The Park House- fine dining restaurant, Park Place,Cardiff

The Park House is what you might call special to me.

After all, it's where we had our wedding reception almost two years ago. We had dined there when we signed up and had always meant to go back (especially as having our reception there entitled us to a members' discount) and they did us proud on the day itself, but we had never got around to it.  It was time to put that right.

It's an undeniably distinctive building: William Burges, architect to Lord Bute and Gothic visionary, saw to that. Apparently, the Grade-I listed building is one of only two domestic dwellings overseen by Burges. The other is The Tower House in Kensington, whose previous owners include John Betjeman and Richard Harris, and is now the London residence of Jimmy Page (he outbid David Bowie, fact fans).

Two AA Rosettes. AA 'Wine List of the Year 2013-2014'. Wine Spectator Award of Excellence 2013. You'd expect an expert selection; what surprises you is the sheer extent of the thing. At 111 pages, I've seen slimmer New Employee Induction  manuals. It's in keeping with the tone of the project here: this is a kitchen that has big plans. Roger Jones (The Harrow at Little Bedwyn) as consultant chef, lending his expertise to the talents of Jonathan Edwards? You don't do that without having clear goals. Distinctly star-shaped goals.

The welcome is more formal than many; you ring a bell for attention and are warmly greeted by one of the most impressively-mustachioed chaps I've ever met. Bravo, sir.

The dining room was full; most appeared to be having the tasting menu we had booked and part of the fun was sneaking a look at what was to come as the staff passed by. The service, by the way, was exemplary throughout- informed, relaxed, courteous.

On with the food then. I always think of tasting menus like Zucker Brothers films (think Airplane, Police Squad, The Naked Gun series)- if you don't 'get' a particular joke, there'll be another one along in a minute that'll be more to your taste. It lessens the gamble of the 'wrong' main course choice, though by the same token you can end up frustrated at only having a small portion of something sublime.

Our canapés came in mini glass cloches: a pair of mild goats' cheese-filled choux buns flanked a snail bon bon nestled on a vivid green slick of garlicky herbs.The lightness of the pastry, the meatiness of the mollusc. It had me idly wondering why on earth I don't eat snails more often when I had my first ones as an eight year old.

The menu offered paired wines. Adroit as these selctions undoubtedly are, I was drawn to the beer list. It lacked the toe-safety threat of the wine list but had some stellar names: Bear Republic and Goose Island rubbed shoulders with Chimay, Duvel and local ales.

Which raises another question in passing: why is the beer list in restaurants so often so much better than the selection in pubs? Perhaps that's a question for another blog entirely.

On to the first course proper: a raviolo of Welsh lobster and Cornish crab. Such delicate flavours need sensitive handling and they got it: sweet meat flecked with samphire and with a little background heat from a dab of chilli reduction. To set it off the lemongrass tea was fragrant with a teasing tingle of ginger on the lips.

Expectations at this point were high and climbing. I complimented the maitre d' on the dish and he smiled conspiratorially. 'There's more to come...'

A block of salt. Well, it's a novel twist on those damnable (and damnably ubiquitous) wooden boards, no? Originally from the Himalayas, it featured an assortment of wonderfully fresh sashimi- salmon, sea bass, scallop, tuna- with an intense lime and seaweed sphere of sorbet. A squeeze of lime juice is always a good thing of course and the wasabi did its sinus-clearing work.

Pausing only to order a straightener (a potently alcoholic, and rarely listed Corpse Reviver #2) we awaited the duck and foie gras bon bon. A disc of peach and the tart tang of the citrus sauce set off the richness of the meat perfectly- the only let down was the duck fat 'chips' turned out to be a chip singular and rather lonely on the plate.  Overall though, and by now unsurprisingly, this was another cracker of a course. The outer shell was all crisp and crunch; the inner was all sinful richness- dark, shredded, dense meat that I would probably describe as 'unctous' if that term hadn't been done to death. This was a dish so seductive its hand would be stroking your inner thigh under the table and booking the hotel room as you ate.

But it was all trumped by the pork. How refreshing to find a kitchen confident enough in its skill and its suppliers to serve tenderloin still with a blush of pink, with a nod to surf and turf from tiny brown shrimps (another taste time capsule for me: I do miss Lancashire) and a scattering of tiny, mellow capers. The crackling was a triumph: unfeasibly fragile yet retaining the essence of what makes it one of those things that makes you sing Hosannas that you're a carnivore. I'm still thinking wistfully about this plate of food 96 hours on. In short, seriously accomplished cooking with high-quality ingredients.

Look, even the cabbage was superb. It was that good.

Passing on the cheese course (admittedly, I enjoy a Stinking Bishop as much as the next man, but this isn't the place to discuss one's predilection for malodorous clergy) we had 'tea and biscuits'. A pannacotta scented with clove-infused chai, a coconut sorbet, almond crumbs. Light, satisfying and- even to someone without much of a sweet tooth- a real pleasure.

British Strawberries- the menu advertised a parfait, a French meringue and 'leathers'- but is that a maccaron I spy?- the intriguingly-named 'leather' put me in mind of childhood confectionery- the kind of stretchy 'lace' stuff that was common currency on playgrounds. Light meringue, silky parfait... and it was over.

A good meal should right the universe on its axis. It should make the world seem a slightly better place. It should make you feel more kindly disposed toward your fellow human. And if these are grand claims, and you have no earthly idea what I mean, then I make no apology for that. A gracious welcome, a diverting drinks list, stellar food, superlative service. All in historic, elegant surroundings. And the real peach? My wife had booked on an online voucher which meant the whole thing came in rather less expensively than you'd imagine. Even given my liking for their drinks list, we spent £100-and-change.

Worthy of that coveted Star, though? Well, I certainly wouldn't bet against it being the first awarded in Cardiff*, not if this evening was consistently representative of the vision and execution of this kitchen.

Wonderful. As far as The Park House goes (and yes, I know you saw this one coming...) I have a whole lotta love.

Park House
20 Park Place, Cardiff CF10 3DQ

*Pedant alert: the newly-opened Restaurant James Sommerin, whatever its eventual plaudits, isn't in Cardiff. And never will be.