It's not just food. It's art, magic and civilisation. The Ledbury lives up to its reputation.

Even people who don't follow the ins and outs of the world's great restaurants may know The Ledbury.  At the height of the London riots in August 2011, a band of hoodie-clad, bat-wielding teenagers smashed into this, one of the world's most famous ... and accordingly expensive ... restaurants.  They demanded wallets and jewellery off the diners.  The kitchen staff famously defended their customers with rolling pins and carving knives, getting everyone into the wine cellars to wait in safety while things calmed down.

Already a gastronomic hot spot, The Ledbury's reputation has only grown since that crazy night, as the food crafted by those heroic chefs not only earns two Michelin stars, but the accolade of 13th best restaurant in the world.  Only Heston Blumenthal's Dinner flies the flag any higher for Britain on the list.  (And only one other British restaurant, Blumenthal's Fat Duck, makes the top 50.)  So The Ledbury is very special indeed.

It's hard to put your finger on what differentiates one restaurant from another when you get into the Michelin two and three star category.  You can count on inventive interpretations of classic dishes, exquisitely prepared, served with flare.  Indeed, each bite was a wonder, and each course stood memorably on its own, even though there were nine of them.  Yes, nine.  With the matching wine flight.  Indulgence on a profligate level.  Perfectly acceptable, we thought, to celebrate the visit of our friend Lisa's mother to London this past week.  Eileen Traeger radiates the vibrant energy and cheerful dynamism of a woman a third of her age, and if any of that could rub off on us, it would be a magical evening indeed.

We could only survive nine courses, of course, because each one was tiny.  Perhaps four bites.  This, more than most tasting menus I've had, lived up to the name.  An exploration of a broad variety of seasonal wonder, doled out in little tastes.  Variety without overwhelming.  And it's a menu that deserves full description.

We started with marinated langoustine with creme fraiche, frozen citrus and herbs.  It was the frozen element that surprised here, elevating a classic pairing into something really interesting.  Washed down with champagne, of course.  Next came one of the most memorable courses, beetroot baked in clay with smoked eel and dried olives.  The clay baking had retained all the moisture and the flavour of the vegetable.   The eel, present as both a strip of smoked meat and flavouring in the milky sauce, was an unexpected pairing success.  Equally unexpected was a delicious Tuscan rosé to drink with it.  I am usually not a fan, feeling that too many of these pink wines are unexceptional bi-products churned out to grab the summer party market; neither a good white or a memorable light red.  This 2012 rosato from Rocca di Montegrossi, however, was a worthy stand out.

Next came flame grilled mackerel with pickled cucumber, celtic mustard and shiso.  I had to look up the last ingredient when we got home.  It's a type of Asian mint, and I can't say I picked up either its flavour, or the mustard, nor any idea what made the mustard celtic.  I can tell you, however, that the mackerel was surprisingly delicate, avoiding the oily, fishy kick it sometimes delivers, and the tiny cylinder of mackerel pate wrapped in pickled cucumber was both delicious, and a testament to the dexterity of the chef who produced the miniature wonder.  A bright and citrusy gruner veltliner complemented this one.  On to what the table agreed was the disappointment of the meal when it came to the menu description vs. the reality.  Poached cepes with 2-year-old comté, crispy kale and a broth of grilled onions.  Delicious, but no matter how special those mushrooms or their preparation, the poaching had them tasting a lot like the ones that come out of a tin.  The kale was the star of the course; or maybe the South African chenin blanc.

Another fish course had us thankful that we all (a) like seafood and (b) like the white wines that inevitably pair with them.  Cornish turbot.  Ancient Roman writers tell us turbot was amongst the most prized delicacies in that gourmet culture.  I'd had some perfectly good turbot but had never grasped the magic 'til this meal.  This was some of the best fish I've ever had.  Firm, moist, delicate yet full of flavour.  Served with truffle puree and cockles alongside a grilled leek.  Stunning.  With a New Zealand chardonnay to add to the magic.

On to the best dish of the meal.  The dish that I may remember for the rest of my life.  The dish that makes me weep for 14 million jews and 1.6 billion muslims who will never be able to taste perfection.  Jowl of pork with carrots, walnuts and chanterelles.  If you like pork, think back to the best bit of it you've ever had.  Now concentrate the flavours by 10.  Then imagine the meat is so tender it dissolves in your mouth like spun sugar.  Add the accompaniments to bring sweetness, earthiness and crunch, extending and rounding the essence of that noble pig.  It was a dish so beautiful it left us all speechless.  Chewing thoughtfully, gazing at each other in wide-eyed shock.    I can hardly remember the characteristics of the wine (2009 Lagren, Berger Gei, Ignaz Niedrist, Alto Adige, Italy) except to tell you that it was a beautiful match.  Given that it stood beside the best pork dish I've ever eaten, it must have been deeply worthy.

Australian chef Brett Graham works magic at The Ledbury

The roast breast of pigeon with quince, red vegetables and leaves that followed was good, but I was still thinking about the pig. The bird was good, but similar to others I'd had elsewhere.  The standout in this course was the wine.  2010 Les Terrasses, Velles Vinyes, Alvaro Palacios, Priorat, Spain.  The kind of big, bold, fruity, knock-you-upside-the-head-with-flavour red my husband calls an "Ellen wine".

Fact is, even with the tiny plates we were getting very full by this point.  And while the food was coming in tastes, the wines were pouring in  full-glass gluggs.  We were reaching our limits.  

The pre-desert was a necessary citric palate cleanser with a bit of creaminess ... I'm afraid it's not described on the take home menu and that's all I can remember.  It set us up for the climax, one calculated to please the mostly female table:  Banana and chocolate malt tartlet.  Delicate tart crust with that malty undertone, filled with the darkest of dark chocolates, which might have been too much if not balanced by the caramel sweetness of the bananas.  And the raisin sweetness of the Australian Pedro Ximenez in the dessert wine glass.

A magnificent and hugely memorable meal, with multiple stand-out courses.  Extract the beets, turbot, pork and chocolate tart and you'd have pretty much the perfect meal.  The rest was just layering nuance on top of perfection.

Add to all of this one of the most beautiful dining rooms I can remember.  All done in variations of black and white, with sumptuous black velvet curtains draping massive arched windows, and different black-and-white patterned fabrics making each upholstered seat back different.  The china is all clearly designed for the decor, with unusually shaped, obviously hand-made plates in black, grey or white, with interesting glazes and speckles.  It all added to the visual impact of food as art.

I like to think, had I been confronted by criminals storming the place, I would have been brave enough to fight back.  Inspired by the fact that The Ledbury represents food as an apogee of Western Culture, worth fighting to preserve.  By about course seven, however, I fear I'd slipped into such soporific ecstasy I doubt I would have been capable of much movement if confronted by a revolutionary.