Corkage fees are designed to either encourage patrons to leave their bottles at home and choose one on offer at the restaurant, or in cases where the establishment doesn’t serve its own wine, to skip the alcohol completely. Finding a no-corkage restaurant is a rarity, and finding one that actually advertises its policy is nearly impossible, which is why Tartine deserves a little attention.

Actually, I’m wary of giving it too much attention, as the interior holds fewer than a dozen small tables, plus a couple of two-tops outside on the patio. West Village locals seem to know about this place and fill it to bursting just about every night. I can’t recall a time when I’ve seen Tartine empty, and at most, I’ve only ever seen two or three vacant tables inside. So if you do decide to go, be prepared for a bit of a wait when you do.

The no-corkage policy is clearly part of the charm of the place; almost every party we saw on a visit last week had a bottle or two in hand, and the sole waiter for the evening carried a corkscrew around on his belt. Yes, a restaurant that doesn’t even serve wine has a waiter that totes a well-used corkscrew on his person at all times. That’s proof that you shouldn’t be shy about bringing your own. Everyone does at Tartine. We certainly did, and planned our meal around a 1998 Graves that we’d been saving for a French meal. Neither of us felt much like cooking, so we met up on West 11th Street and took the only available table– outside. I think at this point in the year, we are both in real denial about how much longer the weather is going to hold, so we’re trying to eat al fresco as much as we can.

Figs seemed a good choice for a last-hurrah of an outdoor meal, so I ordered the salad of goat cheese, mixed greens, and roasted figs ($8.75). I wish there had been more figs on the plate– only 4 small ones sat around the perimeter of the dish. Perhaps that’s enough to allow this dish to be called a ‘fig salad,’ but it did seem a little stingy. The fruits were also a little overcooked– even crispy– and when figs are overcooked, their skins transform into wrinkly rounds of leather. Overall, the salad was still a success, but it played dangerously close to the edge of disaster.

The Salad Basquaise ($9.25) that HungryMan chose was quite a bit better, featuring rolls of roasted eggplant, red pepper, and goat cheese. I loved that this appetizer was served on and around leaves of basil and drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar– it gave the dish a very Italian flavor, even though it was supposed to be from the Southwest of France. There was perhaps a bit too much food on the plate for an appetizer. The portion could be halved (and the price as well) without losing anything.

HungryMan’s entree was also a success– his Bouchée a La Reine was a puff-pastry treasure chest that housed slices of chicken, mushrooms, and a very subtle sage-infused white béarnaise sauce. Imagine a chicken pot pie stretched vertically and made with fresh, flaky pastry, and you’ve got the essence of the Bouchée. Although it was well-prepared, this is a heavy dish, and really should be eaten alone– with no appetizer beforehand. I like to think of this as the kind of thing a person’s ancient French grandmother would serve after watching her charges frolic in Alpine snow drifts. Given that, maybe this was not the best thing for a warm October evening in Manhattan, but it was pretty tasty nonetheless.

I opted for the Pissaladiere ($10.25), a Provencal tomato tart that bears no small resemblance to a pizza. It’s a tomato and cheese tart, sprinkled with herbes de Provence and draped with several long slices of anchovy. For some reason, this is listed alongside the appetizers, but the pissaladiere is absolutely no appetizer– it is a hefty portion of food that comes with a salad. It was also my favorite dish of the night, very deftly matching sweet roasted tomatoes with the saltiness of the preserved anchovies and goat cheese. I had no trouble eating all of my entrée, mainly because my fig salad was neither large nor filling, but be aware that this is not a tiny serving.

Tartine is known for its homemade, on-premises baking, so HungryMan and I both felt as if we had to sample the desserts. We chose the Dacquoise ($4.25), a rich chocolate and meringue cake covered in a toasted crunchy crumble of butter and nuts. The slice we were given was plenty for us to share, especially after the rest of the meal and the bottle of wine we brought along with us. My impression of the dacquoise was that, while it was undoubtedly pretty great, I would have enjoyed it more on its own as a snack or as a sweet breakfast, and not as much as a capstone to a meal.

The bill was small in comparison to what we would have spent at many other French restaurants in the city, and certainly at French restaurants in the West Village. Tartine is still not cheap, but it is close, and it gives diners a chance to eat a meal while drinking a bottle of wine that they really and truly want to be drinking– not something a wine buyer or sommelier thinks they might enjoy. Of course, in a perfect world, we’d cook up something at home that matches our taste in food as precisely as our taste in wine, but when that isn’t possible, Tartine offers the next best thing.

Tartine, 253 W. 11th Street (at W. 4th Street), 212-229-2611