Conrad Wilson seeks out the young pretenders to the crown of French cuisine and discovers la difference.

L'Auberge was Edinburgh's - no, Scotland's - leading French restaurant. Bonars at l'Auberge is its new identity, which is not, to the casual client, so very different from the old. True, it would be hard not to notice that what was once pastel is now vermillion. But that is a purely cosmetic change. As with Ducks at the Marche Noir - a similar mouthful of a name - the new proprietors seem intent on announcing their presence without renouncing the past, or making the place seem a conspicuously less French than it was.

But the Bonars, Douglas and Annabel, must have had faithful clients, too, for their previous restaurant in Gifford. Their task, therefore, is a matter of conflation, of making two sets of customers happy, while awaiting a third set when the new parliament is built nearby. Whether attracting old friends from East Lothian proves easier or harder than retaining the Auberge's regular punters remains to be seen. An adroitly planned menu will obviously help. Adroit cooking will help even more.

Never having eaten at Bonars in Gifford, I cannot say if the move to Edinburgh has been inspirational. What I can certainly say is that the Auberge is not yet as good as it was. The Frenchness of the menu, like the expertise of the cooking and the presence of a token French waiter, has grown more self-conscious. Douglas Bonar clearly knows how to make a dish look attractive. His touch, however, is heavy. The three by no means enormous courses of his set dinner at #24.95 make you feel as if you have eaten five.

In actual fact you have eaten four because a gratuitous sorbet is served between the starter and main course. After a strudel of rather chewy game and wild mushrooms, but before a modern tower block of red snapper, baby squid and asparagus mash, this may be no more than a conventional palate-cleanser. But it is a curiously old-fashioned convention which, whatever the flavour, never seems to serve its purpose.

It is, indeed, the sort of frivolity which most restaurants have wisely dropped. And if, as happened to me, your main course arrives a few seconds after you have finished your sorbet, you realise just how counter-productive such palate-cleansers can be.

But it is not the only touch of its kind that conflicts with the modernity of the rest of the meal. A trellis of spun sugar - or its savoury equivalent - decorates every dish, leaving you wondering whether you are meant to eat it or admire it. Rimsky-Korsakov oozes softly - but insistently - from the speakers.

The English bits of the bilingual menu inform you that what you are about to eat will be served on a ''pillow'' of this, a ''bed'' of that, a ''sea'' of the next thing. This brand of menu-speak in 1998 calls for ruthless pruning. So does the sheer scale of the menu, with page after page of a la carte options to distract you from the sensibly brief set dinner or lunch.

The wine list, though even more enormous, does at least stick to the facts. As in the Auberge's earlier days, this is packed with enticing clarets and burgundies, but is now extended to incorporate more and more rival countries. If you are prepared to pay #20 upwards, the range is wide. However, there are some good bottles below that, and a thoughtful list of half-bottles.

Avoid, however, the espresso coffee, which is drab, does not form part of the set meal, and adds #1.90 to your bill.

La Bagatelle, near the King's Theatre, has long been Edinburgh's, Scotland's, the Auberge's French runner-up: homelier, cheaper, and not quite so intent on winning that elusive Michelin star which, despite its former metropolitan suavity, never quite came within the Auberge's aspirant grasp. The Bagatelle, too, has new proprietors, who seem intent on maintaining the old status quo.

Indeed, with Christophe Pelletier - formerly of l'Etoile and the Creperie Francaise - in the kitchen, it has every opportunity to intensify its Frenchness, without growing grander than it was.

Although the set lunch at #10.50 - game terrine with rose geranium jelly, pork with cognac and mustard sauce, apple tart - is simple bistro grub, the set dinner at almost twice the price is more ambitious and the four-page a la carte menu still more so.

The repertoire is very like the Auberge's, without the arch descriptions. The touch is slightly lighter, the pastry less stodgy.

At #8.95, an introductory feuillete of wild mushrooms and foie gras is no better than it should be. However, among the main dishes, which average about #14, the medley of seafood is genuinely what it claims to be, interestingly compiled, not just another way - so prevalent in Scotland - of using up a surplus of farmed salmon.

Roast monkfish comes in a generous portion, though its bright red sweet pepper sauce rather overpowers it.

As at the Auberge, there are dull, redundant, carrot-and-broccoli-laden side-dishes of vegetables.

The wine list, entirely and comprehensively French, offers plenty of good drinking, but needs more Alsacien bottles, especially as choucroute is on the menu.

Restaurants can score up to 20 points for cooking, 10 for wine, 10 for atmosphere, 10 for service, with bonus points for special features such as good bread, olive oil, cheese, or an exceptional balance between price and quality.

Bonars at l'Auberge, 56-58

St Mary's Street, Edinburgh. (Tel: 0131-556 5888). Set three-course dinner for two with a modest bottle of wine, about #70. Set lunch cheaper. A la carte dearer. Cooking 8/20; Wine 7/10; Atmosphere 6/10; Service 5/10. Bonus 0. Total 26/50.

La Bagatelle, 22a Brougham Place, Edinburgh (Tel: 0131-229 0869). Set three-dinner for two with a modest bottle of wine, about #55. Set lunch cheaper. A la carte dearer. Cooking 9/20; Wine 6/10; Atmosphere 5/10; Service 6/10. Bonus 0. Total 26/50.