A pub gastronomique: Hopfields has plenty of appeal, from the bar to the kitchen

"Gastropub."

It's become a buzzword in the culinary world over the past several years. While the moniker has the trendy cachet that comes with high-low hybridization, the concept is relatively basic: a place that serves quality food alongside good beer.

Hopfields owners and first-time restaurateurs Bay and Lindsay Anthon never had aspirations of joining any "foodie" movement when they set out to create their restaurant. They simply wanted to open a casual neighborhood pub that served home-style French food.

Despite their amateur status, the Anthons entered the restaurant business with a collection of age-old recipes that didn't come from culinary school or time spent in glamorous kitchens across the country.

Lindsay Anthon's mother, Connie Zuloaga, was born in Paris to a French mother and native Texan father and, though she moved across the Atlantic frequently, spent many summers in her native France. There she learned to cook from her French grandmother and Greek grandfather using recipes passed down through generations.

Zuloaga still has a copy of her family's recipe book that dates to the 1700s. The recipes, enhanced and embellished over the years, serve as the foundation for the menu at the Anthons' restaurant on Guadalupe Street. Though she eschews formal titles, Zuloaga acts as the "kitchen mom" at Hopfields, where former Contigo employee Louis Sheppard serves as chef de cuisine.

The food is only half the story at the quaint French-inspired restaurant. A massive copper tap wall sits prominently at the end of the L-shaped bar and features almost 50 quality beers curated by Bay Anthon. His athletic physique belies the robust knowledge of a staunch beer lover. Anthon credits the beer champions at Austin's Whip In for exposing him to the diverse world of beer about 15 years ago.

While Hopfields may not have the square footage of Austin institutions such as the Gingerman or the Draught House, its selection can stand tap-to-tap with any in town. You could bar hop all day and likely not find another place in town offering Avery Mephistopheles ($8 for a six-ounce pour), Brooklyn Monster Barleywine ($4.50 for 12 ounces), 12% Dogfish Head Palo Santo ($11 for 12 ounces), Hops & Grains ALTeration ($4.50 for a pint) and Austin Beerworks Sputnik ($6 for a pint of the Cuvée coffee-spiked oatmeal stout) in one place.

You won't find Budweiser, Peroni or Stella Artois at Hopfields. In fact the most un-exotic beer I enjoyed was the local 512 Pale, wisely recommended one day at lunch by Bay Anthon. The crisp beer functioned as a restrained backdrop for the kick and complexity of the merguez frites sandwich ($8), a spicy lamb sausage tucked inside a baguette from neighbors Texas French Bread and served with a small glass jar of rich aioli used to paint beautiful hand-cut fries that are buffed, not browned, and flecked with herbs.

The lamb sandwich should come with two sausages instead of the meagerly presented one, but the traditional jambon beurre sandwich ($7) overflowed with fresh, carnation-pink pork made succulent by the ring of fat that circumscribed the ham on its journey over from Europe. The baguette is slathered with creamy butter and stuffed with rectangles of camembert cheese ($1 extra), but gerkins add crunch and tang to keep the dairy orgy from becoming too overwhelming and homogenous. Simplicity can be a beautiful thing, and it makes this sandwich one of the best in town.

The coarse-ground meat of the French-influenced Pascal Burger ($10) has just enough fat to keep the burger moist but never threatens to sog a bun protected by thick chunks of salty rind-on camembert. Caramelized onions, bold brown mustard and the spirited Napoleonic gerkins give a smoky sweetness, sharpness and vinegar tingle to this take on a deluxe backyard burger that makes my Top 10 burger list.

This beer-nerd's paradise doesn't sell liquor, but they make an intriguing selection of wine and vermouth-based cocktails, such as the 75 Years in Provence ($7). Served in a champagne flute, the citrusy and floral cocktail tasted like a romp through a French meadow in spring and matched the refreshing brightness of the Niçoise salad ($9). Waves of rippled butter lettuce cradled firm haricots verts and fork-tender fingerling potatoes in the tangy French classic that is topped with three slabs of ruby-red tuna, oily sardines and hard-cooked eggs bedeviled with a creamy chartreuse center.