Killiecrankie House, Killiecrankie, Perthshire

There is, I am told, a popular computer game called The Sims. Players can make their own world from scratch. Come with me and we'll create a Michelin starred restaurant.

It will pride itself on the friendliest of service, so let's make it family run. The wife is always the driving force, so we'll create her first and name her Matilda. She'll be a wine expert, with a vineyard in the family. France? Spain? Too boring. Let's say, China, Shandong province. Is she Chinese then? Nah, too obvious. Japanese father, brought up in, say, Fife. Early restaurant experience? No, to an advertising agency for her.

And our chef? We'll call him Tom, a fine name. From Romford, Essex. Touch of the Jamie Olivers? Well, in a rather different league. Most great chefs started when they were about 14. Too much of a cliché. We'll have our Tom go to art school. Great for creativity, but then he realises there's no money in it. We'll send him off to the City to make some cash and be exposed to the world of fine dining.

I can see where you're going now. Their eyes meet in a London establishment and it's love at first sight?

Far too obvious. They will encounter each other in a bar in Tokyo, start a supper club in their flat in London, then take over a dodgy hotel in rural Perthshire, get married within two months of opening and start a family.

You couldn't make it up, could you? And I haven't. Not a word.

It's just a few years on and Killiecrankie House is the latest addition to Scotland's growing number of Michelin starred restaurants. Along with Pitlochry based chums L & J we are headiing for dinner.

Tasting menus are the thing. You know my views on these, but when they are served with such charm and finesse all of my objections evaporate. Matilda is front of house, with an energy and poise which belie the fact that number two offspring is scheduled to appear imminently. She's ably assisted by Mollie and Andrea.

Every one is asked to arrive at the same time, but instead of a lengthy wait in the bar, the food starts flowing at once. Most of the things which they deliver are one or two bites worth, but there are about twenty of them. The amount of work involved is extraordinary. A slow start, building up to a climax? Nay. We begin with a bang.

Something looking like a large chocolate is a tart filled with mashed langoustine topped with caviar, quickly followed by Kanzouri Langoustine. Kanzouri is a fermented chilli paste. Here chef has used the langoustine shells to create a deep broth, both fishy and umami. Looking over the menu, which they provide at the end for you to take home and drool over, I see that in almost every course, if that's the correct word, some ingredient or other is from Japan or out east. Some are familiar - yuzu, wasabi, gochujang;  others I had never heard of - doubanjiang, kimizu, chawanmushi. I'm not going to translate them all. You can look them up for yourself.

I was about to write that I would pick out the highlights, but knowing what to omit is difficult. In the bar we are plied with Chewy Root Tart, Smoked Eel Temaki and Dripping Fried Porridge. The tart has involved some poor chef cutting out literally hundreds of tiny star shaped pieces of beetroot of different hues. The latter is a nod to the myth that Scots make their porridge by the drawerful and cut off chunks to fry from day to day.

One dish is simply titled Ayrshire New Potatoes. Don't be fooled. The tatties become a mousse which is served over a bed of mussels, seaweed and sichuan sausage. Tom Tsappis is a chef with his tongue firmly in his cheek. Towards the end of the savoury section we are brought a piece of octopus on a leaf. It's sitting on top of (cold) Konro grill. That's a miniature Japanese barbecue. Inexplicably, they seem to have left the coals in it from last time out. Except of course they haven't. The black mass is your next course, squid cooked in its ink with garlic and nam jim, and very fine it is too.

Wagyu is not my favourite, but you have to smile at four tiny squares, each one topped with a miniscule flavouring element. The kitchen is open plan, the brigade seamlessly and silently moving from one stage to the next, the culinary equivalent of a Rolls Royce engine. There are a couple of desserts, featuring strawberry and chocolate respectively, before the fanfare of a plate of sweets. There's a wonderful strawberry pastille, marshmallow for those who like that sort of thing, a piece of fudge, flavoured of course with gochujang, and, wait for it a duck liver tart. No, you didn't misread that. It's in the form of a mousse topped with yuzu brulée. As wonderful as it's odd sounding.

Now this isn't cheap, of course and if you go for the top of the range drinks pairing at £330 you will pay £500 a head before service charge. I should say that the drinks pairings start at £90, and that Matilda is now recognised as one of the country's top sommeliers. If it seems a bit far to drive back, you can stay over or take a taxi to nearby Pitlochry. Four of us shared a bottle of red and a bottle of white. Oh, and a half bottle of dessert wine. All excellent.

Everyone who can afford it should visit here at least once. I try to end my reviews with an adequate summary. Here I just don't have enough superlatives. Fabulous food, a menu bursting with innovation and wit. Faultless service in lovely surroundings - music played on vinyl and they give you the playlist when you leave. The night we were there they finished up with The Beatles Abbey Road.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. I'm sure you could adapt that somehow to sing the praises of Tom and Matilda, but for once I lack the words. That's what a dinner like this does to you.