When you live in the south of England it’s a long way to Winteringham Fields; indeed most of us would struggle to place the chic Lincolnshire village of Winteringham on a map. Think just south of the Humber, right at the end of Ermine Street where the Romans stopped and pondered for a while before crossing that great river. In modern terms, think Sheffield then right a bit.

Don’t let the journey put you off. In fact, their rooms are so gorgeous it would be a shame to miss out on that part of the experience. Or on walking along dykes with the huge Lincolnshire skies above you – perfect country for thinking enormous (if not a little pretentious) thoughts.

You do need to splash the cash but it’s worth it. My canny husband won us the room, breakfast and a very generous glass of champagne and canapés in a Facebook competition after Winteringham’s chef patron, Colin McGurran, reached the final of The Great British Menu. And (whisper it quietly) they have also been known to do Groupons.

But enough of this waffle – on to the main event – the food. Now we like our food and we do sometimes treat ourselves to lunch of dinner at Michelin starred restaurants. But the tasting menu at Winteringham Fields was quite probably the best meal we have ever eaten. Which is why, dear reader, I thought you ought to know about it.

Entitled Menu Surprise, and available in seven or nine courses and with or without a flight of complementary wines, our culinary journey started in the restaurant’s pretty courtyard. Almost before we had finished our canapés a deep red watermelon shot arrived, which rather surprisingly didn’t ruin the remains of our champagne, and set us on our way nicely. Inside the dining room a second amuse bouche awaited us in the form of a luxurious fois gras and cherry cup where the fresh and preserved fruit cut through the richness of the pate to perfection.

The first of two starters was as clean and fresh as it was ingenious. I have seen TV chefs prepare edible facsimile tomatoes, but having watched the process of making something which isn’t actually a tomato resemble one in minute detail, I was always left wondering if they actually tasted of anything. This one certainly did; a gorgeous garlicky gazpacho which packed an enormous punch of flavour, brilliantly accompanied by humble basil and feta and matched with a Spanish sauvignon blanc. Almost impossible to match a tomato with a wine successfully. As an afterthought, perhaps a salty Manzanilla might have stood up better. But that is splitting hairs – especially as the Argentinian chardonnay offered with the pork and smoked salmon ravioli which came next was a match made in heaven.

I freely admit to watching far too much food on TV. And I’m glad I do, because we would never have discovered Colin McGurran otherwise. But I am a little cynical about the worst excesses of praise – how can a plate of food make you want to weep? Get a grip, people. Or try the langoustine terrine at Winteringham Fields. Perfectly cooked fish surrounded by melting leeks. So simple. And quite the best thing I have ever eaten. My husband disagreed. Or at least he did once he’d tasted the Cornish red mullet and mango salsa which followed. Me? I was still savouring my Muscadet (which thankfully accompanied both fish courses) and dreaming of lobsters.

The main course was duck. Exquisitely cooked, in that it was hardly cooked at all. It was accompanied by more melting vegetables from the restaurant’s own polytunnels and more foie gras (not really necessary) as well as an excellent Cotes de Brouilly.

Just as I was running out of superlatives a small white chocolate ball sitting in a bed of desiccated coconut arrived. It was a warm night and we were counselled to eat it quickly by the extremely attentive front of house manager. Having taken a cautious sniff and encouraged by my other half’s look of ecstasy I dived in. I discovered afterwards it was a called a pineapple and basil bomb. Wow. Suited it perfectly.

Sadly it was too hard an act for the dessert to follow. I love apricots and there was nothing wrong with their ‘textures’, or the pistachio ice cream which accompanied them, but in such a brilliant meal it somehow got lost. Perhaps I’m being unfair and the wine was beginning to get to me.

It was the port which threatened to finish me off, but it was worth travelling hundreds of miles to see my husband’s face as the cheese trolley was wheeled in. The young lady who accompanied it was more curator than waitress and offered her wares in sensible selections; blue, hard, soft, goat – and in each category mild, medium and strong. I was past counting, but there had to be about fifty cheeses on show and the ones we tried were different and interesting.

As our peppermint tea was brewing the lovely front of house manager asked if we would like a kitchen tour as Colin was in that night and loved showing people around. Knowing how much I’d had to drink, my husband was extremely dubious, but I don’t think I was too embarrassing; McGurran is a real enthusiast for his food, both the growing of it and the cooking of it. He seemed a reluctant celebrity chef, happier in the kitchen or a polytunnel than in front of a TV camera, and I have to say I liked him all the more for it.

One final word. I’ve spouted on a great deal about the food, but in many ways it was the atmosphere and style of service which made our stay. When we watched the promotional video on their website we did wonder if Winteringham Fields was really for us; perhaps we’re not young enough or glamorous enough, perhaps we don’t drive the right car. But we needn’t have worried because we were welcomed with informality and genuine warmth. And when I told Mr McGurran I’d feared we’d have to park our Peugeot 308 around the corner, his laugh said it all.