The best dishes are those that render you speechless. They rob you of words, leaving only smiles and strange noises that don’t need vocabulary to show that the sentiment behind them is one of pleasure.

Upstairs is a place you can find these dishes. Not one, but several, put down one after another in a gloriously choreographed tasting menu of flavours punctuated by smiles, coos and the occasional glimpse of the man behind them as he stands slightly imposingly at the pass, overseeing these moments of pleasure to make sure they really do hit the spot.

If you’ve come to this review having watched Great British Menu and hoping to hear about what ‘that’ banana dessert is like in real life or for a description of Tom Shepherd dressed in a Bananaman costume in real life, I can’t help. Although after his successes on the tv show, it might not be long before you can experience both of those at his restaurant in Lichfield (I hear the banana dessert will be coming onto the menu, and why on earth wouldn’t you after the reception it got on GBM).

That said, you’ll have to get in line. The wait for a table at Upstairs in Lichfield has been months long for quite some time, and I imagine it’s about to get even longer.

Quite rightly so. Tom Shepherd’s calibre is up there with the best. He’s worked in some of the best kitchens in the land, he’s got years of experience, and his skill is second to none. After all, as much as we might like to scoff at TV food shows, you don’t tend to get through to the banquet in GBM without some mad skills in the kitchen.

If you’re still in doubt, remember that Upstairs got its Michelin star – the first restaurant in Staffordshire to do so – just four months after opening. If you need more evidence as to why it’s popular, I’m not sure what I can say.

Upstairs sits above Tom’s dad’s jewellers. The entrance is low-key. So low key that our taxi driver asked if we were going for a curry. Not this time, mate, not quite. Upstairs, the restaurant has already been extended once to allow for more covers, yet has retained a small, intimate feeling without any of that awkward silence filled only by clinking cutlery and hushed voices because people are slightly too intimidated to enjoy themselves.

The decor’s somehow chic without being too City of London, and while banquette seating adds to a slightly more casual feel, there are touches like handbag stools to remind that this is a place where details count. And not just with the food.

As things stand, an eight-course tasting menu will set you back £95 a head, with the option of an extra cheese course if you desire (yes, we very much desired). There’s also a wine pairing for £70. No, it’s not cheap but it’s cheaper than a fair few other Michelin-starred restaurants.

We start with a glass of Grove English sparkling from literally up the road, its burst of apple making for a crowd-pleasing opener as we tuck into the always-welcome snacks that come in a place like this.

They’re all predictably great but it’s a delicate croustade filled with tuna sashimi that’s a party of sweetness, tangy citrus and moreish umami courtesy of a ponzu dressing, compressed , soy emulsion and dashi jelly. It’s a canape that Tom Kerridge reckoned saw that cacophony of flavours overshadow the tuna. Not for me, they didn’t. But what do I know.

A red cabbage gazpacho is one of several examples of what we can all see Tom does well – that challenge that pits your brain against your tastebuds and forces you to eat with an open mind. The gazpacho is vibrant pink but its flavour is a deep earthiness, punctuated by pops of grassiness and apricot thanks to the drops of olive oil artfully placed by pipette.

They’re great on their own, but its the horseradish ice cream that really sings. Say horseradish to most people and they’ll shudder at the thought of that acerbic, burny taste that comes with a cheap sauce of the same name in a local carvery – itself a crime against poor old horseradish.

It’s different here, of course. The respect for ingredients means this is proper horseradish, transformed into a rich, smooth and creamy ice-cream that is cool yet brings a gentle warmth that nobody on our table can avoid talking about.

A plump Orkney Scallop is possibly my favourite course. It’s perfectly cooked, squished into a delicate peanut satay that’s neatly engulfed in a moat of coriander oil. The radish on top is peppery yet has the same natural restraint of the horseradish in the previous course, tickling without punching.

I was always a cynic of wine pairings, until once upon a time when I was invited to a wine lunch at The Cross in Kenilworth and experienced the moment when a particular combination of food and wine makes all the flavours ‘pop’ and everything fall into place as it should (in your mouth anyway – don’t be expecting a wine pairing to bring world peace or anything). The Riesling with this scallop course did just that, and I remain a fan of those surprise serves in restaurants like this. After all, it’s not like I’m going to be able to choose wine that well.

I’ve read about the Parker House roll elsewhere and am not quite sure I’ll be convinced it’s any better than a bread roll. But as Flo who is serving us – and whose professionalism, knowledge and well-judged banter is quite frankly terrifying to those of us who have never quite mastered such fine-tuned behaviour – describes it I’m already convinced it will be far from that.

It’s tear and share style, which could be risky given how good this is. That’s made even worse by not one, but two, cultured butters – one straightforward and one with beurre noisette – that are the salty counterbalance to the slight sweetness of the maple hint to the glaze.

For the romantics among us, we hear how the boards our bread sits on is from a 400-year-old original oak beam found in the building. That beam was past preserving so instead is used to carry our food rather than the whole building. If that doesn’t make you smile then I’d suggest you just give up now. There’s no hope for you.

Wild turbot is served with a vibrant Tandoori carrot puree and a preserved ‘sand carrot’, but it’s the curry butter that gets me. There’s a nod to Birmingham and our love of curries (the taxi driver would be pleased). Of course, the presentation and flavours remind us that this is a place where that satisfying sweet-spice of a classic curry is dialled up a notch. As is the accompanying top-notch Cava, which is somewhat better than the Cavas of yesteryear.

Norfolk quail is delicate and umami-laced thanks to a yeast potato puree and Maitake mushrooms (Hen of the Woods to some of us). When Flo tells us the wild garlic in the accompanying pesto is foraged locally in a secret spot in Lichfield we think we might have to bribe her but by the end of the meal we know. We just decide that raiding it would be churlish to all the people yet to try this course.

Aberdeen Angus Sirloin is served with lightly-pickled silver skin onions and morels, along with a beef fat emulsion. It’s my least favourite course – the beef seems a tiny bit tough which distracts me from the flavours. That said, I could happily have eaten 25 of the beef cheek croquettes that come by the side instead.

Agreeing to share the optional cheese course with Jamie is one of the more regretful mistakes I’ve made in our relationship. How was I to know it would be so good. A delicate homemade pain au raisin reminiscent of French breakfasts and general indulgence – brought into cheese land thanks to the substitution of the raisins for fig.

On top of it, a delicate jenga-style stack of Colston Bassett blue cheese, black walnut ketchup, fresh grapes and a sweet, mustardy vinaigrette. I want it all. In fact, I want a supersized version and I want to be left in the corner to tackle it on my own with a vat of the fig and walnut martini that the team at Upstairs created to go with it. Alone, that martini should be way too sweet for any cocktail-lover’s liking, but with that salty, savoury, sexy cheese course, it’s perfect.

By this point, the rictus grin is starting to hurt my face a bit. But things are only getting better. The ‘transition course’ is one I’ve heard about. It’s billed as ‘Thai Green Curry’, and that’s what it is – and so much more.

A clever, smile-inducing mound of creamy coconut rice pudding, sweet, bold, juicy mango and a foam infused with all the elements of a Thai curry. It’s savoury and sweet, a bit spicy, a lot creamy, and so right that you can’t possibly call it wrong.

Popcorn adds crunch, coriander adds fragrance and it’s the kind of course that makes you want to downgrade your teaspoon to one of those tiny egg spoons so you can make it last longer.

I’m still waxing lyrical about it, convinced that I probably don’t need a dessert that’s going to struggle to follow it, when the final dish appears. Where the idea of a Thai green curry savoury-sweet course could be considered a bit challenging, a hardcore chocolate dessert is the opposite. Proof that sometimes it’s absolutely fine to give the masses like me what they want.

Of course, it’s a step up (or maybe 10,576) from a Sara Lee chocolate gateau or the many rubbish chocolate fondants we’ve all foolishly ordered, thinking they’ll somehow be ‘the one’. The 72% Valrhona chocolate has been slightly fermented so it doesn’t have the bitterness that turns off so many people from good quality dark chocolate.

It’s rich without being too rich, and the creme fraiche ice cream on top adds a slightly sour note that coats the mouth and makes room for the fruity notes of the same olive oil we had at the start of the meal in that Gazpacho. We’ve come full circle, showing that this menu is as much about storytelling as showcasing skills and standards. All you have to do is watch Shepherd on GBM to see how much he loves a story – and that is not a passion saved up for the telly, my friends.

There’s a hot chocolate crisp on top – again for the crunch. And Horlicks powder. Because we all need a bit of a hug at the end of the night and while Tom Shepherd looks pretty huggable, it seems slightly inappropriate to ask for one.

That said, he does come out for a chat at the end of the night thanks to the fact he knows our friends, who have graced his establishment more times in the past year than most of us will manage to in a decade. Happily, he’s exactly as he seems on the telly. Quietly confident, yet affable, honest and clearly delighted to be chasing his dream.

It’s the cherry on the cake of a fabulous night. I have a bad habit of waxing lyrical about places I love, but I don’t think anyone can criticise me for going all excitable on this one. Upstairs is everything a great fine dining restaurant should be in 2023. Imaginative, innovative and challenging, yet comfortable and fun.

I leave unsurprised that my friends are so taken by it. How could you not be? Now the only challenge is to get back for that blimin’ banana….

[Disclosure: We paid in full at Upstairs]