There are two places I always visit whenever I get a dose of the blues...

One is the downstairs department in Boswells, on the corner of Cornmarket (idly perusing aisle after aisle of cooking accessories produces a calming effect on me).

The other bolthole is Café Rouge in Little Clarendon Street.

I discovered Rouge about four years ago, and once on a Christmas Day when I had no friends nor family to visit, sought refuge in its Christmas menu (the ONLY highlight of that day...) So when recently I was at a loose end and in a need of a little TLC, I invited an old friend of mine out to this cosy little corner of France.

Outside it was dark, wet and cold; inside we sat at my favourite table (in the main restaurant, about halfway along, opposite the doors to the kitchen, in a little snug, at a table for two, next to a radiator... in case you’re interested).

And as usual I ordered a bottle of De Castelnau – I think it’s their cheapest champagne, which I know is still extravagant at £29.95 but tragically, ordinary white wine is inclined to trigger a migraine in me...

The service was as always – impeccable. And I don’t use that word lightly; for me, service, perhaps more than food, defines a good night out.

And here, on this particular evening (as, in truth, it always is) it was fast, friendly and courteous.

Plus, and this IS very important, the ambience was superb.

You know, chatter, laughter, bottles being popped, glasses set, plates served. Perfect for sitting back, taking a sip and shooting the breeze.

Which we did for about five minutes until I realised I was being boring and stopped to listen to my guest.

Our waiter was attentive without being pushy, and after 10 minutes or so, we’d place our orders.

For starters, or what the French rightly call hors D’Oeuvres, I kicked off with the Crevettes du Café Rouge (£5.99), which are tail-on king prawns cooked in garlic and herb butter with a warm cherry tomato and chilli dip and slices of French baguette.

Perfect.

My dining companion opted for the Champignons de Paris (£4.95) – baked Paris mushrooms in a creamy roasted garlic and mushroom sauce, with melted Raclette cheese and again, slices of French baguette.

No problems there either (and no, I’m not being simplistic – the dishes were great. What else do you need to know?).

Main course-wise, I wallowed in the Bavette 8oz (£12.50), a traditional French cut of steak marinated in rosemary and garlic, best served rare, with French fries and melted garlic beurre maison.

Actually, I opted for it medium-rare and was treated to a slice of ‘vache’ (or ‘cow’ if you’re not bilingual) as soft as silk.

My companion took the Demi Poulet (£11.25), a garlic and thyme infused half roast chicken, finished on the chargrill, with French fries and melted garlic beurre maison, and again left her plate ‘propre’ (clean).

By this time, the restaurant was humming (I guess it was about 9.30pm).

So we ordered one last bottle of sparkling and spent the rest of the evening lost in the fervour of after-dinner gossip.

For me, the restaurant did – and more – what it said on the tin.

It was reasonable — look, I ordered the wine; I could just have easily settled for the Cuvée de la Maison Blanc (the house white) – and the quality of the food was, as always superb.

But if had to recommend this restaurant to a friend, I’d guess I’d sum it up this way: “It’s like Paris but better – the service is smart, the food good, and the atmosphere... very Amelie.”