London’s Claridge’s Hotel, Mayfair: clear sense of history
London’s Claridge’s is bling-free but all Mayfair class.
We have proper light switches, says the under-manager as we enter a fifth-floor suite at Claridge’s. I hear a click and the vestibule is illuminated.
I want to cry with relief. I know from reader response to a recent Departure Lounge column on hotel lighting that many of you share my frustration with up-itself technology, all panels and sensors and a uniform lack of logic. Who among us hasn’t roamed corridors in the dark guided only by the insufficient beams of our iPhone torch apps.
On the other hand, you wouldn’t expect a Mayfair matron such as Claridge’s to have reinvented itself as edgy and hip. Its core clientele is loyal, mature and moneyed. So even the smallest of advancements have to be considered and controlled.
I am amused to find a Toto toilet in Suite 511 with a warmed seat, oscillating function and “power deodoriser”, and a Dyson hair-dryer that whooshes like a vacuum cleaner. The Wi-Fi is rocket-fast and free. But less surprising is the row of capacious closets, big enough for ball gowns and hatboxes, and the plush carpets and cloud-soft bed.
The decor is manor house, impeccably maintained and reassuringly traditional. But the room-service breakfast menu, I note, strays from smoked haddock and Breckland brown eggs to the 21st-century prospect of yellow beetroot or purple carrot juices, miso soup and gluten-free options.
Also new and resolutely “now” is the fabulously designed one Michelin-starred Fera at Claridge’s, with dishes that “evoke the British landscape”, from seaweed crackers to stewed rabbit with lovage.
The red-brick, seven-storey Claridge’s, conceived by CW Stephens, designer of Harrods, opened in Mayfair in 1898 on the site of a small hotel earlier run by a William and Marianne Claridge. In the 1930s, an art deco makeover heralded the shimmering decor of the time, from etched mirrors, curlicued banisters and leaping deer lamps to jazz-era motifs and silvered surfaces. Aside from a sympathetic “refresh” by Thierry Despont in 1998, the art deco bones remain true.
The guest register, naturally, is a roll call of the rich and royal but a few notables stand out, especially Katharine Hepburn, who when reminded that the dress code of the day decreed ladies should not wear trousers in the lobby, acknowledged the rule but reverted to using the staff entrance.
My first encounter, possibly in jodhpurs, was as a seven-year-old when Mother was briefly in hospital in London with “ladies’ problems” and Dad and I went up by train from Westhumble, Surrey, to visit her. It was on, or near to, my March birthday and thus hat-and-scarf weather. Dad had booked us an early afternoon tea at Claridge’s and I insisted Mr Ted, my unimaginatively named teddy bear, had to go too.
So somewhere in the vaults is a grainy picture of Mr Ted and me taking tea. He is sitting atop two cushions, which Dad reminded me decades later appeared unsummoned and were placed under him, very gently and precisely, by a gentleman waiter. Luckily, I had dressed Mr Ted for a sophisticated day out, with a blue bow tie. Not visible in the picture are my bulging pockets because I pilfered two scones (sans jam and cream) for our visit to Mother as I worried she’d be hungry. Dad was aghast when I revealed them, slightly squashed, by her hospital bed. She was perplexed but I was unapologetic as the kind waiter had seen my squirrelling movements and simply winked.
But I had never stayed at Claridge’s so checking in last month brings back that memorable day with Dad and Mr Ted, especially while taking high tea served on leaf green and white-striped Bernardaud china with my London friend Zoe in the gold-toned Foyer salon. There are white-jacketed waiters, flutes of Laurent-Perrier fizz and exotic cups of the likes of Darjeeling second-flush and white silver tip teas. Forget boring old strawberry jam and slather tea-infused jellies on the plain or fruit-studded scones. I take a photo of the scene for poor Mr Ted, who lives in a box room at home, sitting on a single bed and going bald.
The 190-room Claridge’s is a bling-free zone that doesn’t so much glitter as glow. I stay snug in my suite on an unpredictable morning of rain-shine and watch the changing sky from a bay window. It seems like being on a majestic liner, forever ploughing across the rooftops of London. Even in the public areas, I feel lightly tethered, surrounded by gliding staff, mellow lighting, diamond-tiled expanses, hand-blown glass chandeliers and shiny surfaces. In Claridge’s Bar, on a high leather stool the colour of Campari, I sip an aperitif and then peep into the ultimate late-night cocktail haunt, The Fumoir, hidden behind an original Lalique glass panel.
In the elevator with its cage door and formally attired family retainer-style attendant, I am invited to sit on the narrow banquette for the (comfortingly slow and creaky) journey to the fifth floor one late afternoon. And then to early bed with a bowl of “elixir” soup, all split barley, wild mushrooms and celeriac. I hope Dad and Mother are not up in the firmament, looking down and tut-tutting, as I remove the bread rolls off the tray for “afters”.
Susan Kurosawa was a guest of Claridge’s and Qantas.
CHECKLIST
Claridge’s, Brook Street, Mayfair, London W1K 4HR.
+44 20 7629 8860; claridges.co.uk.
Tariff
Check the hotel site for best offers; a Sunday Slumber rate, valid to May 2019, is £420 ($771).
Getting there
The new Qantas Dreamliner 787 non-stop service to Heathrow from Perth, with connections from the airline’s Australian ports, takes just over 17 hours;
Bedtime reading
Agatha Christie’s murder mystery At Bertram’s Hotel was inspired by Brown’s, another London pile with a long lineage.
Stepping out
You are in the heart of Mayfair so strolling is a posh pleasure; for chauffeured transfers or bespoke sightseeing in luxury vehicles, I highly recommend family-run Chirton Grange; www.chirtongrange.co.uk.
Brickbats
So few false notes but staff at high tea sessions seem rushed off their feet; Fera is eye-wateringly expensive and dishes do sound wacky, so maybe try the good-value three-course lunch menu.
Bouquets
A clear sense of history, preserved with care and style; abundant supplies of exclusive organic toiletries by British brand Cowshed.
Also try
Fellow Maybourne Hotel Group members in London, The Connaught and The Berkeley; Le Meurice, Paris.