“There’s a foie gras fest going on at Cavaillon Restaurant!” I exclaimed to a friend who breaks in to backward flips over a mere suggestion of dining on the fattened goose liver.

“Cavaillon? Where is it?” he asked enthusiastically upon accepting my dinner invitation.

“It’s a French restaurant in some outpost called Santaluz, off Highway 56, between interstates 5 and 15,” I explained. “We’ll have to Mapquest it.”

Turns out that the tranquil and enchanting community the locals call Santaluz is actually part of San Diego – and not quite situated at the end of the earth as we imagined.

The restaurant resides in the area’s small commercial nucleus, opposite a verdant, square-shaped park that’s flanked by new homes bearing just enough architectural variance that they escape the homogeneity of other suburban developments.

Cavaillon fits the hilly, picturesque surroundings like a comfortable dress shoe, showing off a stony brick façade graced by mature trees and tall arched windows. The mood inside feels both homey and formal, giving way to heavy draperies, buttery colors and polished rosewood tables set with gold-painted liner plates and white linen napkins.

At the helm of the kitchen is chef-owner Philippe Verpiand, who named the restaurant after his hometown in southern France. Prior to opening Cavaillon in 2005, he worked in several Michelin-starred restaurants in the French Riviera and Alps before proceeding to La Jolla’s Tapenade restaurant as chef de cuisine. In Santaluz, he’s swooning customers much the same with his fiercely French cuisine, laced poignantly with cream, butter and mousselines.

Verpiand’s “foie gras festival” continues through May – or while supplies last. His special menu features four different preparations of the prized organ; two starters and two entrees, although foie gras au torchon is a regular appetizer marked by changing garnishes.

“Au torchon” denotes that the goose liver is molded, wrapped in a towel and poached in duck and pork stock. Served at room temperature, the resulting texture resembles clotted cream.

In the chef’s current presentation, he serves this spreadable goodness with toasted brioche and a small football of super-creamy apricot mousseline. All combined, it registered in our mouths like a heavenly croissant smeared with fruit, butter and egg yolks.

Our second foie gras choice before moving on to the daily menu was prepared in a terrine – the lobe sliced into four large “coins” resting against a mound of mixed greens and cubed purple artichoke hearts. Aside from a slice of flavorless fried Serrano ham capping the arrangement, the ingredients mingled beautifully, revealing a span of light and heavy flavors that were naturally superior to other salads yielding to proteins of less devilish ilk.

Crispy chickpea cakes, called Panisse Marseillaise on the regular menu, were unusual, reminding us of Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks in their shape and flavor. Toasty and salty on the outside, they oozed with an enduring creaminess that was prolonged further by an accompanying fennel-spiked aioli. My companion took a much better liking to them than I did.

Two other appetizers we tried were boldly seductive – a deep-magenta red beet soup supremely complimented by green apples, and delicate ravioli stuffed with a dark, earthy mulch of porcini and white mushrooms, wading in Port wine sauce and aged Parmesan.

Agreeing to give our arteries a rest, we reluctantly passed on the foie gras entrees, which feature seared preparations incorporating spring veggies and black truffle oil, and the other appearing atop maple leaf duck breast.

We instead opted for beef filet mignon with melted “fourme,” a Roquefort-type cheese cherished throughout France. Hardly a calorie saver, we justified the choice by ignoring another filet option cooked “Rossini style,” which comes with a puck of the goose liver on top.

The filet was monstrously thick, cooked medium as requested, although the thin mantle of melted cheese dominated the beef’s pith to the point where we scraped it off. Fresh asparagus and creamy potatoes speckled with leeks, bacon, onion and parsley served alongside provided the ultimate French kiss.

We also chose seared scallops arranged individually over roasted potatoes and topped with sage and onions caramelized in balsamic vinegar. The fresh bivalves were alluring and sweet and presented with an outstandingly smooth butternut squash mousseline that felt dreamy on the tongue, like baby food for adults, we concurred.

French wines by the glass carried us through our dinner. My companion favored the semi-sweet qualities of vouvray, a plush white that pairs as exceptionally to foie gras as seafood. I stuck to a red Cotes du Rhone blend by Alain Jaume, impressed by how well the wine’s wild raspberry essence sang to the meat dishes.

Sometimes it takes going off the beaten track to find a restaurant that doesn’t rest on its laurels because of easy accessibility. Cavaillon proves that with excellent service and quality French cuisine, in a simple 40-minute freeway cruise from Downtown.