I had always thought, long before Gordon Ramsay's day, that dinner at Claridges would be one of the most perfect dining experiences possible, surrounded by beautiful art deco ambiance, with faultless unobtrusive service, immaculate food and presentation all for a high but justifiable cost. I dined there yesterday for my first and last time. I should perhaps wait to write this review until a time when I am less angry, but at the moment my bank balance is still smarting and I feel insulted. It was a special occasion; a birthday celebration for a very good friend, so no expense was to be spared. We booked over three months in advance and there was a £75 cancellation fee per person, so we expected it to be fairly expensive. I am not a fan of Gordon Ramsay's foul-mouthed unintelligent lowbrow TV persona, but I assumed that this was simply a way of getting publicity. He is after-all, now, the highest paid chef in the world. (My opinion of Gordon Ramsay is not shared by most people I have spoken to. I also controversially hate Las Vegas, I've never seen Star Wars and I think Harry Potter is not suitable reading material for adults, so you may disagree with my opinions)

The sommelier arrived and steered the wine decision-making away from the inexpensive (sub £40) bottles, so we ended up with a very pleasant £65 bottle, which was followed by another three courses later. Bread-sticks and dips were served although they chose to call then canapés. The six courses were good although none that I didn't think I could have done myself just as well and apart from the truffle upgrade and the main course, there were no options. A request for an alternative to the first-course, white onion soup was met with the suggestion of a "beetroot salad", which turned out to be a very small piece of beetroot and not much else. The soup was pleasant, very small, but really nothing special. The second course was foie gras and a selection of tiny morsels of contrasting flavours (none particularly note-worthy) The third course was a tiny crayfish served with some sauce (1000 island dressing perhaps?) or the truffle risotto substitute.

Overall at this stage we felt the service had been fine if a little sycophantic and the ambiance almost as good as one could have hoped for. The incredible hierarchy of waiting staff from the lowly tray carriers to the over-friendly chatter-uppers who are there just to flatter the guests and laugh uncontrollably at our jokes controlled the service with military precision. One of the chief-chatter-uppers then offered us the chance of a lifetime to actually see round the kitchens. What an honour (although my second least favourite Gordon was not in residence). It turned out that every table was offered this treat and small coach parties seemed to be proceeding their way through the kitchen continuously, breathing on the food as it is prepared and chatting to the staff as they handle every item on every plate, gluing each vegetable in perfect place with some white gunk. This was not a useful nor interesting experience and took away what little mystique was left of this massively over-priced dining experience. We were again given the chance to sniff a truffle.