Words by Sarah Jappy
Julianne Moore is sitting cross-legged on a chartreuse-velvet chair in our Studio King Suite at The Hari, wearing jewel-encrusted sandals and a champagne-coloured, barely-there négligée, belted at the waist. Her commanding, kohl-rimmed gaze remains firmly fixed on us as we move around our dark, dramatic suite. “Haaaai, Julianne, thanks for joining us”, I croon up to her as she hangs regally above us, immortalised in a glossy portrait on the wall.
Julianne Moore is a fitting muse for the Hari, which delivers a masterclass in understated, sexy elegance. No Hollywood A-lister would sniff at the Hari’s prime Belgravia location, which puts London’s leading ladies – including Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace and the Royal Albert Hall – at guests’ fingertips. From the outside, the hotel makes an excellent first impression: all shark-sleek, angular architecture and shimmering glass frontage, dropping generous hints about the sartorial and epicurean treats within.
Step inside and an artful little library of carefully curated coffee-table Taschen tomes invites you to pause, perch in the conker-coloured vintage leather chairs and inhale the Hari’s heady signature fragrance, an enticing blend of lemongrass and pomegranate, designed by Rachel Vosper. Staff are charming, laid-back and welcoming; sneak peeks of Il Pampero, the hotel’s dapper Italian restaurant on the ground floor, hint at delicious nights ahead…
If Julianne were here, she’d certainly kick things off with pre-dinner drinks at the Garden Terrace, where snug sofas, covetable, mid-century chairs and little tables are set in an unexpected, Narnia-esque courtyard, backdropped by walls strung with garlands of rainbow-coloured flowers, surreal, lustrous Alice in Wonderland-esque artworks and suspended filament-bulb lights, lending a pearly glow to the scene.
Do as we do: pair potent libations with a platter of the hotel’s juicy Maldon oysters, served as they should be with zingy, scarlet mignonette sauce and hunks of lemon. During our visit, ambient, synthy sounds provide a suitably #vibey soundtrack for the on-trend media types sipping their drinks and plotting projects in the late-afternoon sun.
As tempting as the bar menu is, hold back: Il Pampero deserves your full attention. Decorated with a monochrome-tiled floor, moody, jewel hues, globular statement lights, velvet bar stools, gilt-framed paintings of intriguing, moustachioed Italian characters, and immaculate, candlelit, white-linen-topped tables worthy of Lady and the Tramp, this is the Italian jewel in the Hari’s crown.
The hotel’s chef is the king of the crunch, artfully rustling up fritturina with tartare sauce and lemon, fried courgettes served in an exuberantly tangled riot like mermaid’s hair, and spicy baby octopus with crispy polenta and earthy taggiasche olives. Mains span hearty, decadent pastas such as lobster spaghetti or carbonara with pork cheek, and meaty numbers such as venison loin with seasonal mushrooms, chard, pine nuts and golden raisins.
The chef has an arty streak and clearly relishes plating up: our delicacies come housed in wooden boxes, atop rice crispy puffs, and adorned with gleaming glass jewels. Steak tartare served in an edible bread ‘bowl’, decorated with golden puffs of egg-yolk mousse, is a highlight. Whatever you do, save room for the chef’s tiramisu; another winner is the modern spin on a black forest gateau, starring hunks of emerald-coloured sponge ‘grass’ and a brittle chocolate crisp. Viva la crisp.
Thanks to our magnificent breakfast the following day, I can confirm that Il Pampero is equally lovely in daylight, its caramel-coloured banquette seating providing a cosy setting in which to recover from the inevitable indulgences of the night before.
My companion’s nocturnal cocktail imbibing proves a little challenging for his morning feasting. In contrast, I’m thriving, thanks to a blissful night’s sleep in our giant, plumptious bed and a drenching, pre-breakfast rain shower in our cloud-coloured marble bathroom: a snowy vision of perfection. A delicious breakfast of herby sausages, candy-sweet, oven-roasted tomatoes and yolky fried eggs seals the deal and sets the day off in style.
As my partner in crime grows paler by the moment, I wonder idly what Julianne is doing. Dreaming of the Hari, and her next négligée-clad, Knightsbridge adventure, no doubt…
