Playa del Carmen, Mexico

Anyone who knows us is aware that we're quite partial to a bit of quality nosh, so when we'd been looking into potential hotels for our two week sojourn I'd paid particular attention to the reviews of food on Trip Advisor. Barring the odd disgruntled - and often mentally unstable - punter, there'd been a fair amount of praise for the Playacar Palace's restaurants. They may not be as numerous as some of the enormo-resorts of Cancun, but hey, we don't wanna stay in a 2,000 room behemoth preferring a more personal touch...  

The gastronomic praise has often been a little wide of the mark, written by people who are just amazed that there's more food in the world than burgers and waffles, but the fact we've only felt the desire to eat dinner outside of the hotel twice out of 14 nights is testament to the variety of food on offer, and the incredible levels of service from the staff - or possibly our increasing lethargy! And it's all topped off with a special Chef's Dinner, by the hotel's executive chef Oscar Dominguez, on our penultimate night, which proves entertaining.  

We'd grown used to breakfasts in the Cafe Del Mar, governed by the friendly smile of Micelia, the buffets groaning with every type of food imaginable. Loading up on cereals, exotic fruits, omelettes made in seconds by the hot-grill wizard Olivia and bagels smothered in cream cheese and topped with my contraband Marmite had become quite the routine, enhanced every now and then by a spicy Mexican delicacy to tickle the taste buds (and waistlines). Pots of unending fresh coffee from the ever-charming Antonio had kept us sustained.

And lunches on the days we'd stretched out like radioactive lobsters on the beach had seen us sample a huge variety of dishes from seafood soup to pork pibil with tortillas, vibrant salads to sizzling fajitas, all made extra zingy by the bottles of Pinot Grigio the fantastically wicked Cristal would foist upon us.

The evenings we'd not been indulging in some spurious romantic occasion or dining with new-found friends we'd investigated the wood-fired pizza oven at the poolside Aqua Bar or grabbed a buffet plateful from Cafe del Mar. But there had been a couple of memorable feasts we've yet to share.

The taco night, which not only featured a smoke-laden grill al fresco but a fabulously amateurish attempt at aquatic dance routines by the same dance troupe who'd entertained us on New Year's Eve, was particularly memorable.

And the teppanyaki table in the oriental restaurant Momonohana was also an experience; the knife skills of the chef offset by his pushing a smoking onion stack around the hot-plate shouting "choo-choo" as though it was a little train.

However, the Chef's Dinner near the end of our stay is a very nice touch, providing a suitably sophisticated evening ahead of our final full day in Playa Del Carmen - although we almost don't make it having misread the time on our invitation, which at least was addressed to "Mr and Mr Luff" this time. To satisfy Coman's pride we might need to change our names by deed-poll in the future; people would be able to say they're having the Luff-Kennys round to dinner.

Flinging on our evening outfits in double-quick time we race downstairs to the Riviera Ballroom where we are greeted at the stairs with a cocktail by the host and shown through to the ballroom itself. No notions of grandeur here, it's essentially a big conference room with a cook's table set up at one end below a video screen with thirty diners seated in front to watch the show, and eat the food.

The Playacar Palace's executive chef is Oscar Dominguez, a handome chap n his mid-30s from Mexico City who's been in charge of all the restaurants at the hotel for the past five years, and the silver service waiting staff include Elvia and Nubia from our romantic beach dinner. They obviously get all the classy jobs.

Oscar wears a radio mike and talks us through everything as he cooks in both English and Spanish for the mixed group of dinner guests, while above us the video screens show an aerial view of what he's doing. I presume it's similar to the cookery presentations that the likes of Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay.charge big fees to go and watch, although I'm not sure they have lounge music filling the rather torturous silences as all our dinner companions treat the display so reverently we could be in a church or library, they're so quiet.

In fact the son of the Japanese family next to us actually puts his head flat on the table and seems to be going to sleep which is a little disconcerting for Oscar, who ploughs on regardless with the starter - Rustic Baskets. These are tortillas he deep fries to a crisp, creating a basket filled with a tasty salad, served alongside beautifully tender duck pieces he's sauteed in balsamic. Coman's golfing exploits earlier today could well have added that particular dish to the menu!

We follow with Zuppa Pavese, a Lombard soup created for a French king after an unsuccessful battle with Italian city-states in the fifteenth century. The base is raw egg over which a hot chicken broth is poured, topped off with croutons and truffle shavings. He takes the bowl with raw egg around the table to show us all how it's done and one woman halfway round drawls just that bit too loudly to her husband, "Raw egg? Are you shittin' me?"

Undeterred Oscar lines up all the bowls of raw egg and spoons the boiling liquid into them instantly creating little, soft yellow clouds in the bowls that taste like the silkiest, fluffiest scrambled egg. It's absolutely delicious.

As we eat Oscar announces, "We have all that we need. Good food, good wine, good company and," gesturing at Hernando on the laptop, "good music". Considering Hernando seems to be a fan of Mexican-style Stock Aitken and Waterman hi-NRG and is pumping out a sub-Tiffany pile of nonsense, that's questionable.

He follows this with instrumental lounge muzak versions of 'Everybody Wants To Rule The World', 'How Deep Is Your Love' and 'I Will Survive' which is possibly not the best backing track to be playing while the chef cooks the main course - the potentially ominous, but hopefully not fatal, Surprise Of The Sea.

Coman is not a fan of shellfish so has his own chicken dish brought to him while I and the rest of the room eat the medley of shrimps, clams, octopus, squid and grouper that Oscar has cooked in a huge pan before us, bathed in a rich light tomato and garlic sauce. It's absolutely exquisite, each separate ingredient cooked to perfection.

Dessert is the simply named Chef's Delight, a pistachio mousse over which is poured hot fruits in a thick syrup and then Oscar relinquishes the floor to a chap named Miguel from the serving team. Miguel is definitely of the lavendar persuasion and explains in a remarkably camp manner how he is going to make us all his signature Mexican coffee, by heating tequila over a flame and adding it in. He assures us it is delicious.

It's not. In fact, it's quite simply foul. We're each brought a glass of it to try and it knocks the smile straight off Coman's face the second he tastes it. Poor Miguel! Everyone cleared their plates of each course prepared by Oscar, but Miguel's offering goes unfinished by the entire room.

As we get up to leave, the red-sugar-rimmed glasses remain defiantly full. To be honest, it leaves the proverbial bad taste in our mouths which, fortunately, is not something we've experienced in the rest of our time here. The food has been great and so damn plentiful we'll most definitely be going on a severely-restricted and booze-free diet upon our return. My mother has already informed me that Lent starts on February 13th. It's going to come a month early for the pair of us!