Disney's original park still weaves a unique magic (and offers fine dining in a Blue Bayou)

As with Marmite, liver or White Castles, people tend to have a love-it-or-hate-it relationship with Disney and its theme parks. Most Americans are in the love camp, unsurprising since Walt's mix of optimism, capitalism and can-do fairy tales comes right from the middle American dream. (He was a Missouri boy, after all.) Europeans are more divided. There are those who adore the cheerfulness, customer service and fantasy on demand, while a great many others rattle on about a manipulative brand, forced good times and a foolishly simple world view. They'll take their kids, but grind their teeth through every moment, wishing they were at some adult resort very far away from oversized talking animals, cheerful pirates and flying elephants.

Let me state for the record: I'm a Disney Girl.

I bought, hook, line and sinker, the promise of eternal happiness and Princes Charming offered by Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. (I do wish my prince would get a bloody MOVE on, however.) I was blessed to have indulgent parents, including a mother who's as much of a Disneyphile as me, who had broken me in to both Disneyland and World before puberty. I memorised the maps of the amusement parks before we went, planning my ride schedule in advance, and used to sob uncontrollably when finally had to go home for another year. I even thought Mary Poppins was high art (go ahead, Brits, shudder now) and am sure its vision of a tidy London filled with dancing chimney sweeps and singing bird ladies planted seeds of desire to live here.

So there should be no surprise that the Ferrara-Rosso family holiday included an evening at Disneyland. The kids ... both grown up and little ... needed their fix.

For those familiar with Disneyworld, Florida, the original park is a revelation. It's similar in design and has many of the same rides, but it's tiny. Where World sprawls across thousands of acres, Land had to wedge itself into a small patch of the bustling town of Annaheim. Most of the rides, therefore, actually run underground. It's a testament to the original designers that so much stuff could be wrapped into such a small space, and the reality of the construction could be so well hidden. Thus it takes two dives down water slides to get you into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean, which is no more than a New Orleans style house up top but encompasses an entire Caribbean village with port below. Cinderella's castle at World is a behemoth of spiralling towers; at Land it's hardly bigger than a modern executive mansion. It takes stamina and a good 20 minutes of brisk walking to get from Frontierland to Tomorrowland at World, but you can do it in five at Land.

And yet there's a beguiling magic about Land that World never quite manages completely. The architectural detailing and the nuances of the design are so perfect here, it is quite easy to forget you are in an amusement park. There are corners of New Orleans Square more perfect than any view on Bourbon Street, stretches of Tom Sawyer Island that are exactly of the Mississippi, bits of Fantasyland that out-do Bavaria. It is, quite simply, a beautiful place filled with fun stuff to do.

I've always felt this way, but I'm finally getting to experience it with kids. That adds a whole new level of joy to the experience. My nephews (who are, of course, perfect in every way) are eight and two, perfect ages to drink in the wonder. Last year I had the honour of taking the eight year old on his very first roller coaster, the Matterhorn. He loved it so much we rode it twice more. This year, Alex was tall enough to move up to scarier, faster Space Mountain. He expressed more than a bit of concern, as we stood in the queue for over an hour, that he'd be terrified, and maybe get sick. But he was tough, and brave, and was screaming with pleasure from the first wicked bend in the tracks. Later it was time for two-year-old joy as Tom experienced global diversity through the intermediary of It's a Small World. I could practically see the brain cells sparking as his eyes drank in every detail, mouth hanging open with amazement. If we could only bottle that feeling ... that sheer joy of discovery, that delight of the impossible ... it would be better than alcohol. Better than money. Better than sex. And I've always believed that's what Walt Disney was trying to achieve. Helping us to revisit the unadulterated joy of childhood, where every day offers glorious first times. The only thing better than doing it yourself is having a little hand squeezing yours in glee while you do it together.

Never one to completely abandon the adults, however, Disney provides great boutique shopping, amusing entertainment and fine dining. Fine dining at an amusement park? Yes. Honestly.

I would happily eat at the Blue Bayou if you could re-create it outside of the park. That would be impossible, of course, because at least half of the joy of this place is its remarkable atmosphere. You enter through a New Orleans house front of average width, probably leaving noise, heat and bright sunshine behind you. You cross a hall, step through doors and find yourself in a dark, starlit evening, standing at the rear of an ante-bellum mansion at least three times as wide as the building you entered. Festive paper lanterns are strung across a patio set with wrought iron tables and chairs laid with crisp white linen. Massive trees draped with Spanish moss screen the view of the bayou, where boats drift quietly by and an old man sits in a wooden house in stilts, strumming his banjo. This is all fake, of course. But the illusion is remarkable.

The food is New Orleans inspired, all freshly cooked and beautifully presented. Particular highlights were the fishcakes, the seafood gumbo and the jambalaya. In fact, I suspect there aren't a lot of Cajun places outside of Louisiana that are this good. All that was missing was a nice glass of red wine. But, as our apologetic and fantastically attentive waiter reminded us, there's no alcohol in any park with a castle. (Disney World is able to relax the alcohol ban by serving at all parks other than the Magic Kingdom.)

Even with all the sophistication of fine dining, the kids aren't forgotten. The boats on the bayou are good for a lot of entertainment, of course. The kids get pirate hats, which adults sometimes steal. But nothing compares to the house's special desert: a pirate ship made of a giant, sinfully thick chocolate chip brownie, with decks of ice cream, on a fruit sauce sea powered by a billowing spun sugar sail embossed with skull and crossbones. Tom was a very happy camper, as was I when I stole a bite.

It might be as unsophisticated as admitting I love Disney, but if any posh restaurant in London wants to make my pudding into a pirate ship under full sail ... I might just love them for it. It will certainly fill me with the wonder of a first time.