Champagne Mumm lunch at The Ritz

There are certain rites of passage in the life of a gastronome, and lunch at The Ritz is one of them. When a Ritz-shaped invitation landed on my desk the other week, I almost fell off my chair with excitement. Writing for a drinks magazine, I'm never short of enticing invitations, but there's something special about The Ritz. It still stands for something.

And so it was, that I left the office last week and headed for Green Park under a cornflower blue sky with a spring in my step. The lunch was celebrating the launch of Champagne Mumm Cuvée R. Lalou 1999. A chilled glass of Mumm NV awaited me on arrival, along with a besuited swarm of thirsty wine journalists. There was palapable excitement in the room in anticipation of the feast. I'd bumped into a Mumm rep at the recent Bibendum EC1 tasting, and, having already tasted through the menu, he informed me that black truffles made an appearance in almost every dish. My mouth had been watering for a week.

After a brief introductory speech by winemaker Didier Mariotti, we were soon ushered from the floral drawing room, through a pair of giant, gold-knockered doors into the Rubens red William Kent room complete with soaringly high ceilings, gothic candelabra, swagging that would make Laurence Llewelyn Bowen weep with pride, and quirky paintings of long limbed birds.

I was sat next to Sotheby's head of wine Serena Sutcliffe MW, resplendent in turquoise. She told me of her pre-Sotheby's days working as an interpreter in Paris, and went on to mention the recent Picasso sale at Sotheby's, where a portrait of Picasso's 17-year-old blonde mistress Marie-Thérèse Walter went for £25m. "Picasso walked up to her in the street and said 'we're going to do amazing things together'", Sutcliffe tells me, her blue eyes bright.

After a verbal tour of the tasting menu from unsung head chef John Williams, lunch soon begins in earnest. As an experiment, we were to try six examples of the Cuvée R. Lalou, served at six different temperatures, two degrees apart from 6-16ºC, to explore how temperature effects the character of Champagne. The warmer the Champagne, the more dominant the Pinot Noir becomes in the blend.

The seven course meal begins in a spectacular fashion with a simple salad of Périgord truffles, king oyster mushrooms and Pecorino. The tangy cheese, papery mushrooms, heady truffle and citrusy salad make for a wonderful flavour combination. Both light and indulgent, intoxicating and refreshing – an oxymoron of a dish. Next up is carpaccio of smoked eel (pictured above), which looked like a play mat and tasted equally ludic, the eel perfectly complimented by the smokey slithers of pancetta and cooling beetroot cubes – inspired cooking.

During an inter course of bresse chicken Champenoise, I seize the opportunity to ask Serena which she considers to be the best wines she's ever tasted, having undoubtedly had access to the best wines in the world. She takes a moment to reflect, then replies: "Domaine de la Romanée Conti 1921 and Cheval Blanc 1921". I linger over her liquid memories, knowing these two wines will always remain mythical to me. A confit of Brixham turbot follows, served with oxtail in a hazelnut butter. The hazelnut was woefully absent from the butter, and the oxtail savagely stole the turbot's thunder with its feral, meaty flavour.

Stepping up the flavour a notch further, the turbot is succeeded by Anjou pigeon stuffed with foie gras in a black truffle sauce. I suddenly feel like one of Henry VIII's harem at a Tudor banquet – all we need is a harpsichord and silver goblets filled with mead. Rich and hedonistic, it was wonderfully indulgent, but my mind kept wondering back to the enchanting opening duo of dishes. But what of the wine? I wasn't able to detect vast amounts of flavour nuance from the differing temperatures, but the Cuvée impressed. It showed structure, power and elegance, with a toasty approach, and a smooth, nutty finish.

The surprise of the day came in the form of an egg cup filled with liquid Beaufort cheese, served with a trio of Marmite-laced soldiers. The cheese was soft, warm, and comforting, and once the soldiers had marched down my oesophagus, I tilted my head back and took it like a shot. I rather like the idea of cheese shots – we should drink food and eat drinks more. There's something rather quaint about a Marmite Croque Monsiuer – the former so quintessentially British, and the latter so unmistakably French. It represents a coming together of French and English breakfasts: diplomacy on a plate.

Before leaving the pleasure dome of The Ritz behind, I'm treated to a Mille Feuille of caramelised pink lady apples with Champagne ginger sorbet, artfully presented alongside a swoosh of caramel. The invigorating ginger sorbet had a biscuit halo, while the delightfully named pink lady apples were small and perfectly round, with a sweet, toffee apple flavour that went wonderfully well with the Mumm demi-sec. After a quick mint tea and miniature macaroon, I'm ushered out of the William Kent room, and back out onto the busy London streets. Still light, it feels as if waking from a dream, but the name card in my pocket serves as proof that for one afternoon, I lunched like a prince.

Vega Sicilia tasting and tour

Before setting off for Fine Wine 2010, I was told there would be a tasting at Vega Sicilia. Excited by the prospect, I dug up an article by Serena Sutcliffe on the icon estate from the Decanter archives that incluced Unico tasting notes going back to 1924.

My anticipation grew as I read through the notes on the plane - the '85 had 'vibrant chocolate and dates on the finish', the '73 a 'heavenly spice-drenched taste' and the '64 'sweet, melting, violetty fruit', while the '51 was 'like orange caramel' and the '24 'like old, pale Madeira'. By the time I touched down in Madrid I was salivating. Sutcliffe had painted such a vivid picture in her notes of a wine with multiple personalities; a wine never the same twice. She described Unico's unpredictable nature as being more 'Dolce e Gabanna than Ferragamo - cutting edge rather than couture'.

Owner Pablo Alvarez, whose family bought the estate in 1982 - the same year Ribera del Duero became a DO, is notoriously private and rarely opens his doors to guests. Wine Intelligence, the conference organizers, managed to bag us a tasting and tour of the cellars. Alvarez's heart must have leapt when he saw our coach career up the gravel drive and 30 thirsty guests jump out.

I sat next to the legenday Serge Hochar of Lebanon's Chateau Musar on the ride up, who told me proudly he was Decanter's first 'Man of the Year'. He then talked me through his diary for the next month, which took in trips to China, Hong Kong and Japan, with a pit stop in Lourdes. 'I'll try and walk the Great Wall if I have a spare five minutes', he quipped.

Stepping out of the coach into the afternoon sun, it quickly became apparent that they do things differently at Vega Sicilia. The vines are cordened off by barbed-wire fences and the estate patrolled by stern men in khaki green armed with truncheons. We took our places around a series of tasting tables on the decking next to an in-built waterfall. I was beside Hunter Valley Semillon pioneer Bruce Tyrrell.

Four wines were brought out: Alion 2007, Valbuena 2006, released five years after the harvest with an average vine age of 25 years, and Unico 2002 and 1995, only made in great years and usually released after ten years. Valbuena is made almost entirely from Tinto Fino, (Tempranillo), while in Unico the Tinto Fino is blended with Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Malbec.

Among our group were Olivier Krug, former Duckhorn director of winemaking Mark Beringer, Catavino's Ryan Opaz and Canadian consultant sommelier John Szabo. Aged in 100% new French oak, the Alion was the most Bordeaux-like of the four wines. Although slightly overpowered by the oak, it was elegant and opulent. Balsamic vinegar dominated the Valbuena in a pleasant way, mixing with chewy red and black fruit, violets and licquorice.

Moving onto the Unico, my heart started beating a little faster. I was about to taste what many would describe as the greatest wine made in Spain. But would it live up to its name? Our table had a bad experience with the 2002 - Bruce Tyrrell declared it corked and we all solemnly nodded in agreement. A second bottle was summoned. I found it closed on the nose and struggled with fitting descriptors. A masculine, direct wine with good length and grip, it didn't live up to my high expectations.

Fortunately the 1995 did. It had a lovely developed nose that could only be Spanish, of game, meat and hints of dried fruit. A more feminie wine, it was silky, supple and rounded with excellent body, weight and depth. Opening up further in the glass, its savoury finish was exquisite. I was happy to have been given a second bite of the apple, and for it to have delivered. After the tasting I took myself off from the group and looked out onto the vines, watching the sun slowly dip towards the horizon, turning the sky conch shell pink.