After kissing a few toads, a pocket-square of swanky real estate at Bal Harbour Shops has finally found its prince in La Goulue, a quintessential French bistro by way of Madison Avenue.

Those unfamiliar with its clubby New York counterpart and the ways of French vowels should know, first off, that it is pronounced la goo-loo, ''the glutton'' (a reference to the voluptuous can-can dancer immortalized by Toulouse-Lautrec), and secondly, that the chef and co-owner is Gascon-born Christian Delouvrier, who forged a name for himself at New York's Maurice at the Parker Meridien, Lespinasse and Alain Ducasse at The Essex House.

With its blond wood walls, bistro mirrors, mosaic flooring, cozy booths, butcher-paper-covered tables and cobblestone brick patio, La Goulue looks as authentic as its classic fare. A well-manicured crowd has been mobbing the place since it opened in mid October across the lushly landscaped sidewalk from longtime success Carpaccio.

The staff is more Miami than Montmartre, but works the tightly packed tables nimbly in Spanish, Portuguese, French and English. On three visits, the service was superior to most in South Florida, with quick, attentive waiters happy to split entrees for the many children (there is no kids' menu) and even dispense crayons.

The biggest hurdle so far is the exceedingly slow kitchen. On each visit we waited at least 20 minutes and up to 35 between appetizers and entrees.

The pricing, however, is a pleasant surprise for one of the country's swankiest ZIP codes. Entrees run from $17 for a deliciously tender roasted chicken quarter over delicately sauced bow-tie pasta with bits of ham and peas to just $35 for a broiled lobster over straw potatoes.

There are a decent number of excellent California labels on the 100-bottle wine list, but it's mainly French, from a simple, fruity, $24 Ctes du Rhone to a smattering of rare Bordeaux vintages dating to 1949. The dozen by-the-glass options ($6-$17) include a bright, strawberry-tinged rosé from Provence that pairs fantastically with the asparagus-topped salmon served in a smooth, citrusy mousseline sauce swirled with a puree of fresh peas.

Other recommendable classics include a platter of sputtering hot escargot topped with puff pastry hats. They could have used a hint more garlic and salt, but their snappy texture is divine. The timeless French onion soup with a rich, beefy broth and a slick of Comte melted over a simple toast hits the spot on a cool evening.

The tarte aux oignons with a thin, blistered crust and crispy bits of bacon, caramelized onion slivers and melty Gruyre could be breakfast lunch and dinner for me.

Just add any of the oh-so-French salads. Best are the addictive frisee topped with lardons and a runny poached egg and the simple heart of lettuce with a quintessential French vinaigrette. The endive and beet salad, on the other hand, is an ungainly mess of over-cooked beets shot through with bloodied spears of endive.

Moules are competent, though I prefer baby Mediterranean mussels to these flabby ones. The luscious mustard and saffron sauce is the perfect accompaniment with the crispy fries.

Duck a l'orange may appeal to your sense of nostalgia, but I don't recommend it; the skin was flabby and the meat dry.

Beef dishes are consistently good, including the traditional, raw steak tartare and the onglet, a juicy, pan-seared hangar steak with sweetly sauteed baby shallots.

Speaking of sweet, there is nothing on the dessert menu I didn't love, from the jaunty chocolate mousse with almond anglaise to the indulgent coffee and cream pot de crme, the homemade sorbet with a shout of bright orange in every bite, the slick-as-glass chocolate tart with fresh vanilla ice cream and the compact tower of raspberry napolean with fresh lime cream. Just call me la goulue.