Loose Cannon in London: A Guide to Luxury in London by Devanshi Mody
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Andaz Liverpool Street
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The London autumn is rarely warm. Frenetic activity is required if one is to generate heat. How better than by letting one’s self loose upon London’s most luxurious addresses?
Suite Seductions
The Westbury: Bang on Bond St, glamorously discreet, swishly refurbished, slickly serviced. The beautiful people adorn its champagne pink marble-pillared lobby. Smart art studs ruche fabric walls. Dashing and dynamic 30-year-old owner Azad Cola’s exciting expansions will further whah-whah-whoom this property prestigiously rooted in polo. Sponsors of elite events like the Westbury Shield, Serpentine Summer Party and Cartier Polo, this stylishly located hotel is associated with the princely, presidential and partying types, including Prince Dmitri of Russia and Mickael Gorbachov.
Their suites waltzed in rich fabrics exude understated elegance. Marble bathrooms stock chic Hermes toiletries. The terraced St George Penthouse Suite has hosted haute joaillerie launches. But I prefer the more contemporary, placidly-shaded Corner Suite. I fondly recall the crispest waffles, vivifying Musetti espressos and gentle breakfast manager Joe at the elegant Artisan restaurant where Fergie dines. My brother adjudged fashionista-tuffeted Polo Bar’s Bloody Marys amongst the best 3 he has had whilst I went nuts over the smoked almonds.
The Berkley: The smart, grey-hued Berkley suite spaciously stores your purchases (if you’ve been good and bought only half of Harrods) whilst other suites are immensely terraced. London’s only roof-top spa boasts park views, indoor pool with retractable roof and sun deck which the glam set adore. If your carte bleue is bouncing chase away the blues with bubbly rose at the hotel’s buzzing Blue Bar. If you spot Madonna, you haven’t OD-ed on this hip venue’s cool concoctions. And no, you’re not imagining things- Madonna does usually descend in a swirl of 600 security personnel. Endearingly, breakfasts waiters might bring you toast in a fruit bowl. More entertainingly, the waitress reels off to one guest the bread choices, “White bread, brown bread, rice bread…” The guest exclaims in exasperation, “May I have bread bread!!!”
Sofitel St James: The quietly contemporary Executive Suite is wow-wanting but compensates with the fluffiest, comfiest “My Bed.” I slept until 10.00 am and awoke panic-struck. I’d probably missed the French breakfast, with real French breads, cheeses and croissants got down from Paris at this gastronomic haven. But brunch at the Brasserie Roux stretched to 2 pm. Phew! And what a spread including a plethora of wondrous pastries, muffins, smoothies etc. The hotel also uniquely prepares picnic baskets to savour in delicious locations. For a Paris chick like me with a penchant for French chic London is un vrai suplice (hell!). But this French hotel, the city’s most professionally-run, redeemed. Although, it left me longing for Paris.
Flamboyantly Fantastic
The May Fair Hotel: The super swish Penthouse Suite is wild. Fur and hide upholstered interiors incite the animal instinct. Romp rumbustiously. Few London suites lend themselves with such panache to pulsating parties. The terraces teeter dizzily over London. The bathroom is ultra sexy as is the ravishing round bed if you’re there for summer romancing. The hotel’s other exuberant suites, swaddled in voracious velvets, sinful satins and lissom linens, also make for lavish love nests.
The heady Opium Suite swirls you in languorous sensuality whilst the outrageously pink Shiaparelli suite, my favourite, is for frolicsome frivolity with a fuchsia bed studded to a gold-framed black leather backdrop and living rooms fusing antiques (in pink, of course) with fancy modern paraphernalia. Riots of quixotic imagination manifestly inspired London’s most unabashedly decadent suites, and the hotel offers a dozen to tempt and torment you with. The spa has more men than women these days, who come for rejuvenating algae facials but tell the therapist, “It mustn’t look like I’ve had a facial…”
Egerton House: One of London’s most quaintly elegant addresses, this award-winning hotel is a prettily-pocketed enclave of enrapturing intimacy and old-fashioned charm that transports you, time-machine-like, into a bygone era. The endearingly enigmatic barman seems a relic too. The new V&A suite is an exuberance of roaring rouge fabrics, exquisite antiques and art work. Opulent interiors expand onto a delightful private terrace.
The Knightsbridge Hotel: The Knightsbridge Suite’s unobtrusively contemporary English décor hasn’t the signature robust hues of its counterparts. The home-away-from-home tree-cradled hotel is for those spending an eternity shopping in London. The staff is graciously well-trained (not always so elsewhere in London) so home-made breakfasts in the living room and library can be rather joyous.
Spa-ctacular
The Dorchester Spa: Deep “Dorchester Blue” corridors open into the swankest spa. I deem spas a professional hazard. But tore myself wretchedly from this effusion of pearl-hued interiors including chandelier comprising 72,000 pearls, chic Spatisserie with specially conceived spa patisseries and menu, a manicure/pedicure room resplendently embellished with nail polish bottles, ultra zen relaxation room and sensational bathrooms. Melt into extraordinary therapy beds in space-age treatments rooms and prepare for pampered transport. Book with Rebecca Perry who has the softest hands and exceptional technique. Her wonderful humour will entertain you over the long, signature Kerstin Florian caviar treatment. I enquire if steaming dissipates fat. She quips, “If that were so, I’d keep my body under the steamer all day…”
Annick Goutal Spa: Descend to the depths of decadence at this new one-suite basement spa in Belgravia, London’s most exclusive address. Expect French flair incarnate. Not to mention French savoir-faire. The spa specialises in unique all-rose facials where every application contains rose, including an exfoliator made of crushed rose thorns. The Paris-trained Japanese therapist Naomi Pinkdia executes exquisitely the ravishing facial whilst manager Asta Stravinskaite’s tongue-in-cheek pronouncements divert. The fanciful abode in shades of soft pink recreates a boudoir and comes with its own lingerie section whose lace and satin numbers entice dangerously. Undress to kill!
Carol Joy Spa: The slick black interiors upholstered in off-white velvet is very suave and svelte. The spa also boasts enormous en-suite bathrooms although one wonders why as they don’t always stock anything, not even toiletries, towel or bathrobe. But it doesn’t matter when London’s best masseuse, a an expert Cypriot, does you perfect pressure-point massages.
Choc-o-Block
Maison du Chocolat: Legendary French institution renowned for unrivalled cognac truffles and smoother-than-luxury chocolate have supplemented classic favourites with the exotic new Andalousie collection infused with Spanish orange, Moroccan Mint Tea, spiced raspberry… Also try their caramel ice cream and rose & grapefruit sorbet. But don’t miss the rich chocolat chaud. Notwithstanding the proliferation of British chocolatiers, the French remain masters of the crafty art of epicurean chocolate.
Artisan du Chocolat: Has revolutionised English chocolate and taken it to a new dimension. Discover luxury fusion chocolate bars, grapefruit peal, liquid sea salted caramels and couture chocolates comprising London’s most whimsical innovations including Sesame, Chestnut Nougat, Banana and Thyme, Verbena, Basil and Lime, Marzipan and Rosemary, Coriander Praline, Coffee and Star Anise, Red Wine, Lumi, Tobacco etc The must-haves, however, are the iced chocolate granitas and butter cake served with molten chocolate.
Racy Restaurants
Kai: Owner Bernard Yao abandoned a law career to present London’s best Chinese food. Laxmi Mittal, Brad Pitt, Tom cruise and Mick Jagger agree. The ambiance isn’t sensational but the food is and served with cutting-edge professionalism, personally touched. Michael, the manager, infallibly selected a countless-course menu degustation including “veggie” crispy Peking duck and innovative chais (meat/sea food dishes recreated with tofu substitutes). But when Michael sent a pumpkin, coconut and purple rice desert, I protested. But was astonished. Homemade ice cream and chocolate floored me further. I who love carping couldn’t complain.
Hakassan: You cannot enter this trendily relaxed subterranean restaurant unless you’re on the guest list. But the celeb-studded Michelin-starred venue isn’t snooty, although it famously revolutionised Chinese food. The tofu chicken and sticky rice are to-die-for. Paris Hilton discovered romantic possibilities in telephone wires, but canoodle instead over oodles of noodles.
Yauatcha: Is about Michelin-starred designer dim sum, electric blue interiors and stunning waitresses. Ask the charming manager Imran for assistance if you’re daunted by the bewildering choices. He recommends you try everything. You must. Relish too extraordinary, rarefied innovations from London’s best pastry chef. A Frenchman, bien sur.
The Italian Job
Locanda Locatelli: The clientele is chi chi. The cuisine is authentic, un-inundated in oil or cream and startlingly simple. Almost Mamma-in-the-Cucina trattoria-style food, not newfangled innovations expected at a Michelin-star restaurant. But simple flavours triumph as Mr Locatelli masters textures. Try the beautifully executed gnocchi. The waiter doesn’t arrive at every course to darken your dish with the infamous black. As for Locatelli’s avant-garde tiramisu. Mama Mia! And his coffee ice cream ensures sleepless nights as you cannot but lay awake fantasising about it.
Ristorante Semplice: Amongst the world’s best Italian restaurants this venue with walls of swirled gold received a Michelin star this year and is fast gaining repute as London’s finest Italian restaurant. The secret is in simple cooking with very complexly sourced, ultra refined ingredients. Mozzarella is flown from Italy to ensure freshness but British critics, unused to such exceptional quality, when confronted with the “real thing,” have complained the “mozzarella isn’t quite right.” Referring to the oil-laden risottos served elsewhere in London one waiter, Mattheo says, “It might be a great dish, but it’s not risotto…”
The astounding home-made pasta again is from top quality ingredients. Unbelievable espressos are made in a state-of-the-art manual machine with specially sourced fresh coffee beans but the British have criticised the lack of decaf espressos (a contradiction in terms to an Italian) and of champagne, which the restaurant won’t serve because, being Italian, they don’t stock anything French! Unforgettable perfectionism, passion for food and gregarious generosity keep gastronomes returning repeatedly.
Dolada: Debonair young Chef Ricardo’s clever creations have disconcerted the Brits but have Italians fascinated. Try inspired cream-less carbonara or “pizza” contained in a Murano glass alembic and constituting shots of liquefied mozzarella, pesto, tomato and olive oil which you swig before biting into crusty dough.
Masala Magic
Tamarind: Remains miraculously authentic despite the Frenchified culinary antics at London’s other gastronomic Indian restaurants. The world’s first Michelin-starred Indian restaurant is still playing to packed houses. Gentlemen Chef Alfred Prasad adheres to traditional recipes with tongue-tickling treats including street food starters like tikkis and dahi batat puri. The coconut kormas leave you clamouring for thirds. The service is beautifully gracious.
The Bombay Brasserie: The enormous chandeliers and décor mightn’t titillate everyone’s taste but you’ll focus only on the culinary temptations on your plate. The young sous-chef from Mumbai presented a seemingly-endless perfectly-textured feast that I glutted but felt I’d eaten nothing. The chikki kulfi beckons cheekily. But apple kheer is the speciality. We know what will lure Eve. Adam, don’t choke on that apple!
Basically British
Corrigan’s: London’s “Restaurant of the Year.” For once, the critics didn’t blunder. The décor dismays with chandeliers almost evoking a Spanish Inquisition chamber. But the 3-Michelin-Star-worthy service, efficiency without over-familiarity, and gastronomic British cuisine, especially starters like soups and Welsh rarebit, compensate. I who abhor eggs adored the poached egg and asparagus. Like the beverage list, desserts are unexceptionally excellent. I ventured four. Should you prefer not exploding, settle for the chocolate declinaison.
The Ritz: Savour the ambiance at this legendary abode of unmitigated finery. The service is gorgeous and the sommelier knows exactly what you want- even if you don’t… The French pastry chef’s ethereal deserts and mignardies stun. If mothers want to beguile their daughters away from Bond Street (enough of those diamonds!) then lunch at the Ritz: it’s cheaper, all things considered…
Albermarle: Combines British cuisine, French deserts and slick Italian service. Bread is disastrous at most London restaurants. I demolished almost an entire freshly-baked focacia here. Diners brave insomnia with espresso for the accompanying hand-made chocolate truffles.
Covent Garden Hotel: In a quintessentially English setting a breakfast buffet beckoningly adorns an intimate round table. What a cornucopia of cereals (Birsche muesli is best), yoghurts elaborately concocted fruit, cereal and dairy shots, fresh and stewed fruit compotes… The naughty can replace tame brown bread toast with poppy seed cake and muffins. The naughtier still, throw in some bubbly.
Hot New Numbers
L’Incontro: Meaning “encounter,” this stylish Italian restaurant has walls that exhibit photographs capturing encounters of the most amusing sort, including one of King George and a pig, which elicited from a diner the comment, “Wonder who the pig is.” The new owner Cristiano has a subtle sense of humour but he didn’t find it funny when the new young Napolitano Chef Marco announced he was preparing for me an experimental innovation, strawberry risotto…
After an impeccable succession of the finest olives available in London, served with aperitif, and warm home-made foccacia followed by salads and mouth-melting ravioli that remains unrivalled in London (including the chef’s signature “surprise” ravioli), I too was dismayed when I learned I was the guinea pig for strawberry risotto. But the champagne pink risotto, perfectly al dente, accompanied by vintage balsamic vinegar, is amongst the only 5 good risottos I have tried anywhere. Glut you must, but leave room for dessert. The home-made profiteroles are gorgeous, although the more venturesome should try the polenta and honey innovation.
Lutyens: The latest enterprise by Sir Terrance Conran occupies a historic building with typical “City” interiors. No doubt it’s for bankers who like to think they still have a job. The tarte provencal the size of a flying saucer encourages those who like to think the recession is over and such generosity is permissible, even though the French original wouldn’t outsize a tea saucer. However, he cheese trolley with a good selection of French fare and good wines will yet send you out in high spirits.
Il Vaporetto: Owned by fashion designer Joseph, Belgravia’s luxury “local” lures the neighbourhood’s super rich and very beautiful people for easy food, a medley of Mediterranean and British dishes, served in a stunning enclave with a conservatory-like glass roof. Great moelleux au chocolat but sweeter still is the pamper young Manager Mo.
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