It was a move strange and misguided, last year turning what was delightful part-bar, part-fun fine diner Brooks into a super high-end anachronistic foie gras truffle wagyu fest filled with lux that few could afford.

No real surprises, then, when Brooks mark II closed but a few months later.

Enter one of the gentle giants of Melbourne’s dining scene over the past two decades. Philippe Mouchel, he of Paul Bocuse and Langton’s, Brasserie Philippe Mouchel and PM24 (and not forgetting last year’s wonderfully named Deja Vue stop gap), has taken over the CBD basement site that once housed Greg Malouf’s much-loved MoMo, Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen and most recently those two incarnations of Brooks.

It’s a site steeped in history, now with a chef as equally storied and all eyes on whether this third attempt at French in what is one of the city’s lovely subterranean spaces will resonate.

By all indications, Melbourne is happy to have this old-school master back behind the pass — and not just that mature subset who are saying to each other between forkfuls of escargot, “It’s so good to be in a proper restaurant again.”

For at Philippe you can order your own entrée and main and make a reservation for dinner at a time you might like to eat. “7pm? Of course, sir. We look forward to seeing you.”

Yes, there’s old-world ways at work here — whether the ink-stamped butcher’s paper over the white tablecloths, or the raffle ticket for the coat check, or the chefs in the open kitchen wearing toque caps jauntily to the side, or the menu peppered with all the French we’ve come to know and love, including, of course, Philippe’s famous rotisserie chook.

But this is no sepia stroll down the Champs-Elysee; there’s a very modern sensibility here to the cooking of classics where a deft lightness pervades throughout. Not quite the modern “bistronomy” of Paris today, but neither is it the stiff and serious animal-fat fest French of yore.

I, for one, now know where I’m coming when day or mood are grey, for the chestnut velouté is a bowl of such sublime happiness there is no wrong it will not right. It’s a classic in Philippe’s repertoire, and is for every silken, delightfully rich good reason. Like coming into a log fire-warmed room after a bracing walk through a mist-shrouded forest, it’s at once nourishing and earthy, ethereal and nurturing ($19).

The pate en croute highlights the technique and training throughout a brigade led by Aurelien Gransagne (coming from the Michelin-disciplined ranks of Paris) who is doing a sterling job when the boss is not in the house, as he was not this night.

It’s a picture-perfect plate of a dense pistachio and mushroom-flecked terrine that hides pockets of foie gras and crowned with a meaty gelee, all framed by a thick pastry crust. Wonderfully sharp cornichons and onions are a bracing antidote to the rich meat, while perfect dots of sticky balsamic sneer at the mere thought of being smeared ($21). Or those escargot, where a half dozen shell-less molluscs hide under a vibrant parsley crust. The sauce, a perfect balance of garlic and butter with tomatoes adding a bright acidity, is masterful; the meat just firm, the lot hot but not scalding ($19). It’s a dish that gets every step right.

But the same could be said of the glorious beef cheek, braised black in beer and spoon soft, served with the best carrots you’re likely to eat ($36), or the punchy sea essence to a mussel-strewn risotto that’s the bed for a piece of perfect rockling, where you can almost feel the ocean spray tickling your nose with every mouthful ($36).

While a couple of namechecked steaks break the $50 barrier, pricing is definitely CBD fair, and for such fare is, in fact, excellent value. There’s good drinking on the wine list around the $60 mark made up of Fracophillic locals and imported drops, though $16 wines by the glass are more obviously priced to make rent. Service is excellent; sharp, intuitive, well-drilled and quietly hospitable.

And to end, whether the cloud of meringue hiding a stunning hazelnut praline with just the right amount of nutty heft, all surrounded with a crème anglaise of fleet-footed vanilla sweetness, or the almond milk blanc-manger tempered with sharp grapefruit and orange and finished with biscuit crumbs, desserts are another triumph.

The whole meal is deftly directed and beautifully executed, with poise and balance evident in every dish.

Sick of fried chicken and simply can’t face another burger, southern style barbecue or being asked to queue? Philippe is the perfect antidote.

Originally published on heraldsun.com.au