Tom Atkins must be the envy of other chefs. His executive post at J. Taylor’s, nestled inside the tucked-away L’Auberge Spa and Resort, affords him a blooming herb garden on the restaurant’s lushly landscaped patio, plus freedom to purchase premium staples from the farms and fields of the Pacific Northwest. Add to the equation over four-million-dollars worth of aesthetic improvements injected into the property, and patrons can start counting themselves as lucky, too.

The confluence of haute cuisine and sizable meal portions is a pleasant contradiction in highbrow environments such as this. My dining companion’s Herb Grilled Pork Tenderloin, for instance, appeared like a whole mini roast sliced intact. Flavored ingeniously with caramelized onion sauce and chipotle sage butter, it was perched on top of a hearty stack of spicy corn griddlecakes made with seven types of peppers.

Even from the “small plates” category, our Forest Mushroom Tarte left us sated rather than teased. The towering creation is made with wild mushrooms and dried, aged Jack shipped down from the north. A dense pie-like crust at the bottom adds sustenance and sweetness as it soaks up the ooze of heavy cream and lemon oil once the mushrooms come tumbling down.

The restaurant’s opulent setting is rubberstamped with the moneyed signature of Destination Hotels & Resorts, which has transformed L’Auberge into a destination inn while providing Atkins with the right tools for keeping J. Taylor’s up to jet-set standards. French doors that open up to a romantic patio achieve airiness and elegance. Lofty A-frame ceilings and cushy square-back settees impart clean lines and flow. But the plain beige walls, which are nicely interrupted in the front dining section by a fireplace and mirrors, cry for variance toward the back of the room.

Both the menu and wine list tap heavily into the culinary endowments of the entire West Coast, including the states of Oregon and Washington, from which Atkins buys his quail, curds and various fruits and veggies. Everything we ate smacked of freshness and enthusiasm, such as the companion’s Warm Baby Spinach Salad, dressed with beet vinaigrette and garnished with a palm-size puck of luscious almond-crusted goat cheese.

My salad, a frilly corsage of tender butter leaf lettuce, came with a drizzling of dressing made from some excellent blue cheese that Atkins ships in from Northern California. And our Roasted Carrot Soup, flavored delicately with curried lavender honey and ginger, glided over our tongues like nutritious candy.

As the companion began gobbling down the infinite slices of pork on his plate, I became suddenly possessive over my Northern Halibut au Gratin. When fish is made this fresh and flaky (and served with chunks of Maine lobster tail of all things!), I’ll bite the hand of anyone who even glances at my plate. Although as a show of goodwill, I shared with him a few of my accompanying asparagus spears, which were also cooked to perfection.

The restaurant’s aforementioned patio garden produces nearly 40 different herbs such as garlic, sorrel, lemon grass and Spanish tarragon — any of which can end up in a variety of sumptuous dishes, that currently include Roasted Free Range Chicken Breast with tomato-rosemary sauce, Spiced Vegetable Cous Cous and Citrus-Caramel Duck Breast. A pre-fixed menu is also available and changes about twice a week.

Atkins’ slate of culinary accolades and awards is lengthy — as is the exclusive California wine list he developed to match his carefully crafted West Coast-Mediterranean style of cooking. And compared to other fine-dining establishments, dinner prices aren’t as shockingly expensive as you might imagine, although a mere $20 from the ATM machine won’t cut it.

Service was professional and consistent throughout our meal, which concluded with a parfait glass filled with Atkins’ famous Butterscotch Pudding topped with rum-laden whipped cream. The dessert clearly upstaged my Warm Fruit Crisp Àla Mode, made with apples and blueberries. For as the companion kept the pudding close to his chest, it left me wishing that I had shared a shred of my halibut with him.