafing Sarasota

I'm a sucker for the bistro. It's a type of restaurant that combines a neighborhood meeting place with homestyle cuisine, all of it filtered through a distinctly French worldview. That means comforting food that comes from a core of classic cooking technique; it means that wine is expected to be part of the meal and that just because the place is relatively inexpensive doesn't mean you can't have a real dining experience. American restaurants could learn a lot from true French bistros.

How, then, could I have missed Rick's?

Admittedly, the place is basically hidden at the wrong end of that strip mall across from Southgate Mall. With curtains across the small windows hiding the cozy dining room and just a dainty, weathered sign proclaiming its existence, the place is easy to miss, or dismiss.

If only I'd stopped to read the menu and seen the classic French dishes -- onion soup, country pâté, blanquette de veau, cassoulet, crepes. Or seen the prices: almost nothing over $20. Or peeked into the rustic, wood-lined interior adorned with a mish-mash of art and tchochkes.

Then I would have discovered one of those rare places that delivers exactly what it promises: hearty French food that feels more like home cooking than refined restaurant fare. And at these prices, it's certainly easier and almost as cheap to eat at Rick's than cook at home.

Let's start with the escargot. Instead of delicate snails dressed with rich butter, the kitchen delivers hefty nuggets of garden crustacean doused in a enough barely cooked garlic ($9.95) to kill a vampire. Considering how well-used Rick's metal escargot plates are, I'd be surprised if the garlic wasn't just melded into the steel like some new culinary alloy.

The pâté ($10.95) is just as intense and almost absurdly rich, turning the tiny cornichons surrounding the slab of liver, meat and fat into pickled palate cleansers that need to be used between every bite. There's no punches pulled with these two starters; both have a rustic edginess that's more country than city dining -- a very bistro mindset.

Rick's food, though, isn't exactly Rick's. Rick Drai manages the front of the house while wife Michelle Drai whips up the bistro standards. Rick's contribution is gracious, but just as casual, as the food. The wines are also very bistro, which means the selection is limited to a small list of classic French styles bought from a tiny local importer that brings in just a few hand-picked selections for restaurants like Rick's. And they're inexpensive enough, across the board, to make them accessible on a weeknight budget.

Entrées never attain the intensity of our two starters, instead aiming more for subtle competence. Beef bourgignon ($18.50) is profoundly satisfying, evoking tender memories of my Midwest momma's slow-cooker pot roast, except that mom never made a gravy like this. It's textbook perfect and happily unfussy, just the essence of red wine, garlic and veggies. The French know their sauces.

Cod ($18.50) is simply sautéed and topped with a tomato jam that punctuates the fish with blasts of natural sweet and tart, with leaves of bright thyme as counterpoint. Chicken ($18.50) is doused in Marsala wine, which is reduced to a buttery, sweet syrup. All entrées come with the potato dauphinois that's almost required by law at ex-pat French bistros -- dense layers of wafer-thin potatoes bound together by rich cream. Meals are rounded out with straightforward veggies of the day.

Out of our entire dinner, only the cassoulet ($18.50) disappoints me. It's not bad -- how can tender white beans, rich duck and smoked sausage be bad, really? -- but it's not the deeply flavored, time-intensive traditional cassoulet I crave. It reminds me of the restaurant I ate at a few months ago that made "paella" to order. Rick's cassoulet is much better executed than that disaster, but both dishes require long prep and slow cooking that isn't conducive to a nightly menu.

If the exquisite touch with the sauces, the classic bistro dishes or the daphinois aren't enough, the final course at Rick's is enough to remind you that you're eating French. Most American restaurants just mail in dessert, hoping that they've beaten their diners into submission with big portions. The French treat dessert with respect.

So Rick's chocolate mousse is delicate and airy, even though it's crammed with dark chocolate flavor. Crepes are tender but with enough buckwheat chew to hold up to the assertive sauce of butter and reduced orange liqueur. It's wonderful to finish a meal with something that holds up to the rest of the experience.

Looking around the room, watching Rick call customers by their first names and engage in extended conversations at the table, it's clear that most of these people are regulars. When you pay less than $75 couple for a full meal of Michelle Drai's homey cuisine, with a bottle of good wine and an order of gooey crepes, you can see why people add Rick's to their dining repertoire.

That also might explain why Rick's isn't throwing money after advertising and window dressing to drag in new blood. Not only is it not their style, it's probably not necessary. Like me, people who make it through the door the first time are likely going to be coming back for more.