Benedicts (sans apostrophe) sits at the city centre end of St Benedict’s (mit apostrophe) Street, a road largely given over to restaurants, bars and other forms of slightly arty hedonism in Norwich. There’s a smart black anonymity to the restaurant’s exterior, the type that bespeaks confidence by dint its lack of self-promotion. The door opens on to a tiny entrance area with just enough room, with a little good-natured choreography, for cloak removal and umbrella parking. The place is soothingly low key inside: brassiere-style tables nicely positioned with space and elbow room. How a restaurant treats its solo diners speaks volumes. Here, they managed to avoid both tiny-table-facing-the wall shame and seat-marooned-in-the-middle-of-arguing-couples joylessness. Much appreciated. And as I sipped my chilled Manzanilla (see below) I had time to observe and reflect on the front-of-house comings and goings more closely.

Bainbridge’s team were bright and engaged, knowledgeable and genuinely interested in the food they were serving. The management of timings and the flow of service was exemplary: solicitous but unobtrusive. A succession of waiters brought food and drinks throughout the evening with genuine pride. Plus there was the odd, pleasant visit from the guys in the kitchen to introduce various dishes. All were, without exception, charming.

The kitchen offers two, regularly changing, tasting menus: 6 or 9 courses (if you include all the pre-desert and bread bells and whistles). I had every intention of opting for the shorter of the two in the name of restraint and parsimony. Such nonsense quickly went out of the window when I realised I would be missing both a carbonara mousse and a dashi custard. So I undid my belt a notch or two and settled down for the long, delightful 9-station option.

First came some snacks, here called “the tease”: a light but deeply porcine croquette enlivened with apple confit and crowned with crispy sage; a crusty taco that shattered pleasingly in the mouth with sweetly dressed soya beans and wild garlic flowers; and, best of all, a tiny croustade, its exceptional pastry hiding layers of soft moussiness and salty spheres of roe within.

The next course , the “aperitif”, was intriguing: understated but utterly delicious. The most ephemeral of rice crackers arrived dusted black with onion powder and bejewelled with more roe. It was accompanied by a small bowl of fragrant sherry mousse. The cracker made for very tasty, if slightly impractical, mousse scooping and the combination of burnt allium and floral, saline sherry was intoxicating. 

The waiter had warned me to keep some of the mousse back to go with the bread that was due to arrive next. Great advice: it took on another identity again when spooned hungrily on to the Parker House roll (light, buttery Americana with brioche pretensions). It was the black treacle soda bread, however, that really allowed the mousse to shine – a marriage of sweet, salty, silky and nubbly that I suspect had been perfected with much happy sampling and discussion. The bread came with its own wild garlic butter and a little dish of beetroot purée spiked with Za’atar. Both were nice but paled before the sherry confection. 

I had opted for the accompanying wine flight and this course was scheduled with a Bodegas Hidalgo Manzanilla en Rama. I’d already spied it on the menu and snaffled a glass, so they kindly suggested trying another sherry from their cellar (a Tío Pepe Fino, again, en rama). Full marks for proper guest husbandry and for the sherry selection.

Local, new season’s asparagus provided the next course. Beautifully plated (I could almost hear the click of tweezers with this one), it was adorned with more seasonal garlic flowers. Another mousse was served alongside: a carbonara creation this time. Hidden within its pale depths were tiny cubes of asparagus and pancetta (not guanciale I suspect: don’t tell the Romans!). It made a lovely, scented counterpoint to the vernal greenness of the spears. 

Usually, they serve a white Burgundy at this point (a Mâcon-Villages from the range at St. John). As luck would have it, I had arrived just after a visit from their wine supplier and everyone seemed keen to experiment with something new with this course. I was duly presented not only with the St John’s wine but also a Douro red from the excellent Niepoort. Primata is from their new Nat Cool range and, slightly chilled, it was excellent fit for the food (and quite simply a lovely wine).

Up next was a deceptively simple dish of river trout with smoked butter. The fish – a thinner, just-medium fillet and a meatier, rarer cut – was expertly cooked and the sauce’s insistent but sweet smokiness well judged. It came crowned with Norfolk’s peerless samphire: a nicely patriotic move. A glass of rosé (“M” from Château Minuty) was served alongside, a summery and nicely textured choice to flatter the soft silkiness of the trout.

A dive to the bottom of the sea then brought back a sweet Cornish crab atop chargrilled bread (why no Cromer crab I thought to myself but forgot to ask). Alongside the shellfish was another interesting looking bowl, a custard this time made savoury with dashi and slicked with herb oil. It was a light and refreshing dish to perk up the palate before the main course. The accompanying Chenin Blanc from biodynamic Château de Suronde did much the same job, a wine with nice acidity and some textural interest from bottle ageing.

There was more fish, in the shape of hake with pickled daikon, on offer for the main course. I opted, however, for aged Norfolk lamb loin with roasted little gem lettuce. It was excellent meat but the dish was truly set apart by the two clever additions. First, there was a small spoon of (sheep’s milk?) yoghurt topped with black garlic: both flavours, the keen acidity of the yoghurt and the deep umami of the fermented garlic, set off the sweet lamb perfectly. Then, sitting quietly on the side of the plate, was something called a “Scrumpet” – not the offspring of a scone and a crumpet as one might expect, but finely minced lamb, seasoned and served in a crisp coating of breadcrumbs. It was crunchy, oily, unctuous. Accompanying the lamb was a very lightly chilled Pinot Noir from Spinyback in Nelson in the north of New Zealand’s South Island. High acid and with some oak, it was a good foil for the richness of the course.

By this point my stamina and palate were starting to fail. Just the moment for a cleansing quenelle of raspberry sorbet, an exceptionally good one at that. Even I baulked at the optional cheese course, but I did peer at the offering for “research purposes only”. A selection of artisan lovelies including local-ish Baron Bigod (a favourite from Fen Farm Dairy in Bungay), a Somerset goat (Little Lilly from White Lake Cheese) and Celtic Promise, a Caerphilly style washed-rind cheese from Caws Teifi. All lovely cheeses from great British producers but sadly a step too far that day.

Instead, pudding beckoned in the shape of a rhubarb and white choc millefeuille made with exceptionally buttery pastry. The final wine of the evening was a very interesting late harvest pudding wine from Chilean producer Morandé. Made from botrytised Sauvignon Blanc grapes, it was intense yet retained enough acidity and lift to bring the meal to a suitably refreshing close.

I’m glad I came here I thought as I spooned myself back into my, by now slightly tighter, coat. "Generous" would be my one-word review (of restaurant and, now, waistline). With a few more words, I's say it’s an excellent anchor of the Norwich fine dining scene, home to clever, assured cooking with flashes of inventive flair. It’s a place with good local, seasonal and sustainable credentials too, one doubly set apart by superb service. Bravo.