Donostia brings Basque elegance to W1. Treat it with respect.

Tapas is a fine concept in the land of its birth.

You're in Madrid.  You stop off in an elegant little bar for a glass of sherry before dinner, and the barman puts a few exquisite little plates in front of you to slake your hunger.  Then, you wander off for a proper meal.

In England, tapas becomes a full meal, and the concept gets dangerous.  Because the English aren't moderate drinkers, and those little plates may not add up the cushion you need to balance those bottles of Ribera del Duero you're knocking back.

"Never let the skinniest woman at the table order the tapas," came the hung-over groan of one of those not in control of last night's menu.

This sums up the problem with Donostia, one of London's newer ... and certainly trendiest ... tapas spots.  (10 Seymour Place, W1H)  The food is absolutely exquisite.  Delicate.  Packed with flavour.  Authentic.  As it should be.  Donostia is another name for the foodie mecca of San Sebastian, from where the chefs at the London spot draw inspiration.  In fact, the head chef was away for a long research weekend there when we arrived.  And that authenticity means the plates are also tiny.  Each just a few mouthfuls.

It's the kind of place you should go for an elegant ladies' lunch, limiting yourself to one or maybe two glasses of light wine.  Or have someone big and burly order triple what you think you need.  We did neither, foolishly overpowering some amazing food with generous quantities of a bold, robust vino tinto.  Despite the next day's fuzzy head, I remember the flavours.

A plate of very special Iberian ham called Jabugo, aged for 3 years, generously marbled with succulent fat, shaved so thinly you could read through it.  Pluma, a slow cooked pork shoulder so tender it  fell apart on your tongue, served with a Romanesco sauce (roasted red peppers, almonds, tomato and garlic) I wanted to eat by the tablespoon.  Together, tastes that makes you weep in pity for all the jews and muslims of the world prevented from tasting the meat of this magical animal.  Cod cheeks called pil-pil.  The north Atlantic in a bite, with cream sauce.  (Pictured here.) The season's new, fresh padron peppers, grilled in olive oil and dusted with sea salt.  A stunning potato and egg tortilla with caramelised onion spilling out of the middle when cut.  Triple-cooked chips, piled artfully like a small Jenga tower.

This is a very different experience from the carb and tomato-sauce heavy tapas bars common across London.  It's worth a special trip.  Just go easy on the wine.