Lockdown 2020: akin to being shoved in a deep freezer for a year and a half. Survivors are likely to be looking for somewhere to defrost in style this summer. Somewhere you can feel yourself gradually coming back to life again, somewhere you can feel a smile snake across your face again. Somewhere accessorised with fellow merrymaking humans. Somewhere that promises all of the finest things: big beds, small dogs, faultless food, potent cocktails, crystallised peacocks and covetable lighting...
Might I suggest the Mayfair Townhouse?
To begin your defrosting process with aplomb, I recommend you arrive by taxi. There’s nothing more warming for cockles and soul than the sight of summertime Londoners giddily picnicking in Hyde Park, unfurling like sleepy cats on striped deck chairs by Horse Guards Parade, and happily spilling out onto bijou café pavements in marvellous Mayfair.
Suitably sated on such happy sights, you’ll already be in fine mettle when you arrive at the Mayfair Townhouse’s elegant cream-and-black entrance on Half Moon Street. If you’re lucky, dapper doorman, Gary, will be ready and waiting to whisk your luggage to your awaiting bedroom.
Inside, there’s a Swarovski crystal peacock (well, naturally), Art Deco-style lights like giant lustrous pearls, snowy marble and a fleet of obliging staff to welcome you to your temporary new home. The kind of staff who tread with silent footsteps (how do they do that?), whose smiles are heartfelt, and whose effortless bonhomie comes on tap.
As you squish rhubarb-scented hand sanitiser on your paws and check in, you’ll already hear the siren call of the gold-glowing bar area: scene of cocktails, cakes and conversation by day, and spirited drinks and dinners by night.
If you’re very lucky, wonderful GM, Hubert, will charm you further as you absorb all the details: plush velvet chairs that invite your bottom to sink down low (with slim chance of arising for a while), low brass-and-glass tables, and a jovial buzz that hints at fun ahead.
First impressions ring true: the Dandy Bar is the beating heart of the Town House, which actually encompasses a whopping 16 townhouses in total. Let one of the waistcoat-clad barmen settle you in with a snifter or two, preferably enjoyed mid-afternoon.
We sipped a ruby-red Casanova topped with a vivid blue bay leaf and a Mr Bosie martini, in a glass bedecked with edible paint, adorned with a shiny little absinthe jelly cube. Upon consuming this, I was somewhat disappointed not to be transported immediately to a Parisian den of sin featuring languid naked models and louche, opium-befuddled artists, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
Don’t just have a liquid supper. Do as we did: enjoy a decadent dinner. The Jerusalem artichoke croquettes with salsa verde and charred Padron peppers are non-negotiables, along with the crunchy-cased, melting-on-the-inside arancini. It would be wise to order lobster curry, served here with fragrant cardamom rice – because, frankly, who knows when you’ll next be offered lobster curry? Carpe diem and all that. Throw in Rosella’s tiramisu and a bottle of crisp white wine and you’ll be forgetting your Zombie-apocalypse year in the deep freeze in no time.
Wild types might choose to follow dinner with a jaunt to a nearby night spot. The kind that attracts glossy women with expensively highlighted hair, very white teeth and very small handbags. We, however, chose to retire to our beautiful Park Lane suite to starfish on our blissfully comfy bed and catch a random hotel movie: Days of the Bagnold Summer, in fact.
Further opportunities for indulgence come anew the next morning. Having showered in your shiny white marble bathroom, freshly fragrant from an application of British-made Noble Isle bath products, take yourself down to the airy, spacious breakfast room. Foxes receive their artistic dues in the post-box-red Den and, elsewhere, the decor riffs on an Alice & Wonderland theme: butterflies in framed boxes, artfully aged novels and soft, comfy seating in rich, boiled-sweet hues. Including corner booths, joy of joys.
The eggs Benedict comes highly recommended, and special mention must be given to the pleasingly creamy butter. The staff even kindly rustled up an off-menu iced latte on request. Spying resident pug, Mr Darcy, waddling imperiously through the building as we polished off our eggs and muffins, toast and jam, and juices and coffee, counted as one of many highlights. Breakfasts should always be like this: comfortable, civilised, unhurried and with potential pug-sightings on the horizon. John Gunther was correct in commenting: ‘All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.’
Don’t stop at breakfast. Gourmands may be interested to know that very good sushi can be enjoyed for lunch at nearby Restaurant Yoshino. Of course, there are also irresistible rose and violet chocolate creams to procure from Fortnum & Masons before home-time. There’s an artful book shop, Maison Assouline, to peep into (browse the giant tomes with a wondrous gaze and respectful fingers) and all of London’s headline acts at your disposal.
By the time you head back home, the only thing frosted on your person will be the violet and rose petals adorning your itsy-bitsy Fortnum’s chocolates.
To learn more or book a room, click here.
