Editor’s note: A guest post by our resident food critic.

We had a lovely meal in Pezenas, the next semi-big town over, here in the Languedoc. It wasn’t our first visit to this restaurant, and it’s not likely to be our last.

There were six of us, and just enough items on the menu that there were very few duplications among our meals.

Home-made pate to start, with rabbit as a main course and a poached pear with chocolate for dessert. Pan-sauteed foie gras on a ginger spice toast (above), followed by lamb skewers and a poached pear with chocolate (below). Knife-cut beef tartare, followed by veal piccata and a trio of sorbets: apricot, raspberry and verbena. And another poached pear with chocolate. (Sensing a pattern here?)

The restaurant, called L’Entre Pot  — Between the Pot — is well regarded and nothing we experienced did anything to diminish that.

Because we had gone before, we weren’t terribly concerned with one or two odd reviews on TripAdvisor, one criticizing the restaurant for its injudicious use of balsamic vinegar reduction. We did not find that to be the case in our visit; actually, we came away more impressed than we did after our 2010 visit.

We began with Champagne all around, with one pink and another a Kir Royale, and the owner recommended two lovely, local wines. We cheated a bit, asking for a red (2007 Solen, by Domaine les Aurelles) we had tried on our last visit, and it was just as delicious this time. The white was from St Chinian, quite nearby, and the red from Nizas, where we are staying now.

It was a slow and luxurious meal — different from the frantic pace of the wonderful Cal Pep in Barcelona. But it’s impossible to compare tapas, traditional or otherwise, with a French meal. Each by its nature has its own particular flow.

Our only quibble was the service. The restaurant was slammed — a full house and only three servers, including the owner. But good business at a good restaurant is good for everyone, in the end. The service wasn’t poor, just a little absent. (How spoiled are we? We had to pour our own wine!)

(Blogger’s note: Perhaps a bit liberal with the salt, here and there.)

After dessert, one of the waiters came by with plates for everyone, and each had a tiny white cylinder on it. We all marveled at what it might be. My hope was marshmallow, of course.

Then, he poured hot water on each plate and a hot, fresh, towel bloomed for an after-dinner clean-up.

What a wonder.