No. 3 London Dry Gin launch at Berry Bros

I bought a gramophone last week. I'm terribly proud of it. I found it at an antiques fair in Ardingly and it works perfectly. The day after buying it, desperate to get it home, I schlepped it up to London on the train.

That night I had to lug it across town to Berry Bros in St James's as I was keen to attend the launch of No. 3 London Dry Gin. Having been at Decanter three years, I've heard a lot about the Berry Bros HQ - tales of magnificent tastings in their impressive cellars and stories of bottles from the 19th century being dusted off and enjoyed. I was curious to see the cellars for myself.

Rocking up late and limp limbed, I checked in the gramophone. The ticket guy gave me a funny look, which I relished. I love eccentric gestures in deeply traditional haunts – swaggering in and checking in my machine as if it were perfectly normal to bring a gramophone to a cocktail party. I could have handed over a stuffed kitten or a kalashnikov for the look he gave me.

I was ushered down a narrow staircase, past Dead Poets style black and white photos of football teams and ancient Berry Bros alumni. The whole place breathes with the lungs of nostalgia. You can feel the history humming off the walls. A staircase later and I was down in the basement, standing under an arched, bomb-shelter like ceiling.

To my right an enthusiastic jazz band played frantically on their sax, double pass and trombone, giving the place a prohibition era feel. Everything from the underground setting to the abundance of decadent and delicious cocktails screamed of forbidden pleasures and clandestine reverie. With three bars to choose from and two cocktails being shaken at each bar, I didn't know where to begin. After a sensible No. 3 gin and tonic, I got a little more adventurous and opted for the No. 3 Mojito with Chambord (raspberry liqueur) and mint mixed by a guy from Hix. It was divine. I went back to his bar three times.

The jazz continued to be belted out, silenced only for a brief interlude when a Berry Bros rep spoke, apologizing for managing director Simon Berry's absence due to a detached retina, 'not caused by No. 3 London Dry Gin', he quickly added, raising polite laughter from the monocled, moustacheod crowd. Moving on to something slightly stronger, my fellow imbibers and I headed to Alessandro Palazzi of Dukes Hotel's bar. His Martinis are both the best in town, and the most lethal. Rumour has it he only gets six cocktails out of a bottle of gin - they're pretty much pure alcohol furnished with a few drops of angostura bitters.

Like a magician, Alessandro made a few flamboyant hand movements in the direction of the glasses, then poured the gin with military precision, ending his trick by dusting each glass with Amalfi lemon peel. He then proudly presented me the glasses, which I distributed among my group. Taking a sip I soon realised there was no chance I could actually finish the Martini. So as not to look impolite, I resorted to taking bird-like sips every now and then. I'd be on the floor if I drank the whole thing, and I had a gramophone to think about.

My journey home was interesting. The gramophone was so heavy and cumbersome I had to decline a goodie bag, which was deeply disappointing, but I couldn't physically carry it. Limping up the incredibly smart St James's street, passing besuited gents and perfumed ladies, I could no longer support the weight of the gramophone along with the sheer size of the horn and resorted to wearing the horn on my head like a witches hat.

I assure you, dear reader, that this was in no way in a bid to attract attention - which it certainly did, but rather a desperate space saving measure. I looked absurd walking up this most rarefied of streets with a hunk of shell shaped metal on my head, but it got the machine home in one piece. On arriving back at my flat I set up the gramophone, fixed on a fresh needle, wound it up and put on a foxtrot. It crackled as the 78 spun round on the turntable. Soon a mellifluous voice sang out from the horn and for two blissful minutes, time stood still.

Chateau d'Anglès at Hix

Last week I found myself at Hix restaurant twice in as many days. I partied in the downstairs bar on Monday night at the launch of KitchenAid's new range of blenders. It doesn't sound very glam, but the cocktails that were coming out of those bad boys were amazing. KitchenAid is the i-pod of the blender world. The range comes in a series of cool colours, so you can sync it with your Smeg.

I was invited back on Wednesday for a wine dinner hosted by Eric Fabre of Languedoc-based Château d'Anglès. Fabre, a tall, svelte, silver fox, spent eight years at Château Lafite as technical director, before moving to the lesser-known Médoc estate Château La Cordonne for six years. He's now making interesting wines in the Languedoc.

Ten of them were on show, alongside a sensational tasting menu whipped up by Hix himself. First up we tried the 2009 rosé, which was an attractive flamingo pink. Rounded and creamy, with notes of strawberries and cream, it made for delightfully easy drinking.

Our appetizers were divine – cods tongues with whipped squash and hazelnuts served alongside the Classique Blanc 2008. Made from 50% Bourboulenc, a grape much-championed by Fabre, the wine had a lovely stone and tropical fruit nose, with peach, pineapple and melon in the mix. I also found citrus notes, and hints of cut grass. Rounded, creamy and almost waxy in the mouth, its searing acidity kept it fresh.

Next up were the starters – wood pigeon on toast with chickweed, served with the Classique Rouge 2007. The pigeon was wonderfully cooked, albeit slightly overpowered by the pungent paté underneath. As for the wine, the Syrah dominated the blend, with velvety black fruits and white pepper dancing out of the glass.

For our main, Mark served Glencoe red deer haunch with bashed neeps, beetroot sauce and french fries. Pink and juicy, the deer was cooked pefectly and was a stunning match for the Grand Vin Rouge 2007, my wine of the night. The nose was an opulent mix of bramble fruits, plums, black cherries and black berries, wrapped in soft, creamy vanilla. The fruit was ripe, juicy and mouthfilling, with sweet spice lingering on the finish. It had amazing balance and elegance despite being a blockbuster, and disappeared very quickly from my glass.

Fabre laid on a vertical tasting of his Grand Vin Blanc with the cheese course, where we compared the '03, '04 and '05 vintages. It was fascinating to track the wine's evolution, and to find so many differences from year to year. The '05 was the lightest and freshest of the three, with a peachy nose and a rich, buttery mouthfeel.

2004 was a crowd pleaser. Fuller-bodied than the '05, the honeyed aromas were starting to come through, and yet it retained a wonderful freshness, with notes of ginger lingering. My favourite was the '03. It showed lovely development, with a delicious nose of honeysuckle, white flower and faint petrol aromas. Rounded, rich and complex, the unctuous palate retained its youthful vigor. I found it utterly charming.

Top cap off the evening, we got to try something special with our Bakewell puddings – Oorain Victoria 2006 (pictured), a sweet wine made from 90% Syrah and 10% Maple Syrup. Fabre's cousin is a chocolatier and encouraged him to add it to the blend. It worked surprisingly well. By this stage tasting notes eluded me, so I have no record of the wine, but I remember fresh figs on the nose. A smily and unassuming Mark Hix came through the sliding doors and got stuck into a glass. He seemed to like it. I left as the Venezuelan black truffles started doing the rounds feeling full as a goose, in a good way.