Brasserie Blanc, Leeds.

The waiter exhibited admirable Anglo-Saxon sang froid. "It's happened before," he said, as though we'd knocked over a glass. The reassurance went well with the relaxed mood encouraged by the surroundings.

On a chilly midweek evening in the middle of Leeds, city-centre restaurants tend to be forlorn places, with staff standing around waiting to pounce on anyone coming through the door. Hungry cats at the mouse hole come to mind. Even before bankers went bonkers and brought everything crashing down, many restaurants were struggling to sparkle midweek. Since that calamity, they've acquired a kind of strung-out look; a better-times-are-around-the-corner look; a keep-it-together-until-then look.

But not so Brasserie Blanc. Right here beside the River Aire with a bitter wind ruffling its uninviting surface and a palpable sense of gloom enveloping the cityscape, at the Brasserie there's no need of false optimism or faked bonhomie; whatever's going on here, it's working well.

As the evening went on, a decent proportion of the tables were in use, and what constitutes a "decent proportion" at the Brasserie would fill an ordinary-sized restaurant. This place is big, and momentarily forgetting that it used to be a restaurant called Leodis, I was struck by its boldness. Raymond Blanc had a lot of confidence in taking on such a large piece of a Victorian mill.

Confidence in what? His reputation as a celebrity chef to bring in the crowds? Or his ability to set a standard which would hold up long-term and thus win a sustained reputation?

Both, perhaps. Certainly he milks his celebrity status, the walls liberally sprinkled with photos in every one of which he is to be seen practising his craft. But its is rather more than two years since he opened the Brasserie and are the standards kept up when Raymond is not in the kitchen? He comes by once a month to check that the "Blanc" name

is deserved. The meal we had suggests they are.

But first things first. When the French do "simplicity" there's something homely rather than Scandinavian-austere about it, and the dining area – despite its size – feels like a place to relax in. A distinctive brick ceiling, vaulted as though in a huge storage cellar, does help, as does the lighting inherited from Leodis. But there's something else. A touch, perhaps, of French genius?

Simply being indoors made us feel cosy, even before the menu caught fire.

It's different from what we expected in a number of respects. The snails were, nevertheless, plump and soft and their taste owed everything to the quantities of parsley they'd been cooked with. We had expected garlic instead, but the parsley was good. We had expected shells and those neat little two-pronged tools for winkling the morsels out. Instead they were served, de-shelled, with a spoon in a ceramic dish.

The souffl with walnuts and Stinking Bishop cheese had a crusty exterior and runny insides, and came with crunchy endive and thinly sliced pear, formed into a fan shape. The combination of the three elements was exquisite. The serving looked pretty, too.

Raymond's smoked River Avon trout and salmon fishcake came on a bed of leeks in a creamy sauce and was served in what might have passed as a very-large soup dish – white, with the single word "Blanc" in big bold lettering on it, lest we forget.

Presented thus, you wouldn't expect to be disappointed by that fish cake. The size of an old-English muffin, it lived up to the "Blanc" name, as did the leeks in their superbly-balanced sauce.

In another soup platter was the beef Stroganof with pilaf rice; the helping looked meagre, but wasn't, that bowl having a capacity out of which a magician might have pulled rabbits, tables and chairs.

He had certainly sprinkled some magic into the sauce; it had that

pleasing effect of causing a long "Mmmmm" sound after each sampling of it, but the strips of beef had somehow missed out. They were chewy, and only the occasional few delivered a good meaty taste. A bit disappointing, but more than made up for by Maman Blanc's miscellany of salads.

Here is an inspired assembly of tit-bits, each a delight, and including freshly-prepared rpe celeriac and rpe carrots, thin slices of apple marinated with dill, sweet-pickled baby vegetables – these a triumph of the pickler's art – and lettuce leaves made attractive with alternating stripes of mayonnaise and balsamic vinegar.

The meal was rounded off by a steamed chocolate pudding in which the somewhat dry sponge was rescued by its coating and sumptuous sauce.

We had a bottle of the Pays d'Oc house white (14.95) – undistinguished but adequate – and the bill for two came to a little over 70.

Professional yet relaxed, Brasserie Blanc continues to earn its place in the top rank of restaurants to be found in and around Leeds.

Brasserie Blanc is at Victoria Mill, Sovereign Street, LS1 4BJ. Tel: 0113 220 6060. It is open from noon to 2.45pm and from 5.30pm to 10.30pm during the week, and all day Saturdays and Sundays.