Dinner by Heston Blumenthal

When the hotly anticipated Dinner by Heston Blumenthal opened its doors at the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park to the public a year ago, London's broadsheet food critics united in an unprecedented outpouring of praise. So well oiled was the Blumenthal PR machine, it had everyone from Gill to Maschler to Rayner to Coren gushing obsequiously, with Coren hailing it "the best new restaurant in the world." A year on and a Michelin star to its name, the hype has died down to polite applause, and what remains is an impressive hotel restaurant that rises above the confines of its surroundings and offers a theatrical, and more importantly, delicious dining experience.

In a bid to connect us with our culinary past, Blumenthal has delved into Britain's edible history via cookbooks of yore to revive old recipes, from the quirky to the strange – Rice and Flesh anyone? Dated c.1390, and taken from the oldest known cookery manual in the English language: The Forme of Cury The Master Cooks of King Richard II, the sunshine yellow dish is a lot friendlier than it sounds, consisting of a saffron risotto dotted with shreds of calf tail. Each dish is dated and referenced in a bibliography on the menu for gastro geeks to fawn over. King of the kitchen is executive chef Ashley Palmer-Watts, who's been under Heston's wing at the Fat Duck for a decade.

The light and distinctly modern space designed by Adam Tihany, who has previously put his stamp on Apsleys at The Lanesborough, Per Se in New York and the hotel's sister restaurant Bar Boulud, features floor-to-ceiling glass windows looking out onto the oft horse-filled Hyde Park. The kitchen is dominated by a pulley system that mirrors the insides of a giant watch, serving to rotate a spit on an open-fire lined with impaled pineapples. Clutching the ivory walls are antique jelly moulds that glow erotically, while the bar displays recipes from 16th century cookbooks, which appear and disappear depending on the light. Brown wall panels resemble unwrapped chocolate bars, while swirly art deco light fittings add elegance to the austere interiors.

No trip to Dinner is complete without sampling signature dish Meat Fruit. Having enjoyed the clever creation vicariously in numerous nuanced reviews, I'd been dreaming of and drooling over it for a year. Never in my adult life have I so lusted after something edible. I'd ask friends to recount their experience of the enrobed meat globe in minute detail, conjuring the flavours in my mind. A lucky win at a Halloween quiz (the prize being a meal at a restaurant of our choosing) and here I was sitting down to lunch at Dinner, mere moments away from my own mandarin. Before the waitress can even take our order I request it, the urgency of the situation heightened by its impending resolution. She asks whether I'd like to share it. "No", I reply emphatically. Such a longed for experience could not be tarnished by prying knives.

Ten minutes later and it’s in front of me, as beautiful as I'd imagined it. Masquerading as a mandarin, its faintly dimpled orange skin glistens expectantly in the light. My mouth begins to water. Not wanting to spoil its almost Platonic form, I have to force myself to cut into its skin, which reveals a dusky pink, creamy interior of chicken liver parfait. Grabbing a piece of the accompanying grilled bread, I slather on a generous scoop and take my first mouthful, rewarded at first with the refreshing tang of the mandarin jelly, and soon after the luxurious, rich, heavenly parfait. Playful, indulgent and utterly delicious, it's the closest Dinner gets to a Fat Duck trompe l'oeil trick.

Having soared to such celestial heights so early on, the rest of the dishes were bound to feel more mundane, and on reflection, I wish I'd ordered two more starters rather than a main, though my spiced pigeon with artichokes in ale (c.1780) arrives perfectly pink and, having been cooked sous vide, is tremendously tender and with pleasingly crispy skin, but served slightly cold. In fairness, few dishes could have successfully followed Meat Fruit's lead, but having got so used to London's small plates philosophy, Dinner's starters seem to bring more joy and beauty than its meaty mains; both the roast scallops with cucumber ketchup and the roast bone marrow delighting my fellow dining companions in appearance and taste.

Be sure to bypass the side order of fries and ask politely instead for the triple cooked chips, which usually only accompany the Hereford Ribeye steak. A fistful of golden shards that glint like jagged yellow diamonds; their jackets are impossibly crunchy and interiors warm and fluffy. Wine doesn't come cheap – bottles start at £35 and quickly escalate skywards. On our visit we begin with a bottle of the house Champagne – Moët & Chandon 2002, which shows off the elegance and complexity of the vintage, moving on to a Northern and Southern Rhône comparative tasting of Domaine George Vernay Terres d'Encorse Saint-Joseph 2008 and Les Racine Les Pallières Gigondas 2007. The former is prettily perfumed, with attractive savoury notes and a refreshing mineral core, while the latter displays a distinctly raisined character of dried fruits and Christmas cake.

The wine highlight however, is a bottle of Vincent Girardin Vielles Vignes Puligny-Montrachet 2008. Assembled from parcels with vine ages averaging half a century and having been vinified in a good proportion of new oak, the liquid gold has an unmistakably Burgundian nose of honeysuckle, lily, peaches and cream wrapped around a mineral core. The flavours dance across the palate, enhanced by mouth puckering acidity. Puddings are exquisitely executed. The painfully pretty Taffety Tart (c.1660) comprises paper-thin layers of pastry housing canon balls of fromage blanc, pressed apple doused in rose water, a sprinking of fennel seeds and a teardrop-shaped scoop of intensely flavoured blackcurrant sorbet.

Resurrecting the wow factor of Meat Fruit is Brown Bread Ice Cream (c.1830) decked out in a pinstripe suit of moreish salted caramel and malted yeast syrup. A strange and satisfying marriage of sweet and savoury, the Hovis-like yeast kick of the bread is quickly assuaged by the sweetness of the caramel and the crunchy toffee biscuit base below. Part history lesson, part edible theatre, while much of Heston's culinary alchemy has been tamed; elements of the Blumenthal magic remain. And for those who can merely dream of a meal at the Fat Duck, lunch at Dinner is the next best thing. Just make sure you order the Meat Fruit.

Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park, 66 Knightsbridge, London SW1X 7LA; Tel: +44(0)20 7201 3833. A meal for two with wine and service costs around £200.

Apsleys, a Heinz Beck Restaurant

"Cookery is orderly insanity. Cookery is life. Mine. Which I taste in little, intense bites to relish it all," Heinz Beck tells me over an early morning coffee in his Venetian pleasure dome of a restaurant in The Lanesborough Hotel. He's about to catch a flight back to Rome, where he heads up the three Michelin-starred La Pergola, the first restaurant in Rome to receive such an honor, so our meeting is spitefully early. Curiously, we are both wearing orange. We ponder over the probability of such an unlikely occurrence. Complementing the dramatic old masters mural on the far wall, Beck tells me he desperately wanted to be a painter. His father wouldn't allow it, so he became a chef instead. I suggest that cooking is an art form, and the resulting dishes often painterly in their presentation.

The week before I had dined under the same glass roof. The room is spectacular in its splendour. Designed by Adam Tihaney – the man behind Thomas Keller's Napa jewel The French Laundry, and more recently Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, the light and airy space is dominated by a trio of chandeliers that hover like calamari rings in suspended animation, while pencil-shaped bulbs dangle languidly mid-ring. The capacious space is populated by a polite number of tables, all far enough apart to give the impression of privacy. The cappuccino-coloured upholstery is plush, and the pillows plump. I could dine out on the visuals alone.

It took Beck a mere four months to earn his first Michelin star in London, which was awarded last January after the restaurant reopened post refurb in September 2009. Sharing the reins with Beck is Massimiliano Blasone, ex executive chef of the Tuscany-based Brunello powerhouse Castello Banfi. Despite Beck's German heritage, the menu – beige, suede to the touch, and illustrated rather oddly with a cross section of an onion, has distinct Mediterranean flourishes, while a number of the dishes are cooked sous-vide.

My companion and I opt to go à la carte, bypassing the tempting tasting menu offering seven courses for £85 (or £125 with wine). Removing a chivalric looking plate from in front of me, an ice-cold glass of Taittinger NV is served with a shallow bowl of luminous watermelon soup. A pair of aubergine croquettes float on the surface like brown Dolly Mixtures amid razor-thin Parmesan shavings. The fresh flavours cleanse and enliven my palate before the forthcoming flavour invasion. Bread comes in the form of peach wafer-thin strips flecked with sesame seeds. Munching on the shards feels like eating strips of paint fallen fresh from the wall. I find this strangely satisfying.

My starter is a work of art. Three fudge-like cubes of foie gras terrine with smoked apple and amaretti lie like building blocks among a foie garden composed of orange cubes, chocolate soil and herbal hedges. With a roof of amaretti crumble, the rich, decadent, Madeira-marinated squares are umami-rich and utterly delicious, both when spread across the accompanying brioche, and when popped whole in the mouth. The marmalade-fueled Jurançon wine match is inspired, its bright acidity cutting confidently through the fat.

Next I bypass Beck's signature dish: Carbonara fagottelli, opting instead for the croissant-shaped Tagliolini with lobster and almonds – a dish I still dream about. Served with a dollop of pesto on top and the lobster weaved throughout, it smells pleasingly of the sea. The perfectly al dente pasta mixes with the lobster into a rich symphony of flavour, which is helped along immensely by a glass of bright and vibrant Greco di Tuffo; my new favourite grape. Waxy and unctuous, it has bags of character and yet retains its elegance.

As if deliberately trying to order the richest trio off the menu, my main is a quartet of suckling pig medallions coated in a golden layer of crispy crackling served with a token sprinkling of mangetout. The pork is juicy, tender and comforting – like a hug from the inside. My companion's black cod, while lacking the sweet miso I so enjoy about the dish, is served with a top layer of powdered Spanish ham, lending it a salty savouriness. It meatifies the fish, which I like, but its intense, bacony flavour overpowers the dish, leaving the humble, fall-off-the-fork cod shivering in the shadows.

My accompanying wine, a 1996 Poderi Colla Barbaresco, is dusty and brooding, with fine-grained tannins. The fruit, having receded into the background, has paved the way for savoury cedar flavours. My companion's Franz Haas Pinot Nero is as bright as a ruby and alive with vibrant red fruit – raspberries and cherries abound. I'm tempted to switch glasses.

The culinary adventure ends with the "Crunchy", a biscuit-based diamond with a dulce de leche filling and rasberry jam lid, served with a scoop of yoghurt ice cream and a pair of edible lilac flowers. Tangy, zesty, salty and sweet, it ticks all the taste boxes and yet leaves me deflated. All the elements are there, but the whole is an anticlimax. The wine match however, a 2007 G. Allegrini, Recioto della Valpolicella Classico, is infinitely interesting. Strangely, our sommelier explains Amarone as meaning "the sweet one", when it means the exact opposite: "the bitter one." Despite this schoolboy error, the wines are expertly matched and enthusiastically served.

Apsleys has much to recommend it – the palatial space is the most beautiful public dining room in London. Service is attentive but unobtrusive, while the food is extravagant, yet leaves you pleasantly satiated rather than trouser-poppingly full. There is a thread of freshness running throughout both the food and the wine that lends the dishes life. The flavours dance across the palate like nimble nymphs. If cookery is life, then Beck's plates have a heartbeat.

Apsleys, a Heinz Beck Restaurant, The Lanesborough Hotel, Hyde Park Corner, London, SW1X 7TA; Tel: +44 (0)20 7259 5599; www.lanesborough.com