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Bon App

Some people travel for sun and surf, others for churches and historic monuments, more for risk and adventure. oe, I’m in it for the food.

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Nearly every waking moment when I’m on holiday is spent thinking about what I will eat next and where I will eat it. The churches and beaches are just the bits in between.A meal, in my world, is a destination in itself and my Shangri-La for some years now has been The French Laundry in California’s Napa Valley.

I first heard of this foodies’ earthly paradise when I was researching a novel about a restaurant critic: its name kept cropping up, along with that of owner/chef Thomas Keller, as one of the best, if not the best restaurants in the US.

Somehow I knew that one day the planets would align and I would get to make that one-hour drive from San Francisco to sit at Thomas Keller’s table.I didn’t know it would take seven years, but on 15 April 2010, I finally made it.

And it was worth the wait.

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We arrived in the pretty town of Yountville in the Napa grape belt as the sun was setting over the vines and would have driven past the low-key building (at one stage indeed a French steam laundry) were it not for the awe-inspiring herb and vegetable garden across the road.

oaître d’ Lawrence Nadeau greeted us with such warmth and affection, any fear I had that the experience might be too snooty vanished. Indeed, while some world-class restaurants act like you’re lucky to be allowed in the door, Lawrence and his team act like they are lucky to have you which, trust me, makes a world of difference.

our first bite from the chef’s tasting menu (no à la carte here) was a little cornetto of Scottish salmon served on its own stand with crème fraîche. It was an ice cream and a day at the beach all packaged in one tiny exquisite parcel perfected (isn’t everything) by the addition of a sip of champagne.

Like the first sunny day of the year, this tiny trumpet set the pace for the most perfect of summers.It was followed by a romaine lettuce soup poured onto tiered plates with sour cherry and black truffle. Wow!

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And then came the signature “oysters and pearls”, which is a sabayon of pearl tapioca with oysters and white caviar, after which we devoured the Santa Barbara sea urchin with chickpeas and rocket.

The timing of each course was exquisite: we never waited and we were never rushed. Waiting staff moved like secret service agents around the subtle interior and although we were in an alcove with two other tables, my champion eavesdropping skills were challenged such was the delicacy of the acoustics.

No music played, the temperature was just right.Course number five was possibly my favourite: hen egg custard, which was two different sorts of savoury custard, black truffle and white, served in egg shells. Folks, if there is anything you are less likely to make yourself at home, surely this is it. My jaw dropped and the Ginger had to tell me to pick it up again.

The hand-cut tagliatelle course was followed by a grilled fillet of a fish called cobia, which I hadn’t had before, but which I wanted to die eating it was so glorious, but that was before the butter-poached lobster tail. “oh, my!” is all I wrote in my diary about that.

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The Ginger, on the other hand, went pale and his eyes fluttered as he lingered over his Idaho beef with spinach and then I almost had to kneel down and say a prayer over my eggplant with harissa and pine nuts. This dish, like many of them, was small but so perfectly formed and cooked that I couldn’t quite believe my own taste buds.

You will think us terrible gluttons but let me tell you this – we had 13 courses and yet by the time I had polished off my cappuccino semi-freddo and cinnamon-sugared doughnuts, I was not bursting at the seams. And the seams in question were already quite firm of fit.

So, I could not quite manage the petits fours which we were given in a take-home pack along with The French Laundry’s famed shortbread, but that was because by then it was 1.30am and time to go home.

We bade Lawrence goodbye and floated down the street to our hotel, our bodies significantly heavier and our wallets lighter. Visits to the holy grail of culinary perfection do not come cheap but I could live happily ever after on stale bread and water – indeed I may have to – knowing that The French Laundry was one trip worth saving every last penny for.

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