THE BARLEY Bree in Muthill is a restaurant with rooms owned by a French chef and his Scottish wife. This goes some way towards explaining why the whole feel of the place is distinctly Gallic. They have taken over the former Village Inn, an old coaching stop dating back to the early 1700s. It has one of those archways that lead into a rear courtyard. On yet another pitch-black, rainswept evening, it would have made a plausible set for a costume drama featuring a duplicitous Marquise, a valiant stable lad and a cell of plotting Jacobins.

The atmosphere inside recalls French country restaurants, those places where you might still find food from the pages of of Elizabeth David's French Provincial Cooking, as opposed to caterer's convenience food, fresh from the Brakes Frères chiller van. It still has a few of the original flagstones, a wonderful broad-timbered floor, exposed stone walls and nicely distressed wood panelling. The dining room has been cleverly sub-divided by putting a wood burning stove in the middle of a partially open wall. When we walked in it was blissfully warm, throbbing to the easy chatter of patently relaxed diners, and smelling most appetisingly of good food.

Despite the prevailing informality of the place, this is not a casual outfit. Linen tablecloths, smart cutlery and glassware set the scene for an exceptionally well-run restaurant with vigilant service which moves in perfect syncopation with the kitchen. The menu is sensibly short with no more than half-a-dozen options for savoury courses. No sooner do you sit down than someone comes round with a basket of warm, nutty, home-baked granary bread and lovely French lactic butter to spread on it. Restraint is called for if you want to leave any room for the rest.

I'm always attracted to an imaginative, unusual salad, something healthy and vital to ward off the end-of-winter blues, and the razor-thin slices of beetroot and kohlrabi, encircling a tangle of fennel, dressed with pomegranate seeds and an orange and olive oil dressing was a pretty good stab in the right direction. Three bonbon-sized Thai fish cakes were a bit different too. There was nothing at all Thai about them that I could detect - they tasted more like Spanish-style salt cod croquettes - and they came with a wasabi mayonnaise, a combination that worked better than I had anticipated. The only regret here was that you wanted more of them.

My enthusiasm for the main courses was diminished by the fact that, increasingly, I am bored with dishes that revolve around a large piece of meat or fish that has been fried at the last minute. My free-range chicken came with a small cannelloni stuffed with wild mushrooms and tarragon, and a competent gravy, but the flavours hadn't penetrated the bland poultry flesh, so I got bored eating it after a bit.

Likewise, you couldn't object to the fine venison fillet, but yet again there was that feeling of a slightly underseasoned, over-plain bit of protein juxtaposed with an add-on gravy and in this case, some puy lentils flavoured with bacon. It is a neat idea - and très à la mode in France nowadays - to serve food in Le Parfait-type preserving jars. The vegetables presented this way looked great, but in their watery juices, even infused with bay leaf, they were ultimately dull. Yet again there was the feeling of an off-the-peg, one-size-fits-all bolt-on. One well-chosen vegetable, dovetailed to suit each dish, would have enlivened things no end.

My palate, which craved some bolder flavours, was woken up again at dessert. A model dark chocolate tart was distinguished by the texture of its velvety emulsified filling, and its fantastic friable pastry (possibly incorporating cocoa and nuts). A mellow, home-made ice cream with lightly-toasted hazelnuts partnered it beautifully. The tarte Tatin with its generous, properly caramelised apple halves, was equally unimpeachable.

I liked the Barley Bree, and would go back, but this is a menu that cries out for a good daube of beef, a cassoulet, a patient coq au vin perhaps - something that is slow-cooked, more peasanty and not centred around safe portions of prime cuts.