The Sampler: top 10

It's a grizzly grey Monday night in Islington and I feel like a kid in a candy shop. I'm at The Sampler armed with a loaded card. Admiring the 80 wines on display in the Enomatic machines like paintings in a gallery, I don't know where to begin.

I try to keep on top of wine trends, but am three years late in discovering this North London gem. Walking round the shop is a genuinely exciting experience - it feels Decanter magazine has come to life, and all the top wines have leapt from the pages onto the shelves. All the key world wine regions are represented and at every turn is an A-lister: Salon, Ausone, Richebourg, Aldo Conterno, Castillo Ygay, Caymus...

The bottles stand side by side on the shelves begging to be bought. I have to resist the urge to pick them up and drool over them. As I ponder what wine to try first, I catch sight of a man in his mid 50s in a purple flat cap, outsized glasses and yellow Crocs enjoying a slurp or two whilst listening to his i-pod. He looks French. That's the beauty of The Sampler - everyone is free to enjoy the delights of this wine juke box at their own speed and to their own soundtrack. The shop's soundtrack, a trendy mix of noughties indie – Kasabian, Kings of Leon and Arctic Monkeys, is seriously cool to sip to.

A selection of the much-hyped Bordeaux 2009s will be available to try from the end of April, but if your budget doesn't stretch that far fear not. I topped up my card with a humble £10 and managed to try 10 impressive wines from a fantastic variety of regions. Where else in London can you do that? I'm a little in love with The Sampler, and plan on making a return visit soon, if only to catch a glimpse of Ivy the dog. Here are my top ten...

Lopez de Heredia, Viña Gravonia, Rioja, 1999 (84p)

Made in Lopez de Heredia's Haro-based winery where architect Zaha Hadid has recently set up shop, the aged white is an attractive amber-gold colour with a wonderfully developed nose of apricot, poached pear and vanilla. Unlike any white Rioja I've ever tasted, its oxidized aromas lends it a Sherry-like quality. Full, rich and weighty on the palate, it tastes of toffee apples with a floral, honeysuckle finish. Lush and alluring, creamy yet fresh, it's a fascinating find. I fear I may have peaked too soon...

Au Bon Climat, Wild Boy Chardonnay, 2007 (74p)

I had to try this wine, if only for the mad label – winemaker Jim Clendenen's head in the middle of a psychedelic triangle looking like a modern day Jim Morrsion. Going on the label, I was expecting a full on cream and oak explosion, so was pleasantly surprised by the restrained and dare I say elegant nose of lemon and green apple. The oak certainly comes through, but in a violin rather than an electric guitar sort of way. It's rich, rounded and creamy on the palate – delicious.

Loimer Steinmassl Riesling, 2006 (£1.54)

From winemaker Freddie Loimer's single vineyard estate, the nose shows wonderful ripe juicy fruit: peaches, pear drops and baked apples. Elegant on the palate, with mouth-puckering citrus fruits, lovely structure, complex minerality and hints of vanilla perfume, it's luscious long length hints at tremendous ageing potential.

Briseu Patapon, 2008 (75p)

If you can get past the scary Jack Nicholson-esque clowns on the label, then this is a really interesting wine. Made from Pineau d'Aunis, a black grape from the Loire, the raspberry coloured wine displays lovely Gamay-style fruit: bright Morello cherries and ripe raspberries. The nose explodes with soft summer fruits, and on the palate are hints of spice, cigar smoke and tar. Grippy and peppered with great structure, it would be amazing served chilled on a summer picnic.

Reichsrat von Buhl, Spätburgunder, 2007 (79p)

I tried my first Spätburgunder last Friday and was seriously impressed by its smokey bacon character - it tasted like liquid Frazzles, so was very excited to see this Pfalz Pinot Noir in the line up. A pale ruby colour, it has a pretty strawberry and cherry blossom nose with an earthy undercurrent. Medium bodied, the slightly perfumed red berry palate mirrors the nose, with bright red fruit mixing into an attractive savoury finish. Quite lovely.

4 Kilos, 12 Volts, 2008 (91p)

Being an unashamed hispanophile, I was keen to try this effort from Mallorca, made from the indigenous Callet-Fogoneu grape, with a little help from Syrah, Cabernet and Merlot. Still very young, the palate shows savoury aromas and dense black fruit: blackberries and juicy blueberries, with hints of coffee and spice from the oak. On the opulent palate the thick bramble fruit continues, with blueberry jam coming to the fore. Suave in the mouth, with lovely vanilla and sweet spice from the oak, it's rich, mouthfilling and seriously quaffable.

Innocent Bystander Shiraz Viognier, 2005 (53p)

Already won over by the enigmatic label, this Yarra Valley gem didn't disappoint. The nose is full of bright, vibrant black cherries, chocolate and nutmeg, and yet it retains a wonderful savoury quality. Rich, full bodied and fruit forward, the palate is lush and velvety, with delicious ripe black fruit mingling with alluring meaty notes and hints of spice. Big and grippy, yet elegant, with a spicy liquorice finish, the savoury notes make it dangerously moreish.

Château Musar, Musar Jeune, 2008 (45p)

Château Musar is high up on my wish list of wines to try, so I saved this until last. Made in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, this young, unoaked upstart is vibrant, fruity and unashamedly exotic. Made from a blend of Cincault, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon, the nose shows lovely red and black cherries, raspberries and red currants. The palate is rich, smooth and red-fruited with sweet spice, structure and grip. Magnificent.

Paxton AAA Shiraz, 2007 (77p)

They call this AAA for a reason. Made from 70% Shiraz and 30% Grenache at the reputed McLaren Vale biodynamic winery, the wine has a spice-box perfumed nose of kirsch and mulberry. Supple, forward and textured, it's a seriously easy going wine. Pleasantly perfumed, elegant and restrained, it smells of the Old World, the Grenache powering through to give it a cherry and raspberry kick. Velvety and smooth, it has a creamy and meaty core with sweet cinnamon spice on the long, full finish. Quite delicious.

Fontanafredda Barolo, 2004 (£1.19)

And finally... One of only two wines I paid over a pound for, this was worth the extra pennies. The Fontanafredda estate used to be the hunting lodge of the late King Emmanuel II, and was also home to his mistress Bella Rosa Rosin. The blood red wine from this superb vintage has a clear-cut, intense nose of withered roses and underbrush with overtones of vanilla and spice. Dry but soft, the palate is haunting – full bodied, silky and well balanced, it's complex and lengthy with alluring spices, smoke and crushed rose petal aromas. Grippy and spicy on the palate with lingering sour cherries, it could only be Italian – it could only be Barolo.

Come dine with me

Monday night was momentous – a rite of passage that marked my entry into adulthood. I hosted my first dinner party.

Admittedly it was only for four people (myself included), but for someone who has yet to wean herself off her university diet of cheesy nachos and Super Noodles, it was a big deal.

I have always hoped there is a domestic goddess within, and that I've just been waiting for the right occasion to release her. This was my chance, and I was leaving nothing to chance.

On Sunday morning I scoured the pages of my favorite (okay, only) cookbook: Nigella Express. If anyone can make food sexy and appealing, Nigella can. I met her once during my reporting days and she dripped sex appeal. She is the chocolate covered spoon of sex appeal. Her programmes are food porn, and so deliciously executed. A wink here, a lick of the spoon there... I digress.

I picked the three easiest recipes to execute, jotted down the ingredients in my pink Krug notebook and hoofed it to Sainsbury's. It's the first time in my life I've been to a supermarket with a purpose. I felt virtuous as I skipped down the aisles throwing all my desired ingredients into my basket. With each new ingredient, I came a step closer to the realisation of my goal. The pieces of the culinary puzzle were coming together.

Fortunately, my flatmate was away on Sunday night, giving me the chance to dig out the dining table (which we've never used), and set the scene. I thought I'd get ahead of myself by making the honeycomb for the ice cream a day early. It's deceptively simple, all you need is caster sugar, golden syrup and bicarbonate of soda. Nigella ordered me not to touch the sugar as it boiled, so I left it a little too long and it came out more brunette than blond, with a burnt toffee aftertaste. I made mountains of it – dental suicide.

Rushing back from work on Monday, I whacked on Paolo Nuttini and lit some candles, decorating the table with my pre-starters: giant olives, hunks of sourdough with olive and balsamic oil for dipping, and shreds of Parma ham. My first two guests arrived and began to dig in.

The host has a difficult role to play during a dinner party. Striking the right balance between the attention you pay to your guests and your food is a fine art. You are expected to be wildly entertaining and unruffled while you whip up a three course culinary extravaganza (unaided), cater to your guests' every caprice and match them glass for glass. It's a delicate tightrope that needs to be navigated with grace and humility.

My third guest was running late, which presented two dilemmas: to uncork or not to uncork, and when to start the starters. Timing is crucial to the smooth running of a dinner party. A late guest can cause the whole operation to unravel. I decided to take a risk and start cooking without him, in the hope that it would somehow speed up his arrival. I cracked open the bubbles in his absence, as my guests were parched and open-mouthed like hungry little birds.

Much to my delight, my final guest arrived in perfect time for the starters – eggs en cocotte with my secret ingredient: truffle oil. Annoyingly, I had let the yolks go hard whilst waiting for the soldiers to toast, but they went down a treat and disappeared quickly from their ramekins. I opened a Marques de la Murietta Capellania white Rioja to accompany the dish. It had an alluring waxy mouthfeel, with notes of fennel and honey wrapped around an oak core. Broad and creamy on the palate, the faint traces of oxidization only added to its charm.

No sooner had I pondered it's toffee-tinged depths, than I was back in the kitchen tackling the main course: duck breasts with pomegranate and mint on a bed of rocket. I have never cooked duck before, and to make matters worse, my cooker has no numbers on the dial. They have either been rubbed off by overzealous lodgers before me, or they never existed. I seared the breasts in a pan as suggested by Nigella and whacked them in the oven, taking them out a couple of minutes before the suggested time, having learnt the hard way with the eggs.

Amazingly, when I thrust my knife into the hot skin and began to sheer, the meat was as pink as a warm cheek. I made my bed of rocket and lay the slithers of duck in it, pouring the juice from the pan over the meat as I went. To finish, I added a sprinkling of mint and a handful of pomegranate seeds, that glinted like rubies in the light. Being an Art History graduate, I have to admit to picking the dish for its aesthetic beauty. It looked so pretty on the dish - the green of the mint bouncing off the red of the pomegranate. I matched the main with a 2005 Au Bon Climat Pinot Noir from California. On the palate were raspberries, rose petals and cola bottles that mingled with earthy, meaty notes. Elegant and refined, it was a sensational match for the duck.

Finally it was time for a bit of fun: desert. This was the only dish of the trio I'd made before. It was a hit with my family last Easter, and has to be the most indulgent pudding on the planet. I lined up four ice cream sundae glasses along the counter and scooped a ball of chocolate, vanilla and toffee ice cream into each. Between each scoop I added a layer of honeycomb, and on top went my magic sauce - melted chocolate mixed with double cream, Skippy peanut butter and golden syrup. After sprinkling them with chopped peanuts, they were good to go. It reminded me of the knickerbocker glories you used to drool over as a kid when you went to TGIs. A calorie calamity, but worth every one.

The look of delight on my friends' faces as they tucked into the gloopy scoops made all the effort worthwhile. As I sat there having made it to the finish line, finally able to relax, I realized that the joy in cooking lies in other people's reactions. To watch people happily devouring food that you've made is seriously rewarding. It fires you up and motivates you to try harder and push the culinary boundaries as far as you can. I'll still have the odd guilt free packet of Super Noodles every now and then, but I've had a taste of the the joy you get from cooking for other people, and it's made me hungry for more.