This review is dedicated to those who aren’t in Europe right now.

While the rest of us get serious FOMO scrolling through snaps of sun and sand on socials know there is a way to get your travel fix closer to home. At the new-look Entrecote, you’ll be able to raise a glass of French fizz and live your best Parisian life sans passport or pricey plane ticket.

Owner Jason McLaren Jones and his life and business partner, interior designer Brahman Perera, moved the South Yarra stalwart from its terrace home to Prahran’s uber-trendy Gertrude St last November.

Superfans, rest assured, Entrecote is still fabulously French, perhaps even bigger and bougier in every possible way.

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Maybe it’s the larger than life spaces decked out in tan timber, sweeping monochrome tiles and white marble. Or those soaring ceilings. Or proper Parisian service and white-clothed tables and plush royal blue banquette seats.

Twinkling renditions of Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To The Moon and Taylor Swift’s Lover are tapped out on the grand piano.

A caviar trolley loaded with Oscietra and Yarra Valley roe offerings by the ‘bump’ has diners giddy with excitement.

There’s a lot at play and the success stakes have been set as high as the steak frites, but Entrecote exceeds the expectation well before that first glass of fizz hits your lips.

Speaking of drinks, you’ll need specs to read the font size on the menu that’s curiously small. Maybe you’ll start with an aperitif, a spritz or ask Primo Clutterbok to suggest a pour by the glass or bottle that’s French influenced alongside a few token drops from regional Victoria.

I find it strange champagne or drinks by the glass aren’t poured tableside, yet bottles are. Much like the wine, chef Tim Menger’s (Brisbane’s Harveys, Radii) cooking is unapologetically French, too.

It’s where you’ll find classics such as Tartare de Boeuf (beef tartare) moulded into a neat quenelle with a glossy egg yolk hatched on top. Iron-rich raw meat is diced by hand, packing added tomato and seeded dijon depth.

Scoop via a tomato dusted crisp, which look and taste like those odd-flavoured chips you find in the supermarket bargain bin, but work incredibly well in the dish.

Get one final taste of the twice baked comte and Jerusalem artichoke souffle before it retires from the menu this week. Its soft, cloudlike presence is countered by a medley of autumn veg such as zingy pumpkin, beetroot and parsnip crisps, lolling about in a simple white sauce.

You could go Entrecote’s namesake and reliably good steak frites of Porterhouse thrown over flame, drenched in that famous herbed butter sauce and piled high with a side of fries – but life was made for living.

The duck a l’orange packs a lot of meat. I’m talking almost half a kilo of the stuff, flapping about in a sticky cherry/citrus like sweet jus with textural enoki and oyster mushrooms and a perfect square of pomme anna (layered potato bake). While amazing, that sauce sabotages what could have been shattery-fine skin, now left soggy and limp.

The poached trout, however, is perfectly cooked and teamed with firm braised leeks, diced chard and a robust lemon beurre blanc.

A smattering of smoked salmon roe makes it sing.

Like most things at Entrecote, the serves are generous, and that doesn’t exclude the creme brulee – with a caramel cap that passes the shatter test unveiling a cooling, creamy custard beneath – which can be easily shared between two.

Some may find the set menu (a choice of two; $79.90 or three courses; $94.90) restrictive and annoying, but simple maths will prove it excellent value for two, especially if you mix and match menus and share an entree and dessert.

Service is formulaic at times, and on the night we visit, there’s a touch of get ’em in and out to the pace, but Entrecote is largely an exciting place to eat and drink in style.

It’s surely the next best thing to visiting France.

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