Wines of Rapture at Quo Vadis

Supine on a striped sofa in the appropriately titled “Petting Room” of Quo Vadis in Soho, I’m surrounded by leather, lingerie and literature. Resplendent in his signature Burgundy suit and immaculately clipped beard, the dashing, debonair and dangerous Wine Chap, formally known as Tom Harrow, is holding court, explaining to his captive audience that smell is the most powerful, underrated and sensuous of the senses. “We’re drawn to potential mates by their smell – Napoleon went wild for the smell of Josephine’s unwashed body,” he asserts, “and I have it on good authority that I smell great. A dab of Grappa behind each ear and I’m good to go.” Exuding an almost Neanderthal sexual energy, Harrow cuts a swaggering figure in the room. His sidekick, Cecelia, a full-lipped Swede in a raspberry beret and scarlet velvet plus fours, is here to showcase her wares from erotic emporium Bordello, affectionately known as the “nipple of Shoreditch.”

The small square room is accessorised with candy stripe carpets, regal red curtains, art strewn walls and a bookshelf heaving with oddities. The low-slung wooden table in front of me is well seasoned with erotic paraphernalia, from a leather whip fastened with a pair of fur balls that look like they’ve been pilfered from a well-endowed squirrel, to a pastel pink copy of A Compendium of Kisses – an insightful guide to the art of locking lips.

A sprinkling of kinky couples and curious singletons populate the room. Raven haired proprietor Sam Hart perches impishly on the window ledge in the far corner as if hoping to dissolve into the surroundings. We are gathered for Harrow’s Wines of Rapture event, billed as “an inner striptease” celebrating the divine union of Bacchus and Venus. Urging us to use wine – faithful friend of poets and lovers, as a seduction tool, the tasting begins in the land of love (Italy) with Dal Bello Rocca d’Asolo Prosecco, its tongue tingling effervescence compared to the breath of a lover caressing your neck. Light, elegant and delicate, it’s the romantic equivalent of a peck on the cheek.

Foreplay begins in earnest with an unctuous white Burgundy – Domaine Emilian Gillet Vire-Clesse Quintaine 2007, representing, according to Harrow, a “thickening of the juices”. Rich, waxy, honeyed and seductive, there are few things less sublime than the first sip of a creamy white Burgundy. Having lost its primary fruit, brioche and cooked apple notes have made their way to the fore in the liquid embodiment of a lingering kiss. Glancing round the room, I sense the impending urgency of the situation. Lascivious looks are being exchanged and metaphorical clothes are flying off in all directions.

Moving on to the meat of the matter, we tackle Meerlust’s lusty Rubicon 2005, named after Julius Cesar’s historical crossing of the Italian river in 49 BC, and neatly symbolising the point of no return. Weighing in at a hefty 14%, the savage red, full of deep, dark fruit is brooding and sexy; it’s a full-throated roar of a wine, or, as Tom so elegantly puts it, “a man ripping his clothes off and leaping onto his maiden.” Now well oiled, the once timid crowd is engaged in animated banter. The chap opposite me picks up a wooden paddle and spanks his paramour with it, while the couple beside me, who are celebrating their 10th anniversary, appear to be seriously considering the squirrel whip.

Divine intervention follows in the form of Domaine Giraud Châteauneuf-du-Pape; the preferred wine of Pope Clement V. With a nose of lit match, meat, polished leather and musty church pews, it reeks of ecclesiastical vice. “If Bordeaux is your wife and Burgundy your mistress, then Châteauneuf-du-Pape is your dirty weekend,” Harrow quips. Virulently alcoholic and imbued with sweet fruit, the rugged red, with its masculine thrust, smacks of Oliver Mellors from Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

Visibly hot under the collar, and delighting in the debauchery, Harrow launches into an anecdote about the irreverent Italian nobleman Cesare Borgia, who one night swapped partners with his mistress’s 15-year-old daughter mid-stroke. He goes on to explain how a lady’s favourite wine determines how she will be in the bedroom, citing from personal experience that Pinot Grigio girls are pedestrian and predictable, while Barolo quaffers are sexual deviants.

We move swiftly on to the climax – La Giaretta Amarone 2007. Seductively speaking, we’re in the final throws of passion. At 15.5%, this is a beast of a wine. Hedonistic, powerful and concentrated, the lusty liquid brings us to the tipping point, where we dissolve into the mystic bliss of what the French so quaintly call “le petite mort”. At the moment of sweet release, having expended our life force, we transcend the terrestrial and connect with the divine, as our ecstasy takes on a spiritual purity. Post-explosion, we luxuriate in the glorious afterglow with liquid gold provided by delicate dessert wine Château Laurette Saint Croix du Mont 2006. Like the sweet fruit of the gods, the unctuous golden elixir is laced with honeysuckle and almond. This is the cigarette moment – the end of the affair. I’m spent.

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Bonds

Last week was epic. After a seven course tasting menu at Trishna in Marylebone on Monday with the inimitable Wine Chap, Tom Harrow, who invited a group of food bloggers to slurp their way through 30 wines in order to find the perfect matches for his soon-to-launch 'Not Your Average Curry Night', on Tuesday I was invited to Bonds in the City, to review head chef Barry Tonks' modern European fare.

The restaurant resides in the Threadneedles Hotel. Built a tuppence's throw away from the Bank of England in 1856, the hotel originally served, unsurprisingly, as a bank. Its former life is still evident, from the vaulted ceilings and Corinthian columns in the restaurant, to the long, varnished bar, where the tills used to dwell. Speaking of bars, as I sit to sup my welcome cocktail – Champagne poured over rose Eaux de Vie, finished with fashionable goji berry liqueur – I'm told that the hotel has an 'honesty bar', from which guests are at liberty to take a drink in the hope that their honesty impels them to make a note of it in the accompanying record book. I rather prefer the idea of a 'dishonesty bar'.

Whilst admiring the impressive glass-domed ceiling in the lobby, which recalls St Paul's, I'm joined by four fellow food bloggers. We take to calling each other by our blogging names: Maison Cupcake, Cherie City, London Cocktail Guide and Fuss Free Flavours, and are soon ushered by a waiter wearing mauve across the American walnut wooden floors, to our round table. The room is populated with unquiet Americans. I can smell truffle oil in the air – which, in such an affluent part of the city, seems apt: the savoury smell of success. The sommelier appears and gives us a detailed run down of the wines we're about to imbibe, many of which, I'm pleased to discover, are English.

The meal begins with peasant bread and pleasantly salted butter, enjoyed with Balfour Brut Rosé 2006, which could confidently hold its own beside the best rosé Champagnes. To start, I opt for smoked eel. Its slick skin gleams like a painted nail, and the smokiness fills my lungs before I even cut into its swan white interior. Its bacon-like flavour is complimented by a scoop of horseradish cream, though I was hoping for more kick from it – the cream rendering it too mild. The eel marries well with the vinegary beetroot and mini mountain of cubed potato, and proves a good match for my buttery Plantagenet Chardonnay.

Whilst enjoying another English wine offering: Primrose Hill Tenterdon Estate Bacchus 2009, with its aromatic nose of elderflower, cut grass and gooseberry, we are presented with a crab salad and bruschetta 'inter' course. Generously doused in sesame oil, the dish is crunchy, textured and wonderfully refreshing. Talk soon turns to Fuss Free Flavours' latest hobbyhorse: the Mucky Book Club, which takes place every other Sunday at the Ship pub in Wandsworth. Founded by FFF, books read so far include The Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin and the infamous Story of O. I suggest that Lady Chatterley's Lover might be a good book to tackle, but FFF doesn't deem it mucky enough.

I digress. My main event is a sizeable square of slow cooked pork belly served with apple canon balls and garlic-fueled spinach purée. Sprinkled with sea salt, the skin is satisfyingly savoury, while the pork beneath it is rich, but slightly too fatty – said pig could have done with doing a few more piggy push-ups before he met his meaty end. The accompanying chorizo risotto however, is stunning. Served in a dinky black Le Creuset dish, the al dente rice has bite, while the sauce is meaty and full of flavour, taking me straight to Spain. The wine to match it is an exciting discovery: Denbies Redlands 2006 – a blend of Pinot Noir and Dornfelder made minutes from where I grew up in Surrey. It has a savoury approach and a juicy, red fruited palate with a licorice finish – easily the best English red I've ever had.

After such indulgence I can barely move, but am told excellent things about the cheese trolly, so feel it rude not to sample its delights. The waitress is a cheese fiend, and gives me an exhaustive explanation of each. I opt for Beaufort, Blue, Pont l'Evêque and Epoisse, the last of which, when drizzled with white truffle honey, makes for a sublime, other worldy flavour experience. The sweet-savoury playfulness of the truffle honey matched with the gooey Epoisse has me flinging my head back, St. Teresa-like, in the ecstasy of it all. Perhaps I should pen a short story on it and submit it anonymously to the Mucky Book Club?

Wine Chap truffle and wine evening at Polpo

With truffle season in full flow, last week I was lucky enough to be invited to the latest WineChap Eno Club dinner – a Piedmont inspired truffle fest at Polpo in Soho, hosted by WineChap's flamboyant frontman Tom Harrow.

The ten course epicurean epic began with a trio of starters: deliciously textured and creamy chopped chicken liver with truffled leeks, a salty, gooey, potato and parmesan crochetta and a crunchy wild mushroom crostino, which were matched with a light, playful Langhe Arneis Nieve 2009 from Castello di Nieve. We were off to a sensational start.

Dressed in a pastel pink shirt accessorized with a clipped beard, the dapper, dandified Harrow, who was last week voted one of London's most influential people for his hugely successful WineChap iPhone app that irreverently analyses the wine lists of London's top restaurants, introduced each of the wines with an anecdote. He was due to fly out the next morning to northern Italy to take part in the famous White Truffle of Alba auction, where Decanter's Asia contributing editor, Jeannie Cho Lee, forked out a staggering €105,000 for a 900g truffle.

The bacchanalian feast continued with a trio of dishes laced with white Alba truffles, beginning with fresh taglierini with butter, which the waiter elegantly furnished with finely grated truffle, then moving on to the tastiest risotto I've ever experienced: scallop and fennel, dotted with white truffles. Soft, rounded, creamy and rich, yet with a freshness from the fennel, it was expertly cooked, and quickly devoured. The accompanying fennel, curly endive and almond salad was equally exquisite - light, freshy and lemony, with a nutty backbone, I could have munched a bottomless bowl of it.

The trio was matched with a sherbety Gavi di Gavi 2008, which Tom described as 'Chablis on a Vespa', and a glinting, ruby Villa Saparina Roero Andre 2006, that came in a curious bottle shaped like a Roman amphora, and sang of sour cherries.

Harrow believes that, rather than due to the terroir and growing conditions, northern Italy has a strong red wine culture because of the meat heavy cuisine –whites just wouldn't stand up. Moving on to the main event, both the food and wine went up a notch on the flavour intensity scale. First we tried calves liver and polentia bianca infused with truffle oil, which, although well cooked, was not to my taste.

But the succeeding grilled sliced flank steak, porchini cream and black truffle was the culinary apogee of the evening. Soft, juicy, heady, salty, sexy - I was in food heaven. The steak was accompanied by deliciously crispy mini roast potatoes that glowed like nuggets of gold. On the wine front, we tried a trio of double decanted Nebbiolos - Italy's answer to Pinot Noir according to Tom. First up was a Castello di Nieve Barbaresco 2006 – the wine served at Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes's wedding, which was firm but feminine, with notes of rose, licorice, sour cherry and mint - Cruise has good taste!

We then tried Sperino Lessona 2006, which went divinely well with the meat. It has an opulent nose of sour cherry, and a voluptuous, full, spicy body. Rougher round the edges than the Barbaresco, it had something of the rogue about it; masculine to the Barbarescos feminine. We ended on a high note with Brovia Barolo 2004, which was rich and opulent, with notes of black cherry, plum and violets wrapped around huge, bear hug tannins. Dense and long on the palate, it had a treacly, minty finish - a most intriguing wine.

Desert was an exiting affair - beginning with sticky fig and goat's cheese bruschetta with walnuts, truffle and honey that was so exquisitely textured and flavoured (crunchy, nutty, savoury and sweet), I had to close my eyes in the pure pleasure of it all. We moved on to panettone and truffle honey ice cream, which matched incredibly well with the marmalade fuelled Arneis Passito and smelt like warm waffles.

After such epicurean heights, a small group of us wound down in the Groucho Club drinking espresso Martinis and discussing Danish cooking and the merits of brogues beneath a neon pink Tracy Emin scribble mounted on the wall. I called for a carriage at midnight, but a few hardy souls soldiered on. The next morning, a friend emailed to say that Damien Hirst and Fergus Henderson showed up shortly after I left and sunk a few bottles with them. I suppose that's the trick to life - knowing when the right time to leave the party is...

Wine Chap host regular Eno Club dinners. To find out about their latest events, visit: http://winechap.com