In the year 2007, in the country that is Canada, the word “bistro” has come to mean nothing. It evokes nothing; it represents nothing. Are you a restaurateur who serves pie? You can be the Pie Bistro. Are you a chef who deals exclusively in brined seahorses? Brined Seahorse Bistro it is. Are you an oxygen bar? I designate you the Oxygen Bar Bistro.

Mercifully, Fare Bistro is exactly what it declares itself to be, in the more traditional sense. A restaurant whose food, wine list, serving acumen and decor deliver – for the most part – on its titular promise of the French ideal. (That said, those who are fans of sucking gelatinous blobs of goo out of a cloven hoof will be chagrined to note there are no pig trotters on the menu. You win some, you lose some.)

Chef Brad Clark – formerly of Le Sélect Bistro (another true non-imposter bistro) – has stacked the menu with classic Gallic signifiers: French onion soup, steak frites, salade niçoise, fillet de boeuf, escargots in phyllo. Excellent and unshocking. What is shocking, however, is the masterful way Clark has designed the plating of each dish. Portions are alarmingly generous, artfully composed, done up in lovely bountiful stacks.

A fat, oozing medallion of unpasturized goat cheese ($10.95) – awesomely ripe and smelling of the barn, its perimeter flecked with thyme – reigns over a loose pile of frisée and a cluster of fresh figs, the lot dressed with walnut vinaigrette. Clark's venison terrine ($11.95) comes in a chunk the size of a tape cassette, moist and delicately coated with pistachios, to be smoothed onto crisp little whole wheat grilled toasts and finished with a port-red onion relish.

Best of the small fares is the gravlax ($11.95) – thick bright coral slices of salmon, salty with a note of orange zest, draped over more frisée, this time studded with slick, sweet bits of confit tomato. The escargots are paired with mushrooms ($11.95), sauced in demi-glace and presented in a small package of phyllo pastry. It is a competent execution, but was a bit mediocre, especially after being smacked in the face with the perfection that was the gravlax.

The same careful thought is put into the construction of the mains: lots of components, all playing off one another with clarity and style. Green tiger prawns ($23.95) are bound in a loose, spiky sheath of crunchy katiff, long vermicelli-like strands of phyllo pastry, accompanied with merguez sausage, the meat fragrant with anise – a flavour that's picked up again in the starchy base of the dish, a bed of fennel mash. Clark's pork ravioli ($23.95) is billed on the menu as “feel good fare.” It is: not overly adventurous, but a solid showing nonetheless. Small cuts of roast pork tenderloin cover a floppy quad of house-made ravioli, finished with cremini mushrooms, pale slippery braised leeks, goat cheese and a too-modest drizzle of an exquisite yellow pepper coulis.

Most impressive is the rack of New Zealand lamb ($27.95), roasted by someone who obviously has been dealing in meat for a long time. It is gently enhanced by a basil vinaigrette, and a temperate dousing of Madeira sauce.

Desserts are made in-house. While predictable, the crème brûlée is an imperative, as is a luxurious blackberry cake, its underside slowly soaking up a pool of runny custard.

In an age when everyone is redefining the term (and turning it into a new, lame version of the original), Fare Bistro unreinvents the bistro and serves up its food unredefined. Which is fine by me. And will be fine by you, too. Got it?