To dine at La Gavroche is a special treat, but there is something more indulgent, if not slightly decadent, about a long lunch at this two star Michelin restaurant. A decade or so ago Bill Baker, a larger than life figure in the wine trade, passed on a gem of information. “Sarah,” he said, “Le Gavroche has the best lunch in London.” I took his advice and booked a table. Now this is not the easiest thing to do. You must plan three months in advance and as years pass, it has become more difficult and a certain tenacity is required. I redialled 40 times from 9am to make a reservation for a Friday, but it was worth it.

The entrance on Upper Brook Street is discreet. The interior is rich, plush even. Deep greens and reds, opulent fabrics, lavish, but not ostentatious. You are enfolded in the rich ambience as you smoothly descend to the dining room, there to be cocooned in a wonderful world of fine, old fashioned dining and curtsey. It is warm and inviting. The napery is starched, but the welcome is not. The silver glistens, the glasses sparkle… and chairs are drawn back as you slide into your button-back banquette (I have my favourites). And it is with a contented sigh that you open your lunch menu…for this solid gold experience comes at a pewter price. £56.40 per person for a three course lunch with half a bottle of wine and of water. What’s not to like?

The wine choice is pretty reliable. They are modest wines but, considering the fixed price, excellent value. Let’s take my recent visit. The choice of white – Domaine Hugel’s Gentil 2014 (Alsace) or Domaine Paul & Mallory Talmard, Mâcon-Uchizy 2013. The latter is pleasant. Hugel would also have been sound. For the red there is a Côte de Bordeaux 2011 which I body swerve in favour of Tenuta Olim Bauda, Barbera d’Asti Superiore, Nizza 2011 – juicy, fruity and spot on.

As the restaurant fills, a low hums fills the air and delicious scents waft from the plates borne to the eager diners. It hard not to dig deep into the bread fresh warm from the oven and slather it with creamy butter. But this is the time to saver the moment, while you are still hungry and expectant. Best to wait for the amuse bouche… delicate and delicious, a smoked eel tart with fine, crisp pastry and sweet, smoky fish filling and a scrumptious parmesan macaroon, which teases the palate with salt, instead of sweet. I admit (somewhat furtively) that often my favourite parts of a meal are the surprising and original palate ticklers that inter-leaf through the courses.

But to the food proper…to the cuisine of Michel Roux Jr. As you would expect it is French, quite rich and beautifully executed. My overriding impression is of heart warming, traditional dishes elevated to the Michelin fermament. First courses include velvety veloute. On this occasion I have a spicy, pickled mackerel salad with ras el hanout and coriander which is light and piquant, while my companion lives dangerously ordering pigs ears. On reflection we decide that a pig’s ear is an acquired taste – a slightly gelatinous one at that.

Main courses arrive beneath silver cloches and are revealed with a flourish. What drama! My memorable main courses have been roasted chicken or poussin with a marvellously rich sauces, having a splendid depth and complexity favour.

Moving on my companion has cheese… from a heady selection. The vast cheese tray, wreathed in a pungent aroma, is cloaked in a sumptuous choice of blue veined and rich gold, squidgy and chalky, goat and cow, sweet and salty, ash covered and naked…hurrah for cheese… and it comes with delightful accompaniments of a wafer thin nutty toast, quince jelly and vibrant tasting chutney.

I am a sucker for the ice cream trolley…captivated as it trundles across the room bearing frozen, creamy delights in flavours such as pistachio nestling beside palate cleansing sorbets. I am almost sated, but feel there is a corner somewhere…

And now, moving from the table seems an impossible feat, drowsy with rich food and wine at lunch, but the effort is postponed by the arrival of coffee and petits fours. It would be a sin to leave the petits fours – perfect, diminutive nutty tarts, tulles and jewel-like physalis. Two double expresso later, with caffeine roaring through my veins I am revived, although heavens knows I may not be able to eat for a week.

And here’s the thing. Wonderful as the food is, I really come for the theatre, the indulgence, the pampering. The service is impeccable. You only have to glance and your eye is met and your bidding swiftly done. When or where else in life does that happen?