London - Long before The Lanesborough joined the elite Oetker Collection and underwent its 18-month makeover at the deft hand of international designer, Alberto Pinto, it was my most revered Grand Dame in London.
You could take every other hotel masquerading as the ultimate Hyde Park “Hideaway” and for my admittedly “silver spoon” tastes, its every nearest competitor paled in comparison.
It is not only The Lanesborough’s regal Regency facade, its close proximity to the Duke of Wellington’s Apsley House (the Duke himself victoriously sits astride his iron steed, within a stone’s throw of the south suites), its prime Hyde Park Corner location (where the Queen’s Guard pass by at noon like clockwork cavalry), it is the sheer thoroughbred British sumptuousness of its interiors: Swathes of floor to ceiling embossed fabrics, marble bathrooms, coronet beds, Waterford crystal glasses, Wedgwood ceilings, shiny antiques, wood panelling, chandeliers and the smiling, suited doormen, sweeping bowler hats, that envelop you, as you cross the imposing threshold, all conspiring to leave a lingering, oh, so silky impression.
And it was this treasured initial impact, which I feared would be messed with, à la so many other film stars, after a facelift.
Thankfully on this much anticipated, latest visit, with my partner, Abe Segal, a first-time Lanesborough convert, its 93 different suites emerged fresh and flawless, still “the most expensive”, in an already expensive town, yet having sacrificed none of their inherent charms, except to adopt some new ones: The very latest touch screen digital technology controlling every apparatus from closing curtains to televisions, to air conditioning, is at hand, adding to the decadence of a 24-hour personal butler.
Pinto’s magic touch has been to lighten and uplift any feature, or corner of the hotel, that may have been construed as dull or jaded. Wood panelling has received gold leaf embellishment, Venetian glass and soft Regency pastels replace heavy primaries, grey marble has been substituted for amber. A trompe l’oeil resembling an outdoor marquee announces the solid staircase descending to the new cigar and vintage brandy bar come garden room – situated plum under Hyde Park corner.
The alluring new Celeste restaurant did not disappoint. Don’t be fooled by the French name, this is a quintessentially British menu and the only French connection is that the executive chef, Florian Favario, is a protege of the three Michelin star recipient Eric Frechon. First and foremost, one is presented with a beautifully laid out classic menu. And then, lo and behold – a rare breed by any international standard – a self-proclaimed “surfing sommelier” approached the table, sporting not only a brilliant nose for wine, but a brilliant sense of humour, minus the proverbial swagger.
Jon has ridden the high white waves of almost every surfing destination in the world and his enthusiastic appreciation of these “hot spots” blended beautifully with his unparalleled knowledge of vintner terroire. And sparing readers the gastronomic jargon, hats off to Favario: Every signature dish of our choice succulently smacked of originality, artistic presentation and, quite simply, were the most delicious we have been privileged to sample in all of England.
This is reason alone to throw economic caution to the wind and to seek out The Lanesborough, as determinedly as a sybaritic lemming, on any pending trip to London.
While every other so-called five star city hotel is skimping on flower arrangements and bath products and dispensing with fluffy towels in the name of austerity or saving the environment, The Lanesborough cares only about catering to your every frivolous whim.
The perennial floral arrangement in the lobby, which looms up like a Hyde Park fountain, mercurially changes more often than the Queen’s Guard, yet exudes a fragrance and finesse more akin to the Elysée Palace.
Small wonder The Lanesborough’s current sister hotel, Le Bristol on the Rue St Faubourg Honore, another sought after landmark in an urban mecca, is again my favourite in Paris.
Both, over and above dishing up indelible edible creations, provide heavy cakes of designer soap, crystal decanters of heavenly smelling shampoo and conditioner large enough to last a week as opposed to a wash. After all, who wants to come to London to see the Queen when you can come to London and become a queen, which to my mind is a whole lot more fun – ask Helen Mirren, who I spotted out of the corner of my very sharp eye.
And for those who seek redemption from hedonistic sins as you sweep down the red carpet of the majestic foyer to your exquisitely appointed suite where freshly ironed theatre garb and so-called sold out seats to The Audience await you, a couple of early morning laps of majestic Hyde Park beckon. Your wake up call will be delivered, together with your spotlessly cleaned running shoes, a copy of The Times and a tray of silver service tea care of your butler.
But rest assured, you will sooner than Cinderella, be released back to reality, after a glorious escape into the confines of the most lavish hotel in London. The trick is that the entire immaculate line up of illustrious staff from general manager Geoffery Gelardi, to head concierge Simon Thomas, keep you constantly primed to go back for more – if only for one fleeting strike of Big Ben – to ease into those luxurious slippers, eat feather light cream cakes and flick all those magic buttons…
“Please, Sir, can I have some more?”
Deborah Curtis-Setchell, Sunday Tribune