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

New in town: José, the Courtyard @ 51 Buckingham Gate, Grey Goose Taste by Appointment, Searcys at One New Change

With summer threatening to unleash its golden chariot on the captial at any moment, a flurry of exciting new openings have popped up in anticipation. Last week I popped down to the soft launch of ex-Brindisa chef José Pizarro's latest venture, José, a Sherry and tapas bar modelled on Barcelona's Boqueria market, with a little Andalusian flair thrown in for good measure.

Decked out with authentic azulejo tiles, open brickwork, hanging jamons and an open kitchen, José has a friendly feel, and is distinctly understated in comparison to Sherry bar siblings Bar Pepito and the newly-opened Capote y Toros on Old Brompton Road. I tried an array of Sherries from the 18-strong list, beginning with the refreshing, sea-air filled La Gitana Manzanilla, then moving on to the deliciously nutty Fernanado de Castilla Amontillado and ending on a high note with the citrus heavy Pata de Gallina Oloroso from Juan Garcia Jarana.

Tapas were varied and forthcoming, from fail-safe jamon, to chunks of battered hake with aoili, crab croquetas and pork belly slathered with sheep's cheese. Pizarro was working the room in his chef whites, a smile plastered across his face all night. The consummate professional must be pleased to finally see José come to life, but the work doesn't stop there. Pizarro is already busy planning his fine dining restaurant, named simply Pizarro, due to open down the road on Bermondsey Street before the year is out. Watch this space.

I also found time last week to check out the Courtyard at the 51 Buckingham Gate hotel in St James's, which is preparing for its summer season. Through July and August, the courtyard, modeled on a Victorian garden and centred around an ornate fountain, will be transformed into a live music venue, serving up a series of opera and classical music performances by The London Quartet.

With architecture dating back to 1890 featuring a Shakespearean frieze of the bard's silvan plays, the courtyard features a Tanqueray 10 bar, where on my visit I enjoyed the signature 51 cocktail, a mix of Tanqueray 10, St Germain Elderflower liqueur and grapefruit juice, but was tempted by the Raspberry Collins. Heaters keep you suitably toasty and an impressively long shisha list brings the Edgeware Road to SW1. I experimented with watermelon, apple and banana, with apple just pippling the others to the puffing post.

The week before, I managed to escape the madness of the London International Wine Fair at ExCel to attend Grey Goose's latest experiment: Taste by Appointment at the St Pancras Grand hotel. Greeted at the door by a glamazon in a midnight blue dress, I was ushered upstairs to a plush living room and asked to sit down.

A Grey Goose Fizz thrust in my hand, I am given a tour of my tastebuds by Grey Goose brand ambassador Joe McCanta, who diligently explains the importance of the five tastes: sweet, sour, salt, bitter and the more recently discovered umami – the elusive fifth taste. I'm then offered a selection of artistic-looking canapés, which turn out to be trompe l'oeil tricks. The candy floss is as bitter as a Negroni, while the Parmesan-like foam is white chocolate.

They are designed to help work out which of the five tastes you're most drawn to in order to create a fanstasy cocktail. A fascinating exercise, the results confirm what I already thought: I am most attracted to salt, then sour, with umami in the middle, sweet bringing up the rear and bitter at the bitter end. McCanta leads me into his private bar and begins translating my taste results into a cocktail, beginning with a large sprinkling of salt. He quickly pours generous measures of yuzu (Japanese lemon) and framboise into the cocktail shaker, then in goes Grey Goose Orange and a slug of vanilla syrup for sweetness. Shaken and toppped off with Champagne, we christen it the I Love Lucy.

Having recently written an article on Champagne by the glass sales in the on trade, I was keen to check out the latest Searcys venture, so made the pilgrimage across the millennium bridge last week to Searcys at One New Change in St Paul's – the forth in the Searcys series and a sibling to Paddington, Westfield and the original Champagne bar at King's Cross St Pancras. The bar, fashioned like a giant chandelier by upside down floating flutes, is going great guns, with 25 Champagnes by the glass – the most extensive offering in London.

Both vintage and rosé styles are proving popular at One New Change, where City suits are shunning the Grandes Marques in favour of more obscure grower Champagnes like André Jacquart and Francois Diligent. On my visit, in between beetroot jellies and foie gras macaroons, I enjoyed a glass (or three) of Lanson Extra Age, a blend of three standout vintages released last year in celebration of Lanson's 250th anniversary. Their next project? A single clos Champagne – Clos du Lanson, made from Lanson's own clos above its cellars in Reims.

Inamo St James

Apologies, dear reader(s), for the three week hiatus. December always seems to whiz by in a flurry of festive obligations. At the start of the month I was offered the job of Staff Writer at The Drinks Business, which I will begin in the new year, so the month has been spent tying up loose ends at Decanter, which I bade a fond farewell to last week.

Aside from moving jobs, December has also been characteristically busy on the event front. Earlier this month, when the first bout of snow hit London, I ventured out into the white night layered up like a mille-feuille to attend the launch of Inamo St James. Arriving fashionably late, the 300-cover Regent Street restaurant was heaving. Standing in line, I noted familiar foodie faces interspersed with the odd celeb - model David Gandy acted as an alluring window display, while son of Salman, Zafar Rushdie, was busy entertaining a Sloaney blonde.

I found my dining companion, David Joseph Constable, sinking a saké Mojito at the bamboo bar. We were swiftly ushered through the sprawling space to our electronic table by a statuesque waitress in leopard print. Billed on its website as an 'Oriental fusion restaurant with influences from Japan, China, Thailand, Korea and beyond' (wherever that might be), Inamo's USP is its interactive ordering system. Diners are in control of their culinary destinies and are at liberty to order as much or as little as they desire from the electronic menu over the course of an evening.

The E-Table technology also allows you to choose your virtual tablecloth colour and design, spy on the chefs at work through the Chef Cam, and even book a taxi home. In a spectacular display of generosity (it being the press night), we were given free reign on the menu, simply split into 'small dishes', 'large dishes' and 'deserts'. The first five minutes of my Inamo experience were happily spent in silence, exploring all the E-Table's functions. My opening move was to turn our tablecloth a tasteful shade of violet, then, at the push of a button, I ordered two raspberry lemon cooler cocktails, which dutifully appeared at our table mere minutes later.

Inamo is ideal for the techno-savvy Twitter generation. There's enough on the table to entertain you to render polite conversation with your dining partner obsolete. And if you did desire to communicate, you could always send them a text, or even better, a Tweet, from across the table. Aware of my anti-social behaviour, I engage David in conversation, proposing that we order some starters. 'I've already ordered three, I think', David replies. And that's the thing. It's impossible not to fall prey to kid in a candy shop over exuberance at Inamo, making it a dangerous place for diners lacking in self restraint.

So the starters arrived in their droves. We tried bite-sized baby crispy prawns served, chippy style, in a paper cone, transparent slithers of kelp marinated sea bass (pictured) served with shiso and soy, which were slightly smoked and utterly moorish, seared tuna coated in black bean and wasabi with creamy cucumber miso, seared scallops with a lifted, lemony Yuzu dressing, Dragon rolls filled with tiger prawns and crab salad, pencil shaving thin slices of marbled beef with truffle vinaigrette and (finally) yellow tail sashimi in a sweet soy, truffle sauce.

Considering the restaurant was operating at full capacity, serving hoards of hungry, sharp-fanged journalists, the standard of the starters was impressively high. Some dishes, like the scallops, failed to reach the standard I have come to expect in London, but others, like the sea bass, yellow tail sashimi and marbled beef, were unique, exciting and extremely well executed. I often find myself more allured by starters than mains in restaurants, preferring to experience a little of a lot, than a lot of a little. Nevertheless, we felt it only right to sample a decent selection of mains, if only for a rounded overview of the cuisine on offer.

David fired up the 'larger dishes' menu on our E-Table, and started placing orders. I did the same. This is ill-advised, as we ended up with three mammoth salmon dishes glaring at us for the remainder of the evening. The main event included exquisitely cooked silky black cod in spicy miso that fell off the fork, soft, creamy, saké salmon cooked in cedar wood and served in a deliciously rich Hollandaise sauce, zesty, juicy, orange-fueled Tamarind duck breast and pan fried salmon glazed with Javanese sugar, which decency forced me to abstain from.

Quite how we found room for pudding is astounding, but it was worth fitting in. My vanilla-flecked strawberry crème Brûlée topped with mint was the highlight of the evening. Our overenthusiastic ordering resulted in an eye-watering £180 bill, but an equally fulfilling meal can be had at Inamo for a fraction of the price, and the progress of your bill can be checked at any stage by pushing the 'calculate bill' button.

Inamo St James will be a success. It's modern, stylish and faddy, like London itself. On our visit, the house music was booming and bar buzzing with trendy types sipping chic cocktails and milling about next to the tables. A number of the diners seemed irked by this, and rightly so. The drinking and dining spaces at Inamo need to be more clearly defined. Like Kyashii in Covent Garden and Aqua in Oxford Circus, there's something of the 'clubaurant' about it. It's an ideal place to take a date with whom you fear conversation may dry up. And if it does, you can book a taxi and make a quick exit without saying a word.

Sumosan restaurant review

Nobu and Zuma dominate London's modern Japanese dining scene, gaining column inches as much for their celebrity clientele as for their food. Sumosan is something of a modest younger sister flying slightly under the radar.

Tucked away on a quiet side street off Green Park next to a Vietnamese art gallery, Sumosan's light, airy space is decked out in tasteful beige and lilac. The pared down interiors are very zen-like and calming.

I visited on a Wednesday lunchtime and the place was reassuringly buzzing with a mixture of wealthy Russian expats (the restaurant is Russian owned), office workers and ladies who lunch. Bypassing the á la carte menu offering the likes of seasonal Toro stuffed with foie gras, and sea urchin risotto, I opt for the reasonably priced five course lunch menu for £22.50, with a side of rock shrimp tempura.

Lunch begins with a refreshing cup of miso soup with tiny shiitake mushrooms, that serves as the perfect palate cleanser. Next up is a delicious, umami-rich Kaiso salad crammed with sesame seeds and peanut butter, which I enjoy with a glass of Domaine de Joy Ugni Blanc from Gascony. The rock shrimp tempura doesn't disappoint - made up of heavenly chunks of fried shrimp, lifted by the citrus Yuzu dressing.

A sashimi selection follows, featuring the usual suspects: salmon, tuna (which is air-shipped from the US at -80 degrees), prawn, and richly flavoured white bait, all of which match incredibly well with my crisp, lime-fueled 2008 Hunter's Riesling from Marlborough, New Zealand.

For the main event, I go for the Black Cod with Miso, keen to see how it fares against the Nobu version. I was slightly disappointed by its diminutive size - call it the Kylie Minogue of the fish world, but what it lacked in size it made up for in flavour. Sweet and rich with a melt-in-the-mouth texture, there are few flavour experiences that top that of well cooked Black Cod. It's all consuming, transcendental even, and I feel almost beatific reverence for the fish and the pleasure it produced. A tricky one to match with wine, my 2008 Tasmanian Pinot Noir from Devil's Corner, whilst not harmonizing completely, far from jarred.

Pudding is a decadent affair. I choose Sumosan's signature dish - a white chocolate fondant, which arrives in an exquisitely crafted golden cage made of latticed sugar. Gooey and toothy tinglingly sweet, it tastes like liquid Milky Way and matches surprisingly well with my Thienot 2002 Champagne, for which Sumosan are the sole suppliers.

Although I chose to drink wine, there's an extensive saké list to experiment with. Head Sommelier Jean-Louis Naveilhan offers eight different sakés by the glass, and saké flights – three sakés by the glass for £10.50. Naveilhan is adamant that the rice wine, which should always be served chilled, can be enjoyed throughout the meal, from apéritif to pudding.

Dans le Noir?

I'm walking in complete darkness into the unknown, my right hand on the shoulder of the stranger in front of me. I have no idea where I'm going, and am totally at the mercy of Cyril, my blind guide.

Twelve of us make up this strange human train. We keep calling out to each other for reassurance, scared by the prospect of both silence and darkness. I cling tightly to the shoulder in front. Cyril, at the head of the train, leads us slowly to our table, guiding our hands to our chairs.

I tentatively feel around me, comforted by the presence of the chair. It seems so solid in this world of uncertainty. Standing in the pitch black, I wait for instructions. I've never felt so vulnerable. Cyril tells us to sit down. I slowly feel my way around my chair and locate the table. It serves no purpose, but I keep my eyes open. It makes me feel safer.

The first few minutes are incredibly disconcerting. My natural reaction is one of mild panic. I want to be back in the safety of the light and wonder how I'll get through the next hour in the dark.

I'm at Dans le Noir? in Farringdon taking part in a blind tasting with a difference. A few days before I received a cryptic invite asking me to turn up at the restaurant at a certain time. All details were kept secret. Before we do the conga into the unknown, we’re given a talk about the five tastes: sweet, salt, bitter, sour and umami; the elusive fifth taste.

Our sense of taste protects us from danger – newborn babies instinctively accept sweet liquids and spit out bitter ones as a safety mechanism, while salt drives the appetite, sugar gives us energy and umami protein.

Around 80% of our perception of flavour comes through our sense of smell. This is true in wine tasting, where it's an accepted fact that tasters get much more from a wine's bouquet than its flavour profile. So much so in fact, that aside from detecting body and tannins, you should be able to get a full picture of a wine’s character simply by smelling it.

Studies into how we taste are still surprisingly incomplete - there is currently no understanding of the mechanism for how tannin or metallic tastes are perceived. Our challenge tonight is to taste without the influence of vision, which has such a stronghold on perception. Vision begins the process of perception; it primes us. We can't help but be influenced by the way things look, and immediately attach our preconceived ideas onto them.

I've made it to the table and managed to sit down without injuring the tasters either side of me. I introduce myself in the dark - unsurprisingly, no hands are shaken. Cyril informs us we have six wines each – three reds and three whites. He asks us to locate them. I lunge my hand forward and knock one of the plastic glasses over, presumably all over my neighbour. I find it amusing that I can't see the spillage, and take to imagining a little river of wine cascading down the table.

I gently feel around the table and find my five remaining glasses. We're told to pick up the first and take a sip. It's simple, fresh and zippy – Sauvginon Blanc perhaps? I don't feel the darkness has widened my olfactory horizons, it just makes you focus on the wine more. The second white is far more interesting – it has a lovely complex nose and developed flavours. I think it might be Chardonnay.

On to the reds... The first is light, fresh and fruity - possibly a Tempranillo. As with the whites, they seem to move up in complexity, the second showing some lovely ripe fruit and vanilla sweetness, while the third is a full on vanilla bomb. Rich, rounded and creamy, with gorgeous black fruit, I'm pretty sure it's Syrah. It's absolutely delicious. Can you bring the bottle over? I joke to Cyril. The voices round the table seem to agree and soon the air is buzzing with superlatives.

After we've tried and rated the wines, we're presented with a bowl of food and are told to tuck in with our fingers. I feel my way around the edge of the bowl and dive in, greeted by an array of canapés. While the wines' aromas didn't seem particularly heightened, these appear the best canapés I've ever tasted. As I bite into each, my tongue rewards me with an explosion of flavour and texture. The cucumber is extra crunchy, the dill more dominant, the cheese more, well, cheesy. Dining in the dark certainly seems to bring out the best in the food. With nothing to distract you, all focus is on flavour.

With the experiment over, Cyril asks us to stand up. After an hour, I've got strangely used to the dark to the point where it feels like I can see. As humans, we seem to have a remarkable ability to adapt to almost any environment, but I'm relieved to be leaving the black hole.

My hour in the dark has given me a fresh perspective. It's the closest a seeing person will ever get to stepping into a blind man's shoes. The tables turn and it's the sighted people who have to rely on their blind guides, an experience I found truly humbling. Returning to the light, the six wines are unveiled. They're all Jacob's Creek – three Rieslings and three Shirazs. It turns out I have expense taste – my two favourites are the 2009 Steingarten Riesling and the 2004 Centenary Hill Shiraz.

I'm surprised to see the line up. Having all raved about the third red, with some guessing it was a top Rioja or Cal Cab, it's made me rethink my preconceptions about the brand, the old 'don't judge a book by it's cover' adage coming to mind. As clichéd as the saying is, there is truth in it. It's hard not to judge things by the way they look, just as it's hard not to judge a wine by the brand name on the label, but the more open-minded we can be, the more we will be continually surprised and impressed by what life flings at us. Nothing is ever as it seems.