Degó

I’m nestled in a low-slung black leather booth opposite Jonesy, who, much to his dissatisfaction, is spotlit. Above us hang curious light fixtures that resemble hovering hot pink lipsticks. There are no windows in the basement room, and the restaurant is naked save for a quartet of ladies to my left.

Tucked away far from the madding crowds of Oxford Street in Portland House, Degó, an amalgamation of “degustazione” (tasting) and “osteria” (tavern), boasts walls covered with black and red mosaic tiles seemingly engaged in a frantic game of Tetris. Decked out like a sushi-serving Japanese-themed nightclub, it’s the strangest of surroundings for an Italian restaurant. Running with the osteria theme, they missed a trick by not playing to its strengths and going big on rustic charm.

Split between two floors, at street level a degustation bar serves a selection of wines by the glass, hand picked by Venetian head sommelier Massimo Mioli, and a mixture of charcuterie and antipasti from the Veneto’s throbbing heart. Nearly all the wines on the list are imported from Italy and stored in a humidity-controlled cellar. Downstairs, Dario Schiavo serves up an ambitious selection of dishes.

Having placed our order, Jonesy and I take lingering sips from our Italian-themed cocktails. My Aviation is exemplary: light, lemony and deliciously thirst quenching, it’s like showering in citrus. While waiting for our antipasti, the strangest dish I’ve ever encountered arrives at our booth, consisting of a piece of white bread cut into an isosceles triangle, resting on six small, halved tomatoes. Flummoxed as to its significance, we chomp on it dutifully.

Our ebullient, Italian sommelier Alexandra suggests we might like to try their specialty – a Franciacorta Cuvette Brut 2005. My first experience of the sparkler, made in the same way as Champagne, it glints gold in the generous glass and tastes deceivingly like the French fizz, sharing the same brioche notes. Noticing our delight, Alexandra beams and proclaims bubbles to be Degó’s point of difference.

Charmed by both the sommelier and the wine, I sit back, relaxed, and enjoy the theatre unfolding in front of me. My beef tartare is being prepared by our waitress on an archaic device involving a meat grinder. In it she flings capers, anchovies, onions, garlic, and anything else within arms length, then proudly presents the raw red medallion on a black slate. Soft as an earlobe, it tastes sensationally fresh, almost sashimi-like, and is enhanced by drops of fiery Tabasco. Jonesy’s poppy seed-flecked cod coins are less of a hit, erring on the rubbery side.

Fortunately, greater culinary discoveries are to follow. My primi piatti of homemade fettuccine with morel mushrooms arrives covered in a black blanket of summer truffles. So generous has the chef been, I can hardly see the pasta beneath the razor-thin shavings. The combination of the summer truffles and morels is hedonistic, the buttery pasta mixing seamlessly with the earthy mushrooms into a decadent whole. In another expert pairing from Alexandra, my Montenidoli Fiore Vernaccia di San Gimignano 2008 cuts confidently through the unctuous pasta. Meanwhile, Jonesy’s meat-filled tortellini with butter and sage is hailed a success, with both pasta dishes disappearing off our plates faster than a Ferrari in a high speed chase.

Gripped by existential musings and Jonesy’s tales of taming wild beasts in the South African outback, I barely notice our mains arrive. Mine, a confit of duck leg on a pea green duvet of rocket, avocado and pistachio, his, boned rabbit with veal and prune stuffing. Dressed in rose petals, my dish takes me back to Morocco, where they like to douse everything in rose water. While I appreciate the romanticism of the dish, nay, I can almost hear the Azan call to prayer resounding from the plate, it would have triumphed without the rose. The duck itself is tender and juicy, but rubbed with rose, it tastes like a wedding bouquet.

Dessert however, is an exiting affair. I opt for an ice cream trio comprising salted caramel, hazelnut and basil. The triptych arrives in three separate dishes. All are delightful, and help assuage the memory of munching on a rose garden. Alexandra completes a hat-trick with her final flourish – a 1980 Marsalsa, bottled before I was born. With a nose of roasted hazelnuts and a caramel palate balanced by lively acidity, it sings of Oloroso. Despite the dodgy décor, Degó is worth the detour for the wines alone. Served by knowledgeable staff with unbridled enthusiasm, each glass is a liquid history lesson.

Dego 4 Great Portland Street, London W1W 8QJ; Tel: +44(0)20 7636 2207

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

Black Moth truffle vodka launch at 33 Portland Place

I'm standing in the hallway of the grand 18th century residence of Lord Edward Davenport – 33 Portland Place. The walls are mint green, and to my left is a sweeping staircase I desperately want to climb, but I'm ushered through to the cocktail room before I get the chance.

I'm here for the launch of Black Moth, the world's first all natural truffle infused vodka. I'm a truffle nut, so the event was a no brainer.

Before we sit down for a truffle-filled dinner, a selection of Black Moth cocktails await. First up I try the Black Moth with Tio Pepe Fino Sherry. It sounds like a strange combination, but somehow it worked. I bypass the Black Moth Martini and go straight for the stronger poison – Black Moth and Absinthe, with a few drops of Sauternes for good measure, expertly mixed by Panu, the Finnish mixologist.

Cocktail in hand, I get talking to truffle aficionado and self confessed 'forager' Paul Thomas, a young blond with corkscrew curls in a cream suit. 'You'll have to excuse me, I'm a complete truffle geek', he warns me, before explaining how the vodka is made, from sourcing the highly sought after black Périgord winter truffles from Périgord in South West France, chosen for their rich, earthy flavour, to the vodka's vigorous distillations process – each batch is distilled five times and triple filtered for a soft, velvety mouthfeel. 'It took two years to refine the flavour', admits Paul. 'It's been a labour of love'.

The vodka is 100% British, made from grain. A bell tinkles and we're summoned to dine. We move into a wonderfully shabby chic conservatory with a domed glass ceiling and paint peeling off the walls. In keeping with the theme, everything is black, from the chandeliers to the table cloths. Silver platters piled high with black truffles are decadently dotted about the room. It's all very gothic chic - like a scene from Anne Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho.

We begin with a Black Moth shot. It's interesting to taste it naked. I think I prefer it straight; more of the flavours come through. The nose is incredibly potent – earthy and slightly oily, it smells remarkably like the Périgord truffles it's infused with. I wasn't sure if they'd be able to pull it off, but they have. The palate is surprisingly smooth for a vodka.

Dinner begins with a palate cleanser – Black Moth sorbet, swiftly moving on to a starter of Lobster Cornish crab salad with truffle beluga caviar jelly and soft poached quail egg. It's a work of art, finished off with three big slithers of Périgord truffle. I'm in heaven. On to the main: Welsh Salt Marsh lamb stuffed with truffle, with a pistachio crust in a wild mushroom sherry jus. I deviate from the Black Moth and move to the Rioja on offer – an excellent wine match for the juicy, tender lamb.

Desert is an exciting affair – white chocolate pannacotta and truffle vanilla sorbet served with a trio of Beatrix Potterish blackberries in an exquisitely crafted golden sugar cage. The truffle sorbet is subtle and delicious. I can't quite believe, after three courses and numerous cocktails, that I'm not truffled out, but I clearly can't get enough. To round off the evening we're presented with a pretty pink Moth Flower cocktail in tiny egg cup glasses. It tastes of Palmer Violets and takes me straight back to the playground.