Ruby wedding anniversary gift

Restaurant as theatre: Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons

MY MOTHER sounded bewildered. `This is not a stag night,' she said. `It's our ruby wedding anniversary.' But the receptionist at Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons was firm. `We don't like rowdy groups. And certainly not children,' he said. `The children are all in their thirties and very well behaved,' my mother explained. `We can give you two tables of five, but not next to each other,' the man said grudgingly. `No speeches or cakes, you must order from the set menu and arrive by midday for lunch.'

My mother rang me, distraught. She had set her heart on going to the Quat' Saisons which sounds like a pizza topping but is in fact a shrine to the gastronomic arts. `Why are these restaurants so snooty?' she asked. Complain to the manager, I suggested. The whole point about an astronomically expensive restaurant is that it should make you feel pampered, from the moment you book the table until long after you have paid the bill. So my father rang the manager. He was charming. `I'm so sorry, sir, we hadn't realised it was your fortieth wedding anniversary. We thought you said ruddy,' he claimed.

The day before our visit, the grandchildren organised a ruby tea. Pink egg sandwiches, a scarlet cake and red jellies were replaced by smoked salmon and claret as the evening wore on. By the time we drove through the electronic gates to Le Manoir we were wondering how we could eat anything else.

Our procession of ancient Volvos, Porsches and Austin Princesses crunched up the gravel driveway, past the black limousines and the helipad. We parked outside a honey-stoned Cotswold house, built by a Frenchman in the 15th century.

The house now belongs to another Frenchman, Raymond Blanc, who arrived in Britain unable to speak any English and took a job as a waiter. One day the chef fell ill and he took over the cooking. In 1984, in an attempt to bring Gallic civilisation to his adopted home, he gave the British Le Manoir, previously known as Great Milton Manor, which dripped foie gras over English chintz and brought pasta edged with truffles to Oxfordshire.

Of course, he couldn't expect the Ribenaand Marmite-soldier-loving British public to swallow pig's trotters immediately. So he adapted his cooking to the English palate. Instead of the self-referential, sophisticated, spatula-sauced Parisian cooking, he developed simple dishes whose careful preparation enhanced and emphasised their natural flavours.

The risk paid off. His house is always full. We were greeted by staff so numerous that they came not singly, but in clusters. A man scanned his clipboard for our names as we waited outside the front door. `Please come in,' he finally smiled. We felt as though we had been squeezed on to the last flight out of the Home Counties.

Le Manoir is a Frenchman's dream of an English country house. There are no dog hairs on the sofas, no grimy Agas or wellies; just acres of dead-salmon pink, cookingapple green and Indian yellow, culled from the National Trust paint charts. The gardens are equally Gallic. At first you are deceived by the clematis and wistaria. But what other English house has pristine white chairs and umbrellas scattered over cobbles?

The waiter was taken aback by our order of two Coca-Colas and eight mineral waters. After the ruby tea, we'd decided to pace ourselves, but the hors d'oeuvres were irresistible. Most British, we are told, don't have the time to stuff a mushroom, but the staff at Le Manoir have the patience to sculpt minuscule crab cakes and numerous crenellated, aspic-fringed delicacies.

A procession of waiters ushered us to a single, long table in the conservatory, eased us into our chairs and looked ready to spoon the food into our mouths if necessary. Abandoning our remaining selfrestraint, we ordered the menu gourmand - seven courses, unadulterated by any faint-hearted sorbets.

The staff couldn't have been more attentive. One waiter, who looked like a Gascon Bugsy Malone, tried to explain each course as it arrived, while we chattered on oblivious. Salted butter was provided, lemon juice taken out. We asked for an extra cheese course and 220 fromages arrived on an articulated lorry.

The first success was a pan-fried red mullet with an orange and lime dressing. Red mullet has an inflated reputation. If we found it in fish fingers we'd complain. Gordon Ramsay's most indifferent dish is a red mullet with aubergine caviar. But Le Manoir had marinated it properly and it had a delicious oaky flavour.

The asparagus spears and morels arrived next in a light broth. This is the perfect time of year for both ingredients and the asparagus tasted exquisite, straight from the garden. Next, came another fish, halibut, which looked slightly grey round the edges, but tasted very clean on a clear lemon sabayon sauce.

We ate on and on. The roasted Anjou squab with pan-fried foie gras played a pivotal role. It was both tender and gamy and robust enough to force us to slow down.

After a pause it was time for the predessert. Two puddings seemed excessive, and the first - a strawberry cassoulet with milk sorbet - was actually strawberries and cream and could have been saved for tea. The second was a triumph. Nine perfect pale-green pistachio souffl*s swayed in front of us, crisp on top, gooey round the edge and fluffy in the middle, with a bitter cocoa sauce and a few roasted pistachios for texture. My mother's souffle arrived in isolated splendour with a restrained white card piped in blue icing saying `Happy Anniversary'.

Of course we ate far more than the refugees stranded back in the Home Counties. But we didn't retire to the sofas, groaning. In fact, we managed to finish off the petits fours (rum babas and florentines) and were still nibbling at 4 p.m. The skill was not so much in the spun-sugar sassiness of the cooking, but in the delicate balance of the dishes. It was a perfectly concocted meal. But the Manoir's real gift is making you feel how lucky you are to have been allowed in at all.

Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, Church Road, Great Milton, Oxford, 0X44 7PD, tel: 01844 278881. 2 for the set lunch, 72 for the Menu Gourmand.