A treat for two — or any number of Francophiles — at Entre Nous

The waiter is from Arles.

"How did you end up here?" we wondered aloud.

"I followed a woman," he said solemnly.

We just had to know. "How did that turn out?"

Flashing a cocky grin, he held up his left hand. "We got married."

Romance is rampant at Entre Nous, an intimate, unpretentious downtown bistro that flies the French tricolor above the door in lieu of a sign.

Inside, the set design could be straight out of "Gigi," with a soundtrack that includes Edith Piaf and dozens of other popular French songsters of the past century. Votives flicker in mirrored wall sconces. Tulips bow their crimson heads over black-clothed tables and an L-shaped bar, their petals a match for the walls where proprietor Stephane Ohayon has mounted black-and-white family photos.

"I wanted to be surrounded by people I love," he says.

Ohayon, naturellement, is French. Born and raised in Nice, he cooks the Provençal food he grew up eating, recipes learned from grand-mère and maman. Years as a front-of-the-house manager for the Morton's steakhouse chain and Teatro ZinZanni taught him how to run a restaurant.

For lunch he concentrates on soup, salads, sandwiches and quiche. He calls the scaled-down plates on his dinner menu "French tapas." Priced from $5 to $14, they range from foie de volaille pâté and pommes frites to charcuterie and Crevettes au Fenouil — four shrimp in a buttery sauce quivering with the taste of anise thanks to fresh fennel, fennel seed and pastis.

"From the Garden" come zucchini fritters, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus and salads like the colorful, crunchy "confetti," a chopped salad that includes bits of Gouda cheese, mushroom and pear among the fennel, bell pepper and young spinach leaves tartly dressed with lemon and oil. The "fritters" are, in fact, breaded and fried zucchini spears that turn up soggy and limp; not nearly as satisfying as balsamic-moistened grilled asparagus with a strip of salty prosciutto hugging each thick stalk.

Ratatouille is on the menu, too; not Remy the rat's haute reinvention in the eponymous film, but the simple Provençal original, a homey stew of eggplant, zucchini, peppers and garlic that makes a perfect partner for skinny merguez sausages.

Look for those pungent, cumin-spiked lamb and beef sausages listed under "From the Land." The roster of meats includes succulent, crisp-skinned duck breast served sliced alongside a rustic tomato and vegetable sauce fragrant with herbes de Provence; thin slices of sautéed pork smothered in a velvety, mushroom-laden brie cheese sauce; and a quartet of luscious rosemary-steeped baby lamb chops whose slender bones just beg to be used as handles.

But that would be a no-no, according to Entre Nous' "Guide to Decoding French Dining," a list of do's and don'ts created by Ohayon's Alaskan-born wife, Jaci Edelen. Her list pokes tongue-in-cheek fun at the rigid rules of French restaurant etiquette: no hands on your food except for bread; eat salad at the end of the meal; drink coffee after dessert; and ladies, never, ever pour your own wine.

The guide is displayed on every table, and one day at lunch we broke the condiment commandment: don't ask for salt, pepper or ketchup before you taste the food — or after, for that matter. The waiter from Arles tweaked "The Guide" rather pointedly but dutifully brought us the salt and pepper we requested after dipping liberally into the small pot of foie de volaille. The smooth, butter-rich, chicken liver pâté comes with cornichons and sometimes crackers or a fresh-from-the-oven baguette.

As for ketchup, who needs it when you can dunk excellent frites — stubby, golden fried potatoes — into garlicky, house-made aioli (though it, too, could have used some salt).

Frites accompany steak and mussels at lunch. Each cut of the knife released wine-red juices from the well-seasoned and expertly cooked wedge of top sirloin. Petite Penn Coves were steamed and finished with onion and bell pepper in a briny sauternes reduction.

Quiche and fondue are among "Other Delicious Things" made here. A good dose of nutmeg infuses the fondue — a classic blend of Gruyère and Emmenthal — with a touch of peppery heat. There's Emmenthal in the quiche as well, bolstering the delicate egg custard along with finely minced ham and zucchini.

Peek through the velvet curtain shielding the kitchen and you might glimpse someone grating cheese or chopping vegetables. Most dishes are made to order, which means that your meal is likely to proceed at an unhurried pace. This gives you time to enjoy an aperitif, a cocktail or wine, or simply stare at the ceiling, where a projector beams an old, black-and-white French film.

French waiters have a reputation for being rude (see "The Guide," Rule No. 10) but the servers here are très charmant. They also work their derrières off, acting as waiter, sommelier, bartender and busser as needed.

When the dinner rush settles, Ohayon steps from the kitchen to visit with customers. By then some are sipping cognac or calvados, or swooning over grand-mère's exquisite chocolate cake — by far the best in a dessert lineup that includes an overly sweet apple tart and slightly gritty chocolate pot de crème.

Remember to drink your coffee after dessert, and — in accordance with Rule No. 9 — you won't see the bill until you ask for it.

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com