In the first part of an alternative exploration of the Danish capital, Tom Bangay ventures into the iconic Tivoli gardens and finds an Indian pavilion in the shape of his hotel…
Close your eyes and picture a hotel that’s in a theme park. Let me guess – a little generic, full of forced character; almost certainly it’s flanked by some kind of fibre-glass mountain, it has a noisy pool area, and it’s definitely a recent construction. Brightly painted but a little soulless, in all likelihood.
Well, the second oldest amusement park in the world is the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen (the oldest, trivia fans, is Dyrehavsbakken, a few miles away, in Klampenborg, and it dates back to 1583). Within the Tivoli Gardens is a hotel called Nimb which is nothing like the place we imagined. It is nothing quite like anywhere I’ve ever stayed. It is, in fact, one of the best city hotels you’ll ever have the good fortune to stay in.
This corner of Tivoli Gardens used to be a Michelin-starred restaurant, and when the opportunity came to turn it back into a hotel, they opted for something truly special, tucked beneath the intricate white façade that covers the exterior. Its most recent refurbishment took place in 2007 and left it with only seventeen rooms, the majority of which are garden-view suites, most with real wood fires. Everywhere underfoot is glossy, dark Douglas pinewood, and it seems like every bedroom window looks onto the colourful luminescence of the gardens. In the near distance to the right is the terrifying Himmelskibet (Star Flyer) ride, towering 80m above the ground and offering unbeatable views for its brave passengers.
The rooms and keys are without numbers – there are so few that you can easily remember which of the rich, varnished doors leads to your particular corner of Nimb. Ours is a short walk from reception, and it doesn’t disappoint: a split-level suite with an elegant four-poster, a beautiful antique writing desk, and a sofa area looking out to a private terrace in the gardens. Perhaps what’s most impressive about the room is the way that up-to-the-minute technology is blended into the classic, luxurious style: a button opens the heavy curtains, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows the width of the suite, draped in another layer of lighter, opaque curtains, again dismissed by a magic button. One Bang & Olufsen TV is recessed into the wall next to the bed, and another by the sofa. Just as I’m wondering if the less-than-perfect viewing angle from the bed is the fly in the ointment of an otherwise magnificent room, I flick the TV on and it glides impassively out of the wall to face me directly. The bathroom is littered with fine Aesop products, scattered around a handsome rain shower and a genuinely ominous bath. One person would get lost in there, two would have room for more and three might just about fill it.
Although it’s misty outside, I suppose we can’t stay in there forever, and we venture downstairs to Vinotek, Nimb’s shadowy wine bar. Again it’s a splendid feat of design – I sink into a leather sofa, tucking into some sardines, and realise that the hitherto unnoticed wine fridges are sunk into the brick walls surrounding us. The handsome sommelier (if you do visit, get used to everyone being hunky) approaches from the faraway counter and asks ‘How’s life?’, then tells me there are more than 1000 labels present and correct in there. After a lovely Chablis we head upstairs to the Brasserie for dinner, and are ambling confidently toward our table when we are ambushed by a lurking barman, who extends a seemingly innocent but assuredly risky invitation: “Would you guys like to try a cocktail?”
The correct answer to that question, as you well know, is always ‘of course!’, which turns out to be a wise decision. Said fine mixologist and keeper of the bottles, Kim, turns out to be a connoisseur of the highest order of spirits, particularly whisky, and even more particularly, bourbon. He will come back to haunt us later in the meal but for now, I grudgingly accept a tremendous whisky sour, with Blanton’s single barrel at its heart, and settle down for dinner.
The Brasserie looks onto the gardens, of course, but also inward to the kitchen, particularly from those tables used for breakfast, with large windows showcasing the talent behind what is a very impressive restaurant. Many of the tables for two offer a sofa for each diner, and despite such an indulgent approach to space, there’s room for some 250 diners, without it feeling like some cavernous steakhouse. Spider-like lamp clusters hang over the dining area and softly light the faces of the ludicrously good-looking staff. As for the food itself, well, where to start. The menu’s heavy on fish and we start with crab and lobster, the former in a basil-dominated gazpacho and the latter nestled under foam bisque, with fennel and anise. Both are excellent, the lobster particularly meaty but genuinely refreshing.
Then it’s time for the lamb shank, dramatically presented, the bone thrusting triumphantly into the sky – it’s a shame to disassemble such an attractive dish but the herb crust is just too inviting, and the deep red wine sauce is a delicious accompaniment. My partner can hardly finish her rib-eye, but that’s from overindulging on the fresh, warm, almost-still-doughy bread which kept mysteriously appearing on our table.
We’re happily sharing a crème brûlée when Kim visits from the bar, with two of my oldest friends in tow – Glenfarclas 15 and the Ardbeg Uigeadail. I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to, but it turns out these were just warm-ups so he could introduce us to some of his own dear friends: the Nimb Brasserie bourbon selection. Therein I find Pappy Van Winkle’s 20-year-old family reserve, and happen upon one of the best whiskies I’ve ever tasted – so soft and delicate after the gunmetal oiliness of the Uigeadail, yet with a gargantuan finish that sticks around for a few minutes before vanishing off to Kentucky. It’s rare that a hotel bar, and barman, make such a difference to a luxury hotel experience, but if you’re in Copenhagen I’d put Kim’s bourbons alongside the Glyptotek and Noma on the list of must-sees. Be sure to ask for Pappy.
Stunned by the whisky, we stagger off upstairs to the Nimb bar, another treat for the eyes and ears – this former ballroom retains the spaciousness, intricate chandeliers and grace of its former glory, but adds to it a crackling log fire and subtle murals by local artist Catherine Raben Davisden scattered over the soft white walls. With a space this big it would have been tempting to pack in a couple of hundred and make some serious money, but the hotel designers showed generous restraint in preserving this cavern as a somehow intimate space, meant for 50-100, and the atmosphere is elegant and relaxed.
When it’s time to check out after a superb breakfast, I reflect on the superlatives which underline what a unique hotel this is. It has both the biggest and the best bath I’ve ever been in. It has the best hotel room TVs I’ve ever seen. It gave me the finest bourbon I’ve been lucky enough to taste. When I stepped out onto my terrace after breakfast, I had the company of two resplendent peacocks that had been wandering the gardens. My room didn’t need a number, it was just mine. When the staff ask ‘how’s life?’, they know very well how life is. If you’re at Nimb, life is sweet indeed.
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Next week, in part 2, Tom moves from fairground to fair trade and the sustainable living of the Guldsmeden hotels…
