A GRAND OLD DAME
Never mind the new kids on the block, ANNA HART raises a glass to hotels with history and the timeless allure of a grande dame hotel.
Never mind the new kids on the block, Anna Hart raises a glass to hotels with history and timeless allure.
It is only human to be dazzled by the new, drawn to shiny hotels and captivated by slick concept restaurants. We are on a lifelong quest for the surprising and the novel, mainly because it gives us something to talk about. As epicurean adventurers, we’ll brave waiting lists and queues in order to sidle up to a much-hyped hotel or newlyopened restaurant, basking in the glow of this young hospitality starlet, enjoying what might turn out to be just 15 minutes of fame.
Our collective fetishisation of newness means we should be even more in awe of the historic grande dame hotel who has quietly charmed travellers for decades. The tough old bird who has weathered the storms history hurled her way – wars, recessions, pandemics – with dignity and grace. Who has an endless stream of scintillating stories and star-studded anecdotes, but knows when to lean back demurely and provide a decorative backdrop. And the ultimate marker of a classy hotel: the knack of putting anyone in the room at ease.
Like Claridge’s, in London, which welcomed my two male companions and I into our suite without batting an eyelid. “We’re just friends!” I insisted, but Claridge’s was too classy to care. I’ll admit I was worried they might find my request – a sleepover with my two best friends – unusual, but here’s the thing about a central London hotel that dates back to 1812: They’ve seen it all.
Claridge’s is the decadent Mayfair address where Joan Collins threw a wedding party, Kate Moss celebrated her 30th birthday, Mick Jagger racked up a $1.5 million bill and Brad Pitt and Angelina
Jolie bunked up shortly after Pitt’s split from Jennifer Aniston. A platonic threesome in the Empress Eugenie Suite was nothing.
A bottle of champagne greeted us – just one of the 36,000 bottles of champagne consumed by Claridge’s guests every year – along with three champagne flutes in a row. (Throughout our short stay, Robbie and Ryan were both addressed as “Mr Hart”, to my great delight.) I’d considered booking theatre tickets, but when you’re in a historic hotel like this, it seems a shame to miss a moment. After all, we were already in one of the best places in London. Why go out in search of somewhere second-best? A grande dame hotel offers sweet respite from this sort of exhausting traveller’s guilt. So we clattered down the sweeping staircase into the glittering Art Deco lobby, before sinking into the soft leather seating in The Fumoir, a sexy, shadowy 1930s jewellery box of a cocktail bar, with original Lalique crystal panels, aubergine walls and a marble horseshoe bar top.
Much of the hotel’s character is owed to a spectacular Art Deco makeover in the early 1930s overseen by Oswald Milne, who transformed the lobby from a slightly old-fashioned carriage driveway into a gleaming centrepiece with mirrors, a revolving door and decadent lighting. Nearly a century later, Claridge’s is considered an Art Deco gem in the heart of Mayfair, the London hotel of choice for
good old-fashioned glamour without a hint of fusty formality or fuss.
So what was the big occasion? My departure to Los Angeles for several months on a writing assignment. Getting rid of me is something worth celebrating in style, and I’d decided to treat my two best buds to a fairly spectacular final hurrah. It was just a regular Wednesday night, and we all had work in the morning, but Claridge’s has the magical ability to turn even the drabbest of winter Wednesdays into a glittering Saturday. I can see how the endless Saturdays at Claridge’s could prove addictive, and entertainers who used the hotel as their regular London address throughout the 1950s include Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn and Bing Crosby. Why go to another hotel and have to live through Mondays and Tuesdays, when it’s always Saturday at Claridge’s?
The next morning, we splashed out on $80-a-head Chinese breakfasts, complete with delectable prawn dim sum, pork gyoza and chicken congee. You can tell a lot about a hotel by its breakfast menu, and I stubbornly clung to the menu after the waiter took our order, studying it like a horoscope. There were hipster favourites such as açai bowls and green juices, but also classics such as scrambled eggs on toast. But the Middle Eastern, Japanese, Chinese and European set menus are by far the most exciting. It was reassuring to think of all the celebrity hangovers that had been cured by this venerable international breakfast menu; if the Chinese breakfast can fix fuzzy-headed diplomats and business magnates, surely it could fix me. I wondered what Soviet statesmen Nikita Khrushchev and Marshal Nikolai Bulganin had for breakfast after their rowdy cocktail party in the Royal Suite in 1956.
I felt part of a long, historic tradition of hungover hotel guests, praying and braying for a remedy. Back when Kate Moss celebrated her 30th here in 2004, the cure was a Bloody Mary. Today, it’s turmeric juice.
Admittedly our evening of cocktails and card games wasn’t quite as momentous as the time Queen Victoria visited Empress Eugenie of France in her “winter quarters” here in 1860. That royal visit cemented Claridge’s status as the favourite hotel of royals and aristocrats, and since then, visiting heads of state have regularly hosted banquets there, earning Claridge’s a reputation as an annexe to Buckingham Palace. During World War II, the hotel remained open, hosting many exiled heads of state, who were invited to make use of the hotel’s specially-built bomb shelter. In 1945, at the request of Winston Churchill, suite 212 was declared Yugoslavian territory so that Crown Prince Alexander II could be born on his own country’s soil.
The previous night, as he’d mixed our drinks, the bartender recalled a more recent tale of the London 2012 summer Olympics, when no fewer than seven heads of state were in residence. Staff joked at the time about recreating a classic episode in Claridge’s lore that dates back to 1947, just before the wedding of the then Princess Elizabeth. A stressed diplomat telephoned Claridge’s asking to speak to the King. “Certainly sir,” was the response, “but which one?”
The summer of 2020, however, has seen Claridge’s welcome an altogether different clientele. Forced to close in late March owing to the Covid-19 outbreak, Claridge’s swiftly reopened to host 40 NHS doctors, nurses and other key staff from the nearby St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington. Many NHS workers in the UK were forced to search for emergency accommodation during the outbreak as they live with relatives in high-risk groups, and Claridge’s was the most high-end hotel to offer up their $1200-a-night rooms, along with breakfast and dinner. It is six months since my taste of Claridge’s superlative hospitality, and as I type, the hotel is still graciously operating as a sumptuous crash pad for deserving doctors and nurses – while the kitchen contributes daily pre-packed meals for workers across London hospitals.
Perhaps it’s this ability to wear time well, to navigate stormy waters with grace, that is the most alluring quality of the grande dame hotel. Claridge’s looks fabulous and treats every guest like a royal. But having the nerve and the nous to turn a humanitarian and economic crisis into a chance to offer charity? This is the sort of strength of character that only develops through time.
While the summer of 2020 for this grand old dame might be a surreal season of skeleton staff, hospital scrubs and shuttered spaces, Claridge’s has never looked classier. claridges.co.uk ➤
It’s this ability to wear time well, to navigate stormy waters with grace, that is the most alluring quality of the grande dame hotel.