Grace and Flavour: The Ledbury

The Ledbury in Notting Hill is famous in my mind for two things. Firstly for Michelin stars, of which The Ledbury possesses two for its well-heeled fayre: the likes of shoulder of Pyrenean milk-fed lamb, saddle of Sika deer baked in Douglas fir, and lasagne of rabbit with girolle purée. Secondly, it's famed among my girlfriends for being that spot staffed by hot vigilante chefs who, en cas d'emergence (ie, the London riots), were primed to surge from the kitchen, honking of red port reduction and righteous ire, to defend the clientele. I won't even pretend this idea isn't wildly erotic.

Happily, no looting took place during my visit, aside from that of my credit card which snivelled audibly as it dealt with the bill, but I turned a blind eye to that as, put simply, three courses, several amuse-bouches and some fine sommelier steering is one of the more jocund ways to spend a night in London.

Do arrive starving, as the staff - perfect front-of-house shape-shifting entities, one moment your most attentitive chum ever, the next intuitively leaving you alone - will make it their bid to feed you. Or even affably stuff you. We took starters of risotto with squid and cauliflower, and root vegetables baked in salt and herbs. While we waited, pâté de fois gras with plum appeared, plus a freshly baked loaf of rye bread, and then a selection of warm bacon and caramalised onion rolls.

The food was rich, remarkable, faultless. We were sent warm, lightly breaded oysters in their shells with wine-flute servings of dill-scented mousse, then velevety squash soup, before mains of spicy native lobster in brown butter with broccoli stems, and tender lamb on a stack of Jerusalem artichokes. 'They need to stop bringing food now,' I muttered as the dessert menu appeared, before a pre-dessert amuses-bouches of apple ice-cream with sticky spun-sugar wafers. 'Or, you could always just not eat them,' my friend said. Purely for research reasons, I managed to demolish a banana galette with salted caramel and blobs of orgasmic passion fruit and peanut oil parfait.

As I paid, a 1960s Black Magic tin filled with handmade petit fours was left within my reach. But I'm a stronger person than that. I ate my share out of napkin in the car on the way home.

THE LEDBURY
127 Ledbury Road, W11
(020 7792 9090)