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...

Laurent-Perrier dinner at The Greenhouse

Forgive me, dear reader, for being too late off the mark to inform you of the glittering offer Michelin-starred Mayfair restaurant The Greenhouse and Champagne house Laurent-Perrier devised for the festive season. The best I can do is recount the experience and hope they have a repeat performance in 2012. In December, The Greenhouse ran a bespoke five-course menu, with each dish matched by its flavour profile to a different Laurent-Perrier Champagne.

Invited to try the menu for size, I seized the opportunity, stumbling upon the restaurant's Zen-like wooden decking festooned with climbing plants almost by chance. Navigating its verdant path, I felt instantly transported from the stresses of city life. And once within its warm clutches, glass of Laurent-Perrier Ultra Brut in hand, any worries I may have been harbouring dissolved with the first sip. Launched in 1889 – the year the Eiffel Tower was completed, the super dry Champagne has become a favourite with super models due to its zero sugar count. Guided into the round, glass-fronted, private dining room filled with a sprinkling of bright-eyed fellow food and wine bloggers, we were welcomed by L-P UK's managing director David Hesketh MW, who regaled us with a brief history of the house.

Like the famed widow Clicquot, Veuve Laurent-Perrier ran the Champagne house for many years, with the Veuve only being dropped from the Laurent-Perrier name in the '60s. Marie-Louise Lanson de Nonancourt bought the house on the eve of the World War II in 1939, and continued to produce still wine during the war years, but production had dropped dramatically from 600,000 bottles to just 12,000 before the war. Mid story, we were invited to try an amuse bouche of warm hens egg with cobb nuts, which surprised and delighted in equal measure. Deconstructed into a creamy foam with the yolk at the bottom, the crunchy cobb nuts brought texture, and the foam richness. With this playful dish, head chef Antonin Bonnet was firmly flexing his culinary muscles, whetting our appetites for the courses that followed.

Continuing with the tightly-woven Ultra Brut, we were presented with an exquisite, ethereal plate of apple cider marinated mackerel with a dusting of powdery horseradish snow and pickled radish, which rested on the fish like a dislodged cornea. The potent flavour of fish was assuaged by bites of the cold snow and crunchy radish, culminating in an elegant whole. Mackerel devoured, we moved swiftly on to a glass of the acclaimed 2002 vintage, Champagne's best in decades. A lovely expression of the vintage, it showed toasty notes of biscuit, butter and brioche, with a smooth and rounded palate. To match, was a plump slice of swan white Atlantic cod served with leek fondu and smoked potato in a Champagne and yuzu sauce, which, though expertly cooked, failed to enchant like the previous dish.

Adding to the theatre of the evening, our next Champagne, Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle – named after the reign of the "Sun King" Louis XIV, was ceremoniously poured from a gleaming silver aiguière cradle. Housed in a jet-black bottle in L-P's signature 17th century shape, the house's prestige cuvée is a 50:50 Chardonnay/Pinot Noir blend of multiple vintages – on this occasion '96, '97 and '99. More like a still wine than a sparkler, it displayed aromas of honey, hazelnuts and almonds, its character complex, refined and multi-layered. Harmonizing with rather than overpowering the wine was a serving of meaty Scottish lobster, its spine seemingly brushed with red paint. Swimming in the creamy lobster bisque were delicious discs of earthy cep ravioli and a solitary chicken oyster.

We then moved to the sweet end of the flavour spectrum with a zingy pre-dessert of pineapple sorbet and coconut foam, which recalled a Piña Colada cocktail in food form. Making for possibly the most harmonious pairing of the evening, the tropical pudding was matched with Laurent-Perrier Demi-Sec, an off-dry style steadily creeping back into fashion, the softness of its slightly sweet palate serving as a reminder of pleasures past. With 40g of sugar per litre, this sweeter style is not to my taste, but it paired undeniably well with the sugary sorbet.

The final flourish came in the form of an exquisitely crafted rhubarb and apple millefeuille served with a teardrop-shaped scoop of pear sorbet. Resting under a white chocolate shard glinting with a fleck of edible gold paper, tiny balls of apple took the top bunk to the pink rhubarb's bottom, separated by a paper-thin layer of crisp, crunchy pastry. The intense tang of the sour rhubarb was softened by the Milkybar-like layer of creamy white chocolate. To pair, we were treated to the houses's signature wine and Victoria Beckham's Champagne of choice – Laurent-Perrier Rosé, which showed delightful notes of summer fruits, from redcurrants to raspberries. Feminine and yet full bodied, L-P Rosé more than merits its elevated reputation.

Before we made our way into the cold London night, we were offered a selection of petit fours, including an especially cheeky chocolate shaped like a perfectly pert breast with a gold nipple. It was great to see Antonin having fun on the plate, and proving that Michelin-starred restaurants are allowed (and should be encouraged) to have a sense of humour. Injecting Asian influences into classic French fare, dishes at The Greenhouse are painstakingly thought out and artistically executed. The fact that I didn't even register I was drinking Champagne throughout the meal rather than still red or white wine is testament to the triumph of the pairings and proof that sparkling wine can be the thread upon which a whole meal is spun.

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

Tamarind restaurant review

Tamarind was the first Indian restaurant in Europe to be awarded a Michelin star. Now in its 16th year, head chef Alfred Prasad clawed back the coveted star in January, after losing it last year, so it's business as usual at the golden-hued the Mayfair haunt.

Located in a basement on Queen street in Green Park, the cosy space is paved with gold, from the suede columns to the gold spattered etched glass. Middle Eastern filigree panels abound, creating an ambiance of luxurious exoticism.

I've been to Tamarind once before, as an over-enthusiastic student journalist on one of my first interview assignments. My subject? Fellow journalist Toby Young, a restaurant critic for the Evening Standard at the time. His paperback How to Lose Friends and Alienate People was riding high in the book charts, and he revealed in the interview that the book was going to be made into a film, with Simon Pegg playing the lead. Young had brought along Jerry Springer's lawyer in the hope of him landing him a slot on Oprah. It never happened.

This time around I brought my mum for company. We began with a glass of ice cold Taittinger Brut Champagne, an ideal apéritif, which we drank whilst nibbling on paper thin poppadoms served with a trio of dips: date, tomato and black currant.

Tamarind's food is rooted in tradition, but allows space for innovation. The food, like the room, is punchy and memorable without being overpowering. Derived from traditional Mogul cuisine, the bread, meat, fish and game are all cooked on a North West Indian tandoor oven, imbuing them with their signature smoky finish.

The à la carte menu is incredibly simple and pared down at a mere two pages. We began with a trio of starters: their signature grilled scallops with fennel and star-anise, ground lamb cakes with lentils and cinnamon served on mint chutney and spiced potato cakes filled with spinach and drizzled with tamarind. The scallops were mouthwateringly tender and exquisitely cooked – I could have eaten a shoal of them, while the lamb cake was full of flavour and had a lovely crumbly, melt-in-the-mouth texture. The potato cake was the least impressive, overpowered slightly by the potent tamarind.

Our wine pairing for the starter was the impressive, almost comic sounding 3 Amigos, made from a blend of Marsanne, Rousanne and Chardonnay from Margaret River in Western Australia. It had a lovely golden hue and a distinctly Burgundian nose, due to the area's cooler climate. Rounded, creamy and mellow, it was surprisingly elegant.

Next up we were presented with a fish duo: a jumbo tiger prawn marinated with ginger, yoghurt, ground spices and paprika, and kingfish marinated with yoghurt, lime-leaf, green chili and saffron. I was seriously impressed - the kingfish was tender and aromatic, and yet full bodied and meaty, while the juicy prawn had a lovely smoky quality from the tandoor, and was both flavoursome and elegant. We were also served the moreish channa chaat, a popular Indian snack composed of spicy chickpeas and wheat crisps drizzled with sweetened yoghurt and blueberries.

During a brief interlude in which to somehow try and find space in my tummy for more, we munched on delicious date, coconut and poppy seed naan. Unfortunately, by this point I was a little too full to fully appreciate the main event. The curries were served in quaint copper pots, adding to the authentic Indian feel. We tried a creamy chicken tikka flavoured with crushed fenugreek leaves and a lamb masala with puréed spinach, garlic and cumin, served alongside tadka dal and dal makni – black lentils from the Northwest frontier.

Both curries were delicately spiced, which suits me, as I was born to to mild. The lamb masala got a bit lost in the sea of spinach, and it was hard to tell what animal I was eating, but the chicken tikka was deliciously rich and creamy. It's incredibly difficult to successfully match wine with Indian food, but we opted for a half bottle of Boyd-Cantenac 2000 from the Left Bank in Bordeaux. Black currant and mint dominant, it was elegant, youthful for its years, and, according to my mum, 'like drinking silk'.

Pudding (yes, I found space), came in the form of the odd sounding but delicious tasting carrot fudge topped with pistachios and rich, milky vanilla ice cream. Tamarind is a place that divides critics and loyalties alike. Some say it's overpriced, others that the food is underwhelming. I disagree. I can see why it won its Michelin star back this year.

While the food may be priced highly, it is exemplary Indian cuisine as close as you can get in London to the real thing. Ingredients are expertly used, spices are subtle and flavours are aromatic and elegant rather than knock-out hot. Like the menu says, it has changed my perception of Indian dining, which is a million miles from a fiery vindaloo. Authentic Indian cuisine is as elegant and refined as anything in Europe, and we could learn a lot from it. Britain's love affair with Indian food is far from over.