Osteria Francescana

I’ve gone down the rabbit hole and there’s no telling when, or if, I’ll come out. In front of me is a dish that smells of freshly cut grass. Truffles and toad stalls float in a thick pond of green, their tops covered with what looks like dried basil. An excitable, bespectacled man magics himself to our table. Rubbing his hands with glee, he explains in a faint whisper that the creation is inspired by memories of dawn walks down a dewy northern Italian mountainside, and admits he may have gone too far with the chlorophyll. We’re given a glass to pair with it filled with transparent liquid.

The sommelier mutters something about ginseng. It smells cloud-like and burns in the mouth.Welcome to Osteria Francescana, the three Michelin-starred Modena restaurant of Italian culinary wizard Massimo Bottura, voted the fifth best restaurant in the world at this year’s San Pellegrino World’s 50 Best Restaurants awards. Read on at The Arbuturian to find out why there's more to this lolly than meets the eye...

Charlie Trotter to close restaurant

Pioneering chef Charlie Trotter is to close his eponymous Chicago restaurant, Charlie Trotter’s, in August after 25 years of service. As reported on thedrinksbusiness.com, Trotter made the announcement to diners on New Year’s Eve, insisting the move is a sabbatical to study philosophy and political theory. “I just had to put the flag in the sand and say I’ve got to go for this; otherwise, I never will," he said, adding, "If I don’t go for something while I’m in the prime of my life and I have the means to do it, well, why wouldn’t I?”

The 52-year-old plans to open a new restaurant after he finishes his studies, though remains tight-lipped about any further details. The Chicago-born chef fell in love with cooking while working in a restaurant during college. With little culinary training, he began working in various restaurants full-time age 23, opening Charlie Trotter’s just four years later.

Because America's dining scene has come so far in 25 years, it’s easy to forget what a pioneer Trotter was, especially in the Midwest. He was among the first to popularise tasting menus and was an early advocate for cooking with fresh, seasonal ingredients, offering vegetarian menus and even a raw menu for guests. Unafraid of controversy, in 2002 he took foie gras off his menu, but when the Chicago city council later passed a ban, he spoke out against it, arguing it wasn't a politician's job to legislate eating habits.

Trotter has also been a consistent champion for wine service, hiring and nurturing some of the top sommeliers in the industry. His 1,800-stong wine list, built on a cellar of more than 7,000 bottles, offers both the benchmark fine wines and smart buys. Trotter made a cameo appearance as an angry chef in the 1997 film My Best Friend’s Wedding starring Julia Roberts and Cameron Diaz.

Apsleys, a Heinz Beck Restaurant

"Cookery is orderly insanity. Cookery is life. Mine. Which I taste in little, intense bites to relish it all," Heinz Beck tells me over an early morning coffee in his Venetian pleasure dome of a restaurant in The Lanesborough Hotel. He's about to catch a flight back to Rome, where he heads up the three Michelin-starred La Pergola, the first restaurant in Rome to receive such an honor, so our meeting is spitefully early. Curiously, we are both wearing orange. We ponder over the probability of such an unlikely occurrence. Complementing the dramatic old masters mural on the far wall, Beck tells me he desperately wanted to be a painter. His father wouldn't allow it, so he became a chef instead. I suggest that cooking is an art form, and the resulting dishes often painterly in their presentation.

The week before I had dined under the same glass roof. The room is spectacular in its splendour. Designed by Adam Tihaney – the man behind Thomas Keller's Napa jewel The French Laundry, and more recently Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, the light and airy space is dominated by a trio of chandeliers that hover like calamari rings in suspended animation, while pencil-shaped bulbs dangle languidly mid-ring. The capacious space is populated by a polite number of tables, all far enough apart to give the impression of privacy. The cappuccino-coloured upholstery is plush, and the pillows plump. I could dine out on the visuals alone.

It took Beck a mere four months to earn his first Michelin star in London, which was awarded last January after the restaurant reopened post refurb in September 2009. Sharing the reins with Beck is Massimiliano Blasone, ex executive chef of the Tuscany-based Brunello powerhouse Castello Banfi. Despite Beck's German heritage, the menu – beige, suede to the touch, and illustrated rather oddly with a cross section of an onion, has distinct Mediterranean flourishes, while a number of the dishes are cooked sous-vide.

My companion and I opt to go à la carte, bypassing the tempting tasting menu offering seven courses for £85 (or £125 with wine). Removing a chivalric looking plate from in front of me, an ice-cold glass of Taittinger NV is served with a shallow bowl of luminous watermelon soup. A pair of aubergine croquettes float on the surface like brown Dolly Mixtures amid razor-thin Parmesan shavings. The fresh flavours cleanse and enliven my palate before the forthcoming flavour invasion. Bread comes in the form of peach wafer-thin strips flecked with sesame seeds. Munching on the shards feels like eating strips of paint fallen fresh from the wall. I find this strangely satisfying.

My starter is a work of art. Three fudge-like cubes of foie gras terrine with smoked apple and amaretti lie like building blocks among a foie garden composed of orange cubes, chocolate soil and herbal hedges. With a roof of amaretti crumble, the rich, decadent, Madeira-marinated squares are umami-rich and utterly delicious, both when spread across the accompanying brioche, and when popped whole in the mouth. The marmalade-fueled Jurançon wine match is inspired, its bright acidity cutting confidently through the fat.

Next I bypass Beck's signature dish: Carbonara fagottelli, opting instead for the croissant-shaped Tagliolini with lobster and almonds – a dish I still dream about. Served with a dollop of pesto on top and the lobster weaved throughout, it smells pleasingly of the sea. The perfectly al dente pasta mixes with the lobster into a rich symphony of flavour, which is helped along immensely by a glass of bright and vibrant Greco di Tuffo; my new favourite grape. Waxy and unctuous, it has bags of character and yet retains its elegance.

As if deliberately trying to order the richest trio off the menu, my main is a quartet of suckling pig medallions coated in a golden layer of crispy crackling served with a token sprinkling of mangetout. The pork is juicy, tender and comforting – like a hug from the inside. My companion's black cod, while lacking the sweet miso I so enjoy about the dish, is served with a top layer of powdered Spanish ham, lending it a salty savouriness. It meatifies the fish, which I like, but its intense, bacony flavour overpowers the dish, leaving the humble, fall-off-the-fork cod shivering in the shadows.

My accompanying wine, a 1996 Poderi Colla Barbaresco, is dusty and brooding, with fine-grained tannins. The fruit, having receded into the background, has paved the way for savoury cedar flavours. My companion's Franz Haas Pinot Nero is as bright as a ruby and alive with vibrant red fruit – raspberries and cherries abound. I'm tempted to switch glasses.

The culinary adventure ends with the "Crunchy", a biscuit-based diamond with a dulce de leche filling and rasberry jam lid, served with a scoop of yoghurt ice cream and a pair of edible lilac flowers. Tangy, zesty, salty and sweet, it ticks all the taste boxes and yet leaves me deflated. All the elements are there, but the whole is an anticlimax. The wine match however, a 2007 G. Allegrini, Recioto della Valpolicella Classico, is infinitely interesting. Strangely, our sommelier explains Amarone as meaning "the sweet one", when it means the exact opposite: "the bitter one." Despite this schoolboy error, the wines are expertly matched and enthusiastically served.

Apsleys has much to recommend it – the palatial space is the most beautiful public dining room in London. Service is attentive but unobtrusive, while the food is extravagant, yet leaves you pleasantly satiated rather than trouser-poppingly full. There is a thread of freshness running throughout both the food and the wine that lends the dishes life. The flavours dance across the palate like nimble nymphs. If cookery is life, then Beck's plates have a heartbeat.

Apsleys, a Heinz Beck Restaurant, The Lanesborough Hotel, Hyde Park Corner, London, SW1X 7TA; Tel: +44 (0)20 7259 5599; www.lanesborough.com

Ms Marmite Lover Bacchanalia at Blacks

“Follow the pineapples” Ms Marmite Lover announces, holding one under each arm like dumbbells. Resplendent in a mustard yellow dress (echoing the colour of a Marmite jar), flame red hair prettified with a black fascinator, and a frilly white pinny, Ms Marmite Lover, otherwise known as Kerstin Rodgers, leads her guests up the wooden staircase of Blacks members club in Soho, and into its power blue dining room.

My first encounter with Ms Marmite had been in the same room three months prior, when Tom Parker Bowles had whipped up Tequila-fueled Mexican feast with a little help from chef Alberto Figueroa. After the lunch, while a few guests remained drinking the dregs of their wine and eking out the afternoon, Ms Marmite had educated my friends and I about the joys of “figging”. We listened incredulous. Historical examples of horses were given, along with a suggestion that red chili works just as well as root ginger in achieving the desired affect.

I digress. With Ms Marmite Lover pulling the apron strings, I was curious as to what I’d be served – would ginger make it onto the menu? Opting to take the 18^th century as a theme in homage to the Georgian townhouse playing host to our reveries, Rodgers explains that in the 18^th century, pineapples were the height of luxury. Much like a Louis Vuitton handbag today, the tropical fruits, grown in hot houses in Bermondsey, were excruciatingly expensive, and thus seen as the epitome of chic. Ladies could even pay to hire a pineapple for a few hours to serve as a centerpiece on their dinner tables in order to uphold the appearance of a luxury lifestyle, returning them after the meal.

Our feast begins in a sober fashion with unctuous lemon barley water. Thick with sugar, it tastes like lemon curd. Huge platters filled with fiery orange fritters then emerge, and are quickly devoured by the hungry crowd. “Gentlemen used to cook these on their bedroom fireplaces,” says Rodgers. “A dangerous pursuit,” I venture. The fritters are magnificently moreish – the batter light and crispy, the centre soft and gooey, and filled with those faithful bedfellows: pea and mint. Accompanying the fritters is celery soup with truffle oil, which, according to Rodgers, served as 18^th century Viagra. Slightly too cold, it’s refreshing and redeemed by the richness of the truffle oil.

Mid-feast, Rodgers explains that while seasonality is trendy today, in the 18^th century it was the poor who ate seasonally because they couldn’t afford to eat any other way. The lunch continues with an 18^th century classic that has Blumenthal written all over it: Stargazy Pie, served with garden peas and vermicelli. The pie is a visual spectacle, recalling the theatre of 18^th century cooking. While there aren’t four and twenty blackbirds backed in it, I count no less than five fish heads peeping out of the pastry.

I fail to notice them at first, and get quite a fright when I scoop a head onto my plate. Being so visually close to what you’re eating is an odd experience. As diners, we like to distance ourselves from the animals our food comes from. The Stargazy Pie brings you face-to-face with your plate mate and its unfortunate fate. Eating the rustic concoction was like going back in time to an era I’m not sure I’d want to live in.

Luckily, many a sweet treat was to follow, beginning with black pepper strawberries and a sugar mountain piece montée of profiteroles stuffed with orange flower water and drizzled, Jackson Pollock style, with toffee. Notching our sugar intake up to dangerous levels, we’re then offered tuck shop style salted caramels and sugar-coated candied orange peel. Both look and taste of childhood.

Rounding the lunch off with a fiery Bloody Mary, I step out into the summer sunshine and pontificate about the pineapples. Which foods today are considered the height of luxury – Lobster? Caviar? Foie Gras? Truffles? And more interestingly, what will the luxury foods of tomorrow be? In colonial times, lobster was considered poverty food in America, and was often fed to prisoners and servants. The law even limited the number of days lobster could be fed to prisoners before it became abuse. Today ordering lobster off a menu is the ultimate display of decadence. The beauty of food is its cyclical nature – you can never predict what’s around the next culinary corner.

Taste of London

On Friday evening, armed with an umbrella and a steely resolve, I made the muddy pilgrimage to Taste of London. On arrival at Regent's Park, I was surprised to find an army of umbrella-wielding foodies blocking the entrance. The fact that so many people had ventured out in the torrential rain is a testament to the British resolve. Were we all brave or just bonkers?

This was to be my first taste of Taste. Two years ago I'd luxuriated in the Scottish sunshine at Taste of Edinburgh, where I ate enough pork belly to have me oinking all the way home. Taste is an experience that lends itself to sunshine. Eating in the rain is odd and unpleasant. But with the near biblical torrent showing no sign of stopping, I was determined to squeeze some enjoyment out of the experience, if only fleeting. Soggy map in hand, I hoofed it to the Bocca di Lupo stand, where I paid six crowns (Taste currency) for their shaved radish and celeariac salad with pomegranate, pecorino and truffle oil (below), which, mercifully, was sensational, and worth braving the rain for alone.

From the crunchy radish and tangy pecornio to the juicy pomegrante pips that glinted, ruby-like on the plate and the final flourish of truffle oil that I could taste in my mouth the next morning, the salad was a symphony of flavour and texture. I was off to a good start. While waiting for the dish, I got talking to the guy on the neighbouring Gelupo stand - Bocca di Lupo's sister ice cream parlour. Unsurprisingly, sales were slow, but the Hendrick's granitas were proving popular due to generous gin pours. Desperate times call for disparate measures.

Still hungry, I moved swiftly on to Opera Tavern across the park. Having circled the icon dish in my programme earlier that day, by the time I arrived at the stand I was dribbling in anticipation, having read Marina O'Loughlin's paean to the pork burger a month before in the Metro. It sounded sublime, and I was about to get a slice of the action.

I eagerly handed over my 14 crowns (£7) and waited, whetting my appetite further by watching the bad boys being made in the open plan kitchen, their tops white from a dusting of Manchego. Finally it arrived. I ate it in three bites. It was every inch as good as the review – mixed in with the pork, the foie gras gave it exquisite richness, juiciness and depth of flavour, while the Manchego made it unmistakably Spanish.

On a food high, my next stop was due to be at Gauthier Soho to try their Top Dog Deluxe – a smoked Strasbourg sausage served in a pain au lait filled with honey bacon and mustard mayo, but my mind kept wondering back to the Bocca di Lupo balls. The trio looked so tasty, I got plate envy from those around me enjoying the spherical treats.

Unstoppable in my quest, I squelched through the mud – Taste by this point had become something of a gastro Glastonbury, back to the Bocca stand, where 12 crowns got me three deep fried delights: olive stuffed with veal and pork, tomato risotto and mozzarella; by far the best of the three. Biting into it, the warm white goo quickly cascaded down my throat, serving as central heating on this shiver-inducing night.

Having enjoyed so many savoury snacks, I was craving something sweet to end the evening on a sugar high. The Asia de Cuba Mexican doughnuts had earlier caught my eye. I thought they would be long, Churros-like tubes filled with butterscotch sauce, so was slightly disappointed to find them perfectly round. And while they were fluffy and light, the centre wasn't nearly sticky enough. The accompanying Motijo sorbet however was on the money. Sharp, smooth and with an alcoholic kick, it proved the ideal palate cleanser, though my lack of crowns forced an early exit.

Trudging out of the park, the rain still pouring, my thoughts turned to the Top Dog Deluxe. Should I buy some more crowns and have one last taste? I decided against it. Sometimes the idea of a dish is just as sweet, if not sweeter than the reality...

Basque gastronomy evening

No one does culinary theatre better than the Spanish. And so it was that I was invited to go down the rabbit hole into an edible Basque Wonderland.

Held at the Wallace Collection in London's Manchester Square, the evening aimed to flaunt the culinary skills of three of Spain's most prestigious chefs: Andoni Luis Aduriz from Mugaritz, Martin Berasategi, and Pedro Subijana from Akellare.

Flaming torches light the way to the stately entrance of the Wallace Collection. On arrival, I'm lead through a round room full of Louis XVI furniture and a sculpture of Venus chastising Cupid, to a courtyard buzzing with hungry food hacks. Three wines are on offer, a Rioja Reserva and a pair of Txakolis; my poison of choice for the evening.

Showcasing the latest in new-wave Basque tapas, or 'pintxos', as they're known in the region, my culinary adventure begins with a passion fruit half topped with foie gras mousse – the epitome of a sensual food experience. The passion fruit, with its exoticism, edible pips and juicy centre, paired with the rich, creamy, foie gras, makes for an incredibly sexy match. Foodie hedonism at its best.

I'm then handed a medicine bottle full of blood red gazpacho, which I'm advised to shake before imbibing. Alas, nowhere on the bottle does it say 'Drink Me'. The three chefs are stationed in different corners of the room. Where they cook, a snaking queue follows. Subijana is surrounded by frying pans filled with large black stones. He places a solitary prawn on each and dramatically sets fire to the lot. The flames lick the crowd, and I have to check if I still have eyebrows left.

In another corner, Berasategi is indulging his inner pyromaniac, setting fire his millefeuille of foie gras, smoked eel and apple with a tiny blow torch. The result is an explosion of flavour and texture – creamy, crunchy, smoky, smooth, sweet and savoury, it's an inspired match in a league of its own. I have to be forcibly dragged from the stand.

The most intriguing dish of the night comes from Adoni Luis Aduriz, who plays with our perceptions of vision and taste with his trompe l'oeil edible pebbles on a bed of sand. The gray rocks are in fact clay-baked potatoes, and the sand bread crumbs. The drying sensation caused by the breadcrumbs feels like munching on a mouthful of sand, but when paired with the free range egg yolk dip, the rocks are rendered edible.

A plethora of puddings follow, the standout being Cinderella apples dusted in gold, with a pureed apple centre. Without thinking I pop the green stalk in my mouth, and am horrified to find it's chive - a culinary trick too far. And wasn't it Snow White who ate the poisoned apple?

Kyashii

Dining at Kayashii is an extraordinary experience. From the burly bouncer on the door to the blinding white decor, neon lighting and house music on rotation, it feels more like a club than a restaurant. Or, at the very least, a fusion of the two: a clubaurant.

Kyashii's club credentials are no coincidence. Having started life in the basement of the über bling Kingly Club, which opened (and closed) during the recession, the restaurant has taken over the entire site in a bid to make the venue more food-focused.

Its former life as a club is still evident. The bright white tables, plush leather seats and shiny white floor tiles are very Supperclub, or Bond by way of Marbella. It may have lost its disco balls, but Kyashii is very much a place to see and be seen. There's something very mid '90s hip-hop about the place. I can imaging P Diddy and Jay-Z cracking open the Cristal (pre Frederic Rouzaud dispute) and nibbling on sashimi here, shooting club scenes for their latest video.

The space is divided into four dining areas: a ground floor bar with a polished granite sushi counter for casual diners, the 'white room' - with white leather seating and Italian tiled flooring, a bespoke mezzanine level where you can spy on the chefs, and the 'blue room', where I dined, complete with a panoramic electric blue-lit fish tank teeming with tropical fish. Enveloped by the tank, it reminded me of the scene in Baz Luhrmann's Romeo & Juliet when the star-crossed lovers first set eyes on one another through the glass.

Admiring the neon fish as they dart about in the tank, I feel pangs of guilt that I'm about to eat a shoal of their brothers and sisters. It's like having a cattle pen in a steak house. But what of the food? Head chef Jacky Yu (ex-Zuma) is clearly an incredible talent. The menu mixes traditional Japanese fare: sashimi salad with yuzu, black cod tempura, dragon rolls, with more unusual dishes: exquisite yellowtail ponzu with truffle oil, a foie gras sushi set including the standout foie gras beef tataki with nonomi-miso, and pan-fried beef fillet with dynamite mustard sauce.

The food is painstakingly cooked and artfully presented – the sashimi gleams it's so fresh. The dishes seem to mirror the surroundings – flashy and polished; almost too perfect. For those looking to flash the cash at a sleek and stylish sushi venue, Kyashii ticks all the boxes. But there's more to it that mere gloss – it delivers on both the aesthetic and flavour front. Don't let the ostentatious surroundings put you off – Kyashii couldn't be more serious about food.

Kyashii, 4a Upper St Martin's Lane, London WC2H 9NY, www.kyashii.co.uk, around £50pp.

Duck foie gras

Bompas & Parr Chewing Gum Factory

Wine and the City catches up with Sam Bompas, one half of Bompas & Parr, at Bompas & Parr's Artisanal Chewing Gum Factory at Whiteleys, to find out how the factory works and ask what madcap plans the boys are cooking up next...

Bompas & Parr Chewing Gum Factory

Culinary wizards Bompas & Parr have found a new plaything. Moving on from the jelly moulds that made them famous, the pair have turned their hands, Wonka-style, to chewing gum.

Last week, the boys set up shop in Whiteleys, with a pop-up artisanal chewing gum factory. On arrival I'm swiftly lead to the dimly-lit Flavour Library, complete with haunting music on a loop, and scientific diagrams linking the 200 flavours on offer, from the play-it-safe strawberry and cotton candy, through the more adventurous white truffle and green pea, to the downright ludicrous curry, anchovy and hot dog.

I whiz around the aroma room, frantically opening flavour-scented jam jars in a bid to whittle down 40,000 possible combinations to my final two. Watermelon is divine, as is caramel, but they're both too predictable. Peanut jumps out of the jar, along with banana and almond, but I'm looking for something a little more playful. A mix of sweet and savoury perhaps? I strike upon what I believe to be an ingenious duo: foie gras and crème brûlée, having tasted something similar at a basque gastronomy evening the week before. It'll either be delicious or disgusting.

I write my flavour combo on a raffle ticket and hand it to the lady in a lab coat across the counter. She glances at it disapprovingly. The factory is proving so popular, punters have to wait for their numbers to be called, Bingo-style, by a bespectacled man on a megaphone. To ease my wait, I indulge in a Hendricks and tonic from a jam jar.

Finally my number's up, and I'm lead into the gum factory, a pink room lined with long wooden work benches. I'm given a gum-making tutorial by Sam Bompas himself, who dashes out the back to retrieve my flavours. He returns with a vial full of caramel coloured liquid, which I'm told to squirt on my clear gum base and then stir furiously. Icing sugar and citric acid is then added, and more stirring ensues.

'Would you like to add a colour?' Bompas enthuses. 'Why not make it bright green?', he suggests, squirting a few drops of green food colouring into the mixture. I stir it furiously, until it's the texture of Play Doh, then pick it up, douse it with icing sugar and roll it into small gum balls. Impatient, I pop one in my mouth, fearful of what I'm about to chew. Luckily, the crème brûlée dominates and it's surprisingly tasty.

The foie gras is definitely in there, but it's the custard-like, vanilla backbone that lingers. I finish rolling my pea green gum balls and pop them into a tiny white Bompas & Parr box. For their next trick the boys want to go one further and create a gum that changes flavour mid-chew, from savoury to sweet, recreating the Three-Course Dinner Chewing Gum Violet Beauregarde has the misfortune of eating when still in the testing phase in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, turning her into a giant blueberry. Wonka would be proud.

Foie gras and wine

Foie gras is like Marmite: you either love it or hate it. I love it. There's nothing quite like it. Eating a well cooked piece of foie gras is a semi-religious experience. The creaminess of the texture, the rich, delicate flavour and the way it melts on the tongue is indescribably divine. It's the nearest you can get to sex in food form.

Head chef Olivier Ripert of Le Bouchon Breton brasserie in Old Spitalfields Market is clearly in the 'love it' camp. For the month of November he has devised a menu of five seasonal starters showcasing the versatility of foie gras. Each of the dishes has been paired with a different wine, from Champagne to the more traditional Sauternes.

Never being one to turn down a challenge, I headed to the BB on Wednesday night to take on the whole menu and see which wine pairings worked best, bringing along a chef friend for an expert opinion. We were greeted in true Gallic style by a tall red-headed waiter, who appeared to glide across the tiled floor like a swan. Guiding us to our table, he thrust two glasses of Henriot Champagne - supposedly the Brut 1998, into our hands. After a whirl and a sniff we couldn't work out how this 11-year-old was still so ebullient and youthful. It also seemed to lack the complexity one would expect from vintage Champagne.

The swan soon returned with a further two glasses under his wing. 'This is the 1998' he said triumphantly, placing the flutes on the table in a graceful swoop and gliding off in the direction of the kitchen. The nose showed wonderful maturity and elegance, with an attractive honeyed bouquet and a crisp, rounded palate. It proved an excellent match for the foie gras brioche pairing - the toasty notes in the Champagne complimented the toastiness of the brioche, while the crispness of the Champagne lifted the dish, which could have easily come across too rich. We were off to a promising start.

Still only halfway through course one, we were presented with wine two: Clos Lapeyre Jurancon Sec Vitage Vielh 2005 , which had a zingy nose of freshly squeezed lemons and limes tempered with honeyed notes. Fresh and zippy on the palate it showed both the complexity of age and vigour of youth. Dish one was quickly cleared to make way for course two - Mille Feuille of foie gras with caramelised apple in a Calvados sauce. It was another great match - the apple in the rosti enhancing the citrus in the Jurancon, which had a lovely lip-smacking limey freshness. The foie gras was cooked to perfection - rich and creamy, it paired deliciously with the sweet apple in the dish, while the acidity in the wine cut through the fat brilliantly.

Without noticing, our Champagne had been swept away and replaced with two glasses of liquid gold - Castelnau de Suduiraut Sauternes 2004. Sauternes has always been considered the ultimate pairing for foie gras, its waxy sweet mouthfeel complimenting the rich creaminess of foie gras. On the night it proved the most disappointing match, paired with foie gras and ox tail terrine in a Sauternes jelly. The Sauternes was not necessarily at fault; the ox tail dominated the dish and the foie gras got completely lost. On its own the Sauternes was charming - with marmalade, apricot and orange peel on the nose and a smooth palate of white flowers and honey, but the match fell flat - the sweetness of the Sauternes jarring with the savoury ox tail.

Slightly deflated by the mismatch, we looked forward to dish four - Cassoulet of foie gras with cepes, butternut squash and spinach presented in a tiny black Le Creuset dish. The sommelier had chosen to pair it with Qupe Bien Nacido Cuvée Chardonnay Viognier 2007. Fresh, young, lively and acidic, it cut through the fat of the foie gras and lifted the dish wonderfully. We were both in raptures over this sublime combination - the mushrooms worked so well playing second fiddle to the foie gras in this symphony of flavour.

Four courses and five glasses of wine down, I had to try and find some room for the finale - Tagliatelle of girole mushrooms and foie gras, paired with Vincent Dureiul-Janthial Rully 1er Cru Les Mazieres 2005. The wine was delicious, with a crisp, fresh, apply nose and a rich creamy mouthfeel. Before I'd got my fork into the pasta, the swan had returned with a black truffle the size of walnut. He began shaving slithers onto my plate with vim, treating the truffle with the nonchalance you would a hunk of Tesco Value Cheddar. Of course I didn't want him to stop, so I refrained from lifting my hand until I could no longer see the pasta from beneath the sea of black. Diving in, it proved the epitome of what a good foie gras experience should be - an intense flavour sensation that makes you tilt your head back and close your eyes in the pure pleasure of it all.

Perhaps the beauty of foie gras lies in its exclusivity. The fact that it is saved for special occasions adds to the allure - a taste remembered that you long to experience again. How many days is it until Christmas?