Flamboyant feast

The new 'in excess of £40million' Bentley Hotel is so outrageously opulent, it's almost surreal. Wandering through golden doors into its deserted, high camp, marble and crystal chandeliered lobby made us feel as though we'd fallen, like Alice, through one of its many twinkling mirrors.

In an age where minimalism reigns, this is a perfectly extraordinary palace for pashas and potentates. And you'd need to be one to afford the room prices: a night in the lavishly OTT Imperial Suite? Four grand, matey.

A glide down the gilded staircase brings you to the Malachite bar, a penumbral cocoon of crimson silks and cushions and chairs upholstered in leopard-skin. In fact, the entire hotel is a homage to soft furnishings: even the bedroom walls are clad in silk.

Across the way is 1880, the hotel's main restaurant. It's years since I've seen such a display of conspicuous consumption: this is a Donatella Versace of a room. With its linen and crystal and silver, it's the sort of spot that has Michelin chappies foaming at the gills. And it's totally not the place for a nothing-y Wednesday in January - we were the only diners in there, prompting sincere apologies from urbane restaurant manager Conor O'Leary. We didn't mind at all, the fact that we had this astonishing room with its impeccably drilled staff to ourselves just enhanced the dreamlike quality. We spent happy minutes calculating just how much it was costing them to feed us.

Chef Andrew Turner, formerly of 1837 at Brown's Hotel, has created a number of menus, each one as sumptuous as its setting.

He's particularly fond of the 'grazing' concept, a flurry of smaller dishes giving real insight into the ability and passion of this talented cook.

We chose eight dishes at £46 a head. OK, so this sounds like a lot, but it offers brilliant value. Each dish was good, some were sublime: it was a dizzying fairground ride of a meal. The excitement of eating each course was only surpassed by the excitement of anticipating the next.

Generosity is a hallmark: we got pre-starters (torchon of foie gras with pear); a massive basket of fabulous breads - fougasse with pesto, a dangerously addictive bacon and cheese and much more - was produced just for us. Little flourishes added drama, too. A starter billed as cream of artichoke and wild mushroom soup was a silky veloutè accessorised by feathery chokes and a little spring roll stuffed with earthy fungi. A favourite dish from 1837, a massive, velvety 'Celtic' scallop, arrived in a little pool of creamed cauliflower with a sauce studded with tiny, sparky capers and sweet white sultanas. Flowery crisps of cauliflower gave it bite.

Also gorgeous was a seared lobe of fondanty foie; it came with a vodka shot glass of vivid green apple purèe and the surprise of a nugget of confit duck neck. A cutlet of English lamb, served with fluffy sweetbreads and spinach, was the finest I've eaten.

Confession: the cheese and pudding stages were a bit blurry. Former
Connaught sommelier (and new best friend) Patrick Salles totally sold me on the idea of a different wine for each course. 'I can do you a really brilliant flight for £40' - how could you refuse? And eight glasses of stunning wines, including champagne, Sauternes, Pouilly Fuisse, Riesling... - albeit smallish ones - take their toll. But my more sober date purred at his pineapple pannacotta with pineapple ice-cream.