It may be unfashionable to admit it in these days of political correctness and government nannying, but I do love booze. I adore it and my flat is full of the stuff; bottles of good beer in the fridge waiting to be served with a slice of pork pie, bottles of crisp white wines chilling ready for summer and bottles of powerful reds for the days when only roast beef and a glass of claret will do.

Above all, there is my collection of spirits. Dozens of bottles, from the standard, well-known brands of gin, whisky and vodka to the sort of mystery spirits that taste so good on holiday that we are persuaded to mule some home, but then leave them unloved and untouched gathering dust for years until we finally throw them away.

None of this is to suggest I have a problem or a tendency to get rolling drunk. I don’t. I actually drink very moderately, but the taste of a beautifully balanced wine or a perfectly mixed cocktail is a thing of extraordinary beauty to me and as impressive as any multi-course tasting menu prepared by a chef with any number of stars to their name.

Cocktail making is, to me, one of the great underappreciated art forms and on many nights I can be seen propping up the bar of one of London’s finest establishments sampling one of the five drinks I use to test the expertise of any self-proclaimed cocktail mixer; the Martini, the Old Fashioned, the Manhattan, the Daiquiri and the signature drink of New Orleans, the Sazerac.

There is nowhere to hide with these drinks, they are all about balancing the spirits. Just as you can tell a workaday chef from one with true talent by how deftly they prepare a simple omelette or a steak, so too you can tell the quality of a cocktail maker by how they perform when separated from the safety net of fruit juices and garnishes.

Brian Silva is one of the best. A transplanted Bostonian who learned his trade in that city’s Colonnade Hotel before a relationship brought him across the ocean to London in 1989 where his skills found a home at a number of bars and clubs. He then spent a number of years at The Connaught Hotel, which allowed him the opportunity to help create and helm the new bar in one of London’s oldest restaurants, Rules.

Brian sees London as the very centre of the cocktail world and professes to “love what is happening in the cocktail scene right now”, expressing admiration for a new generation of young mixologists who, inspired by chefs such as Heston Blumethal and Ferran Adria, are bringing the skills of molecular gastronomy to bear on their drinks.

But for Brian, at heart, happiness is in the classics and you can tell from his vast back-bar, filled only with the very best spirits.

“Respect for alcohol is everything,” he murmured as he poured the contents of a shaker carefully into a chilled martini glass before twisting a lemon peel to create that slick of citrus oil that makes this drink the king of all cocktails.

The first sip brings a pleasing shudder from the iced gin, the second the slight aftertaste of the vermouth used to wash the glass. If you ever wanted proof that God exists it's here. For me, it has to be with a lemon twist, but you can also have it with an olive.

Watching Brian at work is an extraordinary experience. On the one hand he coaxes a nervous customer away from the obvious choices, “almost always the mojito” he says rolling his eyes, to try something a little more adventurous from his repertoire. On the other, he deals with irritating people like me who specify their drink to the last shake or stir, but need reminding that someone of Brian’s provenance probably knows best.

His technique is flawless, unhurried and considered, showing respect for the spirit that is his watchword. The final results are worth the wait, invariably with a perfect balance to the key components.

Brian was lucky enough to share one of his favouritie recipes with me. It is well worth trying at home, but even better when prepared by one of London’s finest cocktail makers.

THE NEGRONI No4

50ml Tanqueray Gin

25ml Campari

15ml Martini Rosato

10ml Dubonnet

Add all the ingredients to an iced shaker. Stir to mix and strain into a chilled old-fashioned glass. Garnish with a twist of lemon.

THURSDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER 2009 

Looking back now, to those bleak, monochrome days before I ate the Rules grouse, I suppose I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I had high hopes, of course, mainly thanks to Simon Majumdar and his giddy tour of the kitchens a few weeks back, and was also looking forward to trying the cocktails in the (still relatively new) Rules Bar upstairs. But it seemed like an odd venue - I was worried that, sitting on the reputation as London's Oldest Restaurant and therefore able to suck in enough heritage-starved American tourists and blousy Old Boys to keep the profits ticking over through good times and bad, that Rules didn't actually need to be any good at all. And, it goes without saying, very few of the places that don't need to be good actually, well, are. I was worried it would be staid, overpriced, stuffy, stifling and stressful. In the end, it was none of those things, and in fact turned out to the most wonderful evening I've enjoyed in a very long time.

Events began in the dark-panelled, carpeted luxury of the upstairs bar, and with the creation of a drink called the Golden Negroni. Like all good cocktails, there was that balance of familiar comforting flavours and just a hint of the mysterious. Apparently lurking in it somewhere was a touch of Poire William. It was remarkably easy to drink. While waiting for various members of our party to arrive, I was invited to sit at the bar itself and watch the mixing of my next order up close. Called the Edge, it contained fresh grated horseradish and tasted of cosy evenings in front of a log fire. Perhaps not very seasonal, but delicious nonetheless.

After an hour or so of blissful contentment which passed as if it was five minutes, it was time to move downstairs and take our seats for dinner. With its high ceilings and walls covered in memorabilia and paraphernalia, Rules feels every one of its 211 years old. How nice, though, to be in a restaurant that has gathered its mementos and photographs honestly and gradually over many years, instead of buying them all at once in a bid to invent an illustrious past like so many gastropubs. This is a place with real history, and a confidence in its own reputation as a London dining destination. And we were about to find out why.

My starter was Morecambe Bay potted shrimps, one of my favourite comfort foods at the best of times, but here, thanks to Rules' use of lobster butter to bind the sweet crustaceans together, it took on a new, luxurious identity. I will admit that my knowledge of potted shrimp was previously limited to the little plastic pots you can buy at foodie markets, but even so, these were lovely. And although my dish came on the back of a recommendation from His Maj, the standards of the other starters on our table were equally high - in particularly a gorgeous dressed crab with a perfectly balanced brown meat mix.

And then the grouse. It will give you an idea of how very reasonable the prices are in this restaurant when I tell you that this labour-intensive, hand caught game bird was at only £27.50 the most expensive item on the Rules menu last night. But in this blogger's humble opinion, the experience it delivered was close to priceless. Served with crispy bacon, some duck liver paté on toast and the traditional game chips, the only slightly unusual element was a few sprigs of highland heather protruding from the back of the bird. And yet almost before the first bite of the gorgeously pink, moist meat had reached my lips, I knew this was going to be something special. The smell - oh, lordy, the smell - it was of open countryside, highland moors and healthy living. It was an aroma that did more than simply get the taste buds going, it assaulted my emotions directly, whisking me back to childhood trips to Cumbria and of long walks on hot summer's days. And it was no less affecting in the mouth - to call the flavour "gamey" is to not even touch the surface of how extraordinarily, wonderfully powerful the flavour of this little bird was - a deep, rich flavour like no other animal I've ever tasted. I ate in stunned, intense silence, methodically pulling every bit of the carcass apart and savouring every last morsel of offal from inside and out. Later in the evening I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror; I had grouse blood splattered down the front of my white shirt and looked like Sweeney Todd after a particularly busy day. I was so overwhelmed I hadn't even noticed at the time.

After dinner, we moved back upstairs once again and allowed Brian Silva, the head barman, to gently bring us down from our game-fuelled high with a plate of Colton Basset stilton and Pedro Ximines dessert sherry. We chatted happily across the bar and drank wonderful cocktails until we were the last people in the room. It was a magical evening, one of those nights where every element of every bite and slurp brings joy and each moment slides blissfully into the next. But it was the grouse that was the star of an evening not short of highlights. That I recommend Rules as a restaurant should by now be obvious - you absolutely, positively have to go, and soon, before the season is over. It's just too good to miss.

9/10 From Urban Spoon