Hexagone speaks of contradiction when you consider the praises and barbs it has garnered by reviewers and online “yelpers.” Opened recently by Parisian-born Patrick Halcewicz, owner of the long-established French Market Grille in Rancho Bernardo, his newest venture in Bankers Hill portrays a proper, white-linen atmosphere that exceeds in formality the provincial French cuisine he presents.

Authentically more convincing than La Vache – though not as intricately fussy as the food at Tapenade – a good portion of Hexagone’s recipes take on homey traditional sauces laced with butter and cream, albeit lacking at times the kitchen herbs that hold the secrets to elevated French cooking.

Little has changed to the interior since Gemelli occupied the space. And I’m not disappointed. The dining room still flows with an air of civility, featuring heavy draperies adorning lots of tall windows. Lighting remains comfortably subdued without being eye-squinting. Tables are cozily arranged. And famous French-art posters adorning the walls add a restrained Left Bank theme, replacing family photographs of the former Italian tenant.

Hexagone’s key players are French in origin, starting with the owner’s nephew who serves as maitre d’ – a handsome fellow at home in a suit and tie. The chef, Daniel Durfort, hailed from the Mother Country, too, before embarking on a cooking career that landed him in French restaurants around the globe. And then there’s veteran waiter Francois Michel Beausoleil, a youthful French-Canadian who can’t possibly be at the root of service problems I read about online. He was faultlessly efficient and delightfully energetic throughout our entire dinner.

The menu features a good deal of standbys familiar to American French-o-philes: frogs legs Provencal, duck confit, coq au vin, New York steak au poivre, etc. Breaking the mold are daily specials and a few standing entrees like sea bass with fennel-vanilla sauce or ahi tuna with pickled ginger sauce.

Among the starters, you’ll undoubtedly find French onion soup gratinee, which serves its purpose, yet didn’t match up to the tarragon-spiked version I forever fell in love with years ago at the long-defunct Liaison a few blocks away. There’s also lobster bisque, a little salty up front, but with a sweet and creamy finish that kept our spoons active.

Another appetizer, scallops from Canada’s west coast drizzled in “grapefruit sauce,” failed in delivering the anticipated citrus notes, but we awarded it “favorite appetizer” of the evening nonetheless because of the sauce’s ultra buttery and caramel-y essence, not to mention the excellent, sweet quality of the scallops.

We felt indifferent about escargots a la Bourguigonne, served in mini ceramic cups. Although a checklist of main ingredients would prove accurate: parsley, garlic, shallots and butter – their ratios tasted off kilter, with the garlic showing off too much bravado and the butter overused to the point of drowning the dark, plump snails in oily puddles.

So rich were our starters that my companion changed her entrée choice at the last minute, from braised beef ribs to lemon chicken. The decision resulted in unexpected thrills. Lightly coated in flour and herbs, the half bird arrived heavily draped in thinly sliced lemons, infusing the meat with an awakening tartness that traveled right down to the bones. Perfectly cooked braising greens and a couple of fat potato fingers alongside completed the rustic touch.

I ordered beef bourguigon with supposed homemade pasta on the side. But in bowtie form? Rarely do I find kitchens of any ethnic persuasion making this cut of pasta in-house, and I can’t say that it tasted fresh.

The dish’s main ingredient, stew beef, was laced in a super-hearty brown sauce, though lacking the classic red wine and herby aftertaste I normally cherish. I was told afterwards that both ingredients indeed went into the sauce. But they took a back seat, perhaps because they were added only once at the start or used in small measures against a robust beef broth.

As some have complained, the food at Hexagone lacks imagination. In its defense, I would say that it’s not trying to be over-the-top gourmet, despite its formal veneer. What we ate was stamped with an easeful level of confidence – recipes that stick to the basics of intermediate French cooking without tripping up or aspiring to graduate beyond.

Our desserts, too, were predictable but stimulating: airy crepes Suzette dancing to lemon-orange butter; and dense chocolate mousse made in a terrine and encased by spongy cake around the edges. For lightly traveled or marooned San Diegans, the finishing line here will taste as joyfully good as the stomach-filling savories that come before it.