Anise

Chequered shirts. Rolled sleeves. Lots o' laughs. The blokes serving the food at Anise aren't your typical French bistro staffers.

"It's better than nice; it's one of the best terrines I've had in my f---ing life!" roars one, in a particularly exuberant moment, as he issues a verbal pat on the back to the chef within earshot of us all.

But then Anise isn't your typical French bistro - at least not an Australian version of one. For a start, there's the lack of tables, with space for just 17 stools around an L-shaped bar, plus a couch out front.

At first, this can seem a little unnerving, perching in our gladrags beside total strangers.

The staff, though, are quick to put you at ease. Perhaps it's the drinks list they wield with such aplomb.

Classic cocktails and pastis vie for aperitif attention, alongside which we decide to forego entrees in favour of the finger food amuse bouches on offer - a wise decision, given the mouth-watering mouthful of semi-dried figs, goats cheese and ham that arrives. Bite-sized onion tarts with anchovies and olives are also completely moreish, while oysters, charcuterie or the aforementioned terrine round out the options.

The restaurant may take its name from the pastis but it's the extensive list of wines by the glass that's the real crowdpleaser here. And the staff know their stuff. Substituting passion for pretension, our waiter pours us a variety of tastings, talking engagingly about the wines' origins and flavours. Soon we've chosen not only our current drink but our strategy for the evening ahead. Did I mention these guys can be dangerous?

It would be tempting to describe Anise as a bar given these delicious liquid offerings and the, um, large bar occupying most of the room.

But to do so would be to do the kitchen a disservice. Food this good doesn't come in bars.

Offerings are largely traditional, with a modern twist. Exhibit A: duck à l'orange, served "Anise style", with the bigarade sauce finding the perfect blend of tart-sweet-bitter.

Roast lamb medallions arrive with an ever-so-creamy polenta, the richness sweetened by the presence of confit onion purée.

Thrown alongside a hearty shiraz and a serve of roasted duck fat potatoes and this could be winter dining bliss. The fact strangers walking past would have no idea of the quality of cuisine being served up in this Cheers-like setting only seems to heighten the pleasure.

An excellent vanilla bean crème brûlée and shot of espresso and it's time to go.

Well, maybe we'll just have one digestif. Did I mention, these guys can be dangerous?