Claridge’s review: a hotel like no other

A marquee fixture in London guides and a byword for an evening spent well, Claridge’s is a universe of its own. We step into the checkerboard foyer

Words: Josh Lee

Since at least 1856, when the first guests poured into the lobby, Claridge’s has been the source of immense hotelier envy across the world. Its fusing of high tea with quality bedsheets, costly lighting and fleets of doormen has established its legend as a British stay straight from central casting. Its crowd of well-shined Oxford lace-ups and the checkerboard foyer coalesce together to form a suave, art deco ecosystem that anchors everything within a three-street radius. Your mum, your grandma and the office matriarch think longingly about it when the name pops up in conversation. And as soon as you hit the corner of Brook and Davies Street, see the signage and pull your luggage through the door, you just know you’re in for the night of your life.

The trick here, really, is to avoid exploring the neighbourhood – the pull of Mayfair and The Audley Public House and a quick trip to the Hermès boutique may be strong, but you must resist! – and invest a day or two doing a reccy within. Foremost among the lineup of draws is the namesake restaurant, taken back in-house after years of being steered by flagship names, such as Gordon Ramsay and Daniel Humm. You’ll find seafood towers, steak au poivre, Parker House rolls that bloom like a spring morning, birthday celebrations, graduation lunches and anniversary dinners. The hotel also specialises in great drinks – The Painter’s Room, a soft-pink cocoon of a space, is beloved for its fruity mixes – and you’ll also want to dedicate an easy afternoon to The Foyer & Reading Room, the heart of the hotel that tinkles with piano keys and tall towers occupied by slim sandwiches, sweet pastries and scones served warm. (It is worth mentioning at this point that the hotel will also open a bakery led by Richard Hart, the legendary bread whisperer who recalibrated the rules at San Francisco’s Tartine.)

While you’re swept up in it all, you’ll also likely need to pencil in an hour or two scrubbing the excess away in the André-Fu-designed spa, where the wisps of sage and cedarwood are meant to evoke the kind of stillness you’d find in the most hushed corner of Kyoto. The bamboo & silk ritual does much to relieve you of the office sting. Alternatively, do not be shy about staying inside your room – The Mews Pavilion, complete with Damien Hirst artwork and your own steam room, is perhaps the pull of the moment – and dialling up room service. Consider it bad form if you fail to order the fried chicken.