Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons

Viewers of Raymond Blanc's series The Restaurant on the BBC may have been introduced to another, more hawkish side of the master, but nothing alters the fact that, as his Kitchen Secrets show otherwise demonstrates, he's really a sweetie. The rage for achievement that he tries to instill in would-be restaurateurs is, after all, what built Le Manoir into the shining beacon it is, but it's the cuddlier side that's on show to all comers to Great Milton. A trip round the gardens is always a must, no matter how many times you've already been, for its sculptures, well-stocked greenhouses, little bridges and Japanese tea garden (but of course). Here are grown many of the fruits, vegetables and herbs that the kitchen uses, and the flowers that fill this sublime house with brightness. The main dining room is the tented conservatory overlooking the gardens, a joyful place on a sun-splashed lunchtime, but quite magical by candlelight too. Staff are expertly skilled, both impeccably proper and warmly hospitable in their approach. It can easily feel as though everybody else in the room must eat here all the time, such is the mood of relaxed appreciation, but that's the combined effect of Le Manoir's expansive bonhomie and the fact that Blanc himself has become a national treasure. What he and (since 1999) his head chef Gary Jones offer us is inexhaustibly creative, complex but streamlined French cuisine, in exquisite presentations often comprised of many interlocking elements, all in squeaky-clean high resolution. Spring yields the bounty of the garden in the form of a vegetable escabèche and gentle herbs to garnish an hors d'oeuvre of marinated yellowfin tuna. Insistent depth of flavour is conjured out of a ginger biscuit purée which accompanies the glorious foie gras terrine, the spice note echoed in the gingery croûtons that are scattered through the salad. If we have grown used to robust fish treatments elsewhere, Blanc reminds us that kid-gloves are good too, as when a piece of delicately poached lemon sole with gorgeous sea-fresh cockles is garnished with nothing more intrusive than a few spears of wild asparagus. Then it's back into booming, muscular potency for a main course of roasted Brittany quail, partnered exhilaratingly with turnip gratin and pink grapefruit in a sauce of Pineau des Charentes. It all concludes with spectacular desserts such as gariguette strawberries with marshmallow, Sichuan pepper and cream cheese ice cream, or the ingeniously non-cloying chocolate marquise made with Valrhona's 62%-cocoa Brazilian Macaé, offset with hazelnuts and a lemon butterscotch sauce. The cheese chariot is pretty damn good too, and if money really is no object, get stuck into the gargantuan, erudite wine list.