We knew La Taverne was a successful choice from the moment we walked through the door. The decor of the large, multi-levelled dining room reflects the Alsatian orientation of the menu (that is, many of the dishes are native to Alsace rather than being made from large angry dogs). From the ceiling hang auberge signs displaying the region’s Germanic past with flugelhorn motifs and hunting trophies suggestive of a country tavern. Polished clocks are everywhere, as are chandeliers. The result could easily have been a confusing mess but is, in reality, quite theatrical and fun. It just makes you smile.

La Taverne worked some sort of magic on us. We may have been primed for a good time anyway; a day together sans fils is a rarity and, however delightful the little blighter is, a revitalising pleasure. The Blonde and I, grinning like buffoons, were seated at an intimate table amongst other diners who seemed equally pleased to be there. Our collective feeling of well being infected all that approached. On another day in another place these tables would have been too close and their occupants too intrusive, particularly when the nearest neighbour ordered a seafood platter that cast an eclipse-like shadow over us. But not that night – that night it was how bistros were supposed to be and we were part of this cultured Parisian scene.

We ordered aperitifs while perusing the extensive menu. Amidst all the bistro staples (steak, duck, and seafood platters of various gargantuan sizes) were the dishes typical of Alsace and the Alpine region. The Blonde quickly settled on Magret Canard for her main course while I wrangled over which protein laden speciality would serve. I was tempted by the skewers of assorted meats – brochettes - served hanging over your plate (I’m strangely drawn to dishes that require special apparatus) but, after much internal debate, opted for one of the four choucroute dishes on offer; the Strasbourgoise.

We both ordered chevre chaud for starters, cooked in artistically fanned filo parcels. They were delightful although I did miss the almost ritualistic swapping-of-plates ceremony that usually accompanies our meals. Equally fabulous were the main courses. The Blonde’s duck elegantly slid off the bone the moment she waved a knife in its direction and it was pronounced delicieux. My choucroute was equally well appreciated. Better known by its German name sauerkraut, the pickled cabbage is a surprisingly tasty accompaniment and, adorned with three different sausages and other pork cuts, the whole is robust and fortifying, leaving you all set to march up a mountain or, alternatively, collapse in bed.

With a litre of perfectly good Côte du Rhône to wash it down, €79 was a small price to pay for such a wonderful evening. Still beaming, we rolled out into the night in search of a bar where we could drink too much and tell each other how clever we were for picking La Taverne.