Best meal of my life

I know, I know, it's hard to justify a headline like that. But, for once, I really think it's true: last night I had what I believe was the best meal of my life. Anywhere. Certainly in California and I'm pretty sure in the whole of North America. Now I must admit there is some competition with forty years living high off the hog and well above the salt in London, so I concede my memory may be letting me down. Some excellent meals were, I admit, blurred by alcohol. For that I must apologise to Raymond Blanc, chef at the Manoir aux Quat' Saisons in Oxfordshire, proud holder of two Michelin stars. That was a blissful occasion in December 2005, but the details have melted away. http://www.manoir.com/web/olem/olem_menus_classiques.jsp gives the flavour, though.
Memory is part of what constitutes the best anything, unless it can be objectively measured - which food or drink cannot. So let us say that last night's gastronomic heaven has supplanted all others as the one I regard the best, and I have seldom sat back at the end of a meal and said 'That was it.'
And while the Manoir indulgence ran to six courses, with a different wine for each, this was a mere four, accompanied by gently sparkling mineral water.
OK, I will tease no more. The restaurant was Fatty's, a renowned vegetarian restaurant in Eagle Rock, a trendy community between Pasadena and Glendale. It's named after the owner's dog.
We had never been before, but kept meaning to go. At last we made it.
The unmistakable sign of brilliant cooking was the absolute necessity to taste one another's dishes, just to believe how good they all were.
I started with what was called a garlic feast. It was really a multiple bruschetta: a pile of tomato, garlic and cheese in the middle of a large plate, surrounded by slivers of toast. Very garlicky, very refreshing.
That was followed by a small dish of butternut squash soup, which could have had some carrot in it.
But the bigget surprise and simply exquisite was the entree: moussaca, as the menu spells it and best describes it: a mildly spicy gratin of chickpeas, red lentils, mushrooms and onions between layers of roasted eggplant and garlic mashed potatoes; topped with a crust of artisan dry Jack cheese - all the cheese is rennet-free, to meet the vegetarian stricture. It was surrounded by a tomatoey, but not plain tomato, sauce.
I finished with the cheese plate: five delicious cheeses, hard, soft and blue, with strawberries, olives and glacee walnuts. I also had a taste of apple pie and the peanut butter soy cream cup with dark chocolate syrup.
It was the sort of menu that I just want to return to again and again, until I have tasted the lot. The standard of cooking and presentation was second to none.
Yet this was not a foodie shrine. The surroundings are spartan, with huge windows looking out onto Colorado Boulevard. No tablecloths (but linen napkins). Very swift and friendly service, everything explained knowledgeably and painstakingly.
It was a meal where you just pushed your chair back and realised that you had had a completely fresh experience, unlike anything ever before. The bill was not cheap, at $25 a head without drinks, but for the quality of the food it was a giveaway.
At the next table were a couple aged 91 and 83 who had been married only five years and could have each been 30 years younger - no thanks to Fatty's, alas, as this was their first visit too. But I suspect that, like us, they'll be back.