Bandol is very much alive and well in Portland, Maine. That it manages to endure the enigma of conventional taste is testimony that Portland has evolved to support such aspirations. And what are those aspirations exactly? Nothing less than beautifully conceived and elegantly presented French fare in a setting that is as spare as heightened minimalism nestled along the quaintness of Upper Exchange Street.

Most local critics have skidded past the intricacies of Bandol chef/proprietor Erik Desjarlais’s efforts because they are essentially not easy to decipher. It’s hard to know exactly how he prepares such graceful minutiae as his cassoulet or braised lamb’s tongue or a silken puree awash with white truffles.

Sometimes I wish I could go there for a fabulous single dish, or even a course or two rather than the whole gilded event.

But that would defeat the purpose of dining at Bandol. Desjarlais’s mantra is to serve opulent fare in the guise of simplicity. Often compared to Hugo’s, the two establishments are defined by fundamentals only. Hugo’s Rob Evans interprets the American genre in a brilliant way whereas Desjarlais is transporting the classics of French cuisine to incredible highs.

Look at the difference between each of these two first courses. At Hugo’s recently I had a scallop ceviche squired next to exquisite parcels of grapefruit. It’s an unlikely combination, at first bite. Citrus is the underlying ingredient in ceviche, and lemon or lime is the usual choice. How he managed to create it with bitter tangs of grapefruit transformed to assert mere thimbles of citrus flavor was magical indeed. Ultimately the dish was a sublime invention.

At Bandol I sampled a first course of white bean puree partnered with white truffles. This was not invention but rather the culmination of a glorious soup. The punch of taste didn’t abate. How exactly were those beans .prepared to taste so fine? What kind of stock enriched the base that produced such silken texture and extraordinary flavor? The answer remains in the hands of the chef as he performs in his theatre of skill. It's so finely played that you realize you’re dining in the giddy wonderland of haute cuisine.

Perhaps there are a few establishments in Boston that ride the same plane. No. 9 Park comes to mind. In New York you might think that such establishments are a dime a dozen, which isn’t the case. Witness the new Time Warner complex that houses a kingdom of gastronomic temples. The current stars are Café Gray and Per Se. I think Bandol could join such luminaries easily.

Here we are, though, in the finite grid of Portland, Maine, graced by the royal chambers of master chef Erik Desjarlais. Is he just an illusion? No, he’s very real. Yet I’m always fearful that he won’t be here one day, and I’ll pass by to see a sign on the door that says “have moved to greener pastures.”

Bandol is not the kind of place where you just drop in. It doesn’t mean you can’t, but it’s serious food for which one has to be in the mood. Certainly the fried fish crowd will go elsewhere. Or hail and hearty types might amble down the street.

Bandol’s pleasures do not come cheaply either. It’s a definite decision one makes to dine here. And what a way to go full throttle. Poached turbot in beurre blanc, rabbit with onion fennel confit, foie gras paired with a shimmering adjunct of pears in Sauternes—this is serious food.

The five-course dinner for $74 is worth every dollar. Though when you add all the extras like wine and supplements to the prixe fixe, the tab can easily surpass $100 per person.

You start with a first course such as the foie gras, then a fish course, then meat or fowl; finally a cheese course and dessert.

Along the way a bejeweled oyster comes to the table on a bed of rock salt, with sprinkles of Osetra, a welcoming morsel that the chef sends out.

Portions are discreet. Each dish is packed with taste and style without making you feel full and heavy. If there’s any sense of overkill it’s from dining on such exquisite food. At times I’ve felt as though I had to catch up, to understand what it was I just had.

The best part is a delicious aftertaste--the lingering flame of flavors, scents and pleasures still aglow long after the meal is over.

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