An Aging French Romantic

I ordered a Jean Ernest Sancerre and told her not to judge the sour white wine by the way it tasted alone. American winemakers produce soft, buttery wines that taste good at cocktail time but don't stand up to food. An extremely amusing amuse-bouche arrived in the middle of my speech. It was a tiny hamburger bun with a teaspoon of salmon tartare in the middle served with a dozen miniature French fries on the side. The Sancerre was the perfect lemony counterpoint to the taste of the oily, raw fish, which neatly illustrated my point.

I got the escargot á ma facon (at the whim of the chef). That night, chef Georges Guy centered an artichoke heart slice on a small plate and surrounded it with snails in a thick and garlicky pesto cream sauce. The Sancerre cut through the cream and cleaned our palates on cue. Katie got the special appetizer, an excellent giant seared scallop with a pastry crust.

They didn't have any Dover sole that night, nor did they offer the bouillabaisse that I have heard some Chez Georges patrons rave about. But I was delighted with that night's fish special -- an order of grouper over tomato cream sauce. The fish was brilliantly cooked; it fell apart into big, moist sections as I ate it.

Katie's salmon en papillote was a disaster. The fish, which was nested over julienned vegetables and wrapped in parchment paper before being baked, was dry and overdone. It came with a ramekin of extremely thick Bearnaise sauce. If you spread a big gob of the tarragon-scented mayonnaise on the chalky chunks of fish, you could choke some of them down.

When the waitress asked how our food was, we told her the salmon was overcooked. She said that was not typical; chef Guy usually erred on the rare side. There was an intern in the kitchen that night, she apologized. But she didn't offer to replace the fish, discount the tab or give us free breath mints. She didn't even invite us to swear at the intern like Gordon Ramsay.

For all its failings, I will probably be back to creaky old Chez Georges. Sometimes filet mignon with foie gras, truffles and a faded Bordeaux are just what the doctor ordered. And my 75-year-old mother visits quite often. She loves old-fashioned French restaurants that start serving at 5 p.m. I have some more daughters who need to further their food educations, too.

For dessert, Katie had her first profiteroles. If you've never had this dessert, it's a plate of thick pastry tubes stuffed with pastry cream or ice cream and topped with chocolate sauce. Georges Guy's interns may be overcooking the rabbit and salmon these days, but they make the best profiteroles in Houston. The pastry is fluffy, the caramel ice cream inside is spectacular and the dessert comes with a handmade spun-sugar dome. The last time I saw one of these was at a fancy French restaurant my parents took me to when I was in high school. The sugar is drizzled over a bowl and holds the shape when it hardens. It tastes like caramel and sparkles like a tiara. 219 Westheimer, 713-529-7788. Hours: 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. Tuesdays through Saturdays.