‘How good to see you. You know only a gentleman indulges in kippers for breakfast?’ The cultured tones now gently massaging my left eardrum come from none other than Michael Bentley, aristocratic doyen, discreet friend to the Royal Family and now Ambassador at the palatial Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park. It’s where he finds me happily engrossed in kippers this juicy summer’s morning.
Michael is, as usual, 100 per cent correct. Only a gentleman indulges in kippers for breakfast – and over the years it has become my hotel barometer. The first thing I check upon coming down to breakfast is the menu – does it prominently feature fresh kippers? If the answer is no, I’m afraid the establishment receives a mental downgrade. If yes, then I order them to see how they are presented. The best kippers, in my opinion, are Scotch or Manx. I prefer them whole, but a well-butterflied fillet is perfectly acceptable and should be served with lemon and perhaps just a jot of salted butter (not swimming in the stuff, please). Bread and butter are essential accompaniments. On this occasion – like pretty much everything else at this grand old dame of Knightsbridge – the kippers are faultless.
Adjacent to Hyde Park (indeed it used to be the Hyde Park Hotel) and in the very heart of shopping heaven, the Mandarin Oriental is a luxury offering in every aspect. The recently opened afternoon tea and champagne bar, The Rosebery, is a wonderfully light and convivial space to take the weight off. Waiters and waitresses are clad in sartorial splendor, and an atmospheric lime green motif subtly daubed about the place lends a country garden feel to this most modern of parlours. Krug is available by the glass and I should know; I enjoyed a glass of it while discreetly watching a bevvy of elegant ladies delicately nibble on mini scones and salmon sandwiches.
The rooms themselves are reassuringly regal – my Hyde Park Junior Suite is immaculate and large enough to get lost in. The Wi-Fi is refreshingly complimentary, the Bang & Olufsen TV of cinematic proportions.
Of course, Heston Blumenthal cracks the whip here in his Dinner restaurant (really, Heston? Dinner?) but it’s to the hotel’s highly recommended Bar Boulud I repair to sample its trumpeted charcuterie. The French-style bistro is packed on a Thursday night; heaving with families, couples and groups all apparently having the proverbial whale of a time. The service is swift and knowledgeable and as I am led to my table, my eye is immediately caught by the measurements of a bottle of red being poured next door. It’s roughly the size of a small child; its contents far more pleasant. I discover it’s a house favourite – a Hungarian Bull’s Blood of deep, pungent ochre.
Now I used to drink Bull’s Blood years ago as a lad, and rough and ready it was in the extreme. Not this stuff. Once expertly poured – no mean feat, considering the size of the bottle – a quick swirl and sniff indicates a lot more to this wine than its poor cousin from yesteryear. It looks dark and deadly and tastes indeed full and spicy. Yet it manages not to gatecrash the palate, which is just as well, because I’m served a great wooden board – in the shape of a piglet, no less – laden with charcuterie goodness. There are pates, pickles, terrines, hams and saucissons of every description – a splendidly picky start to the meal.
With regular topping up of the Bull’s Blood, I move onto a bowl of plump and zesty Moules Mariniere. The hum of the restaurant shows no sign of abating, and when, sometime later and post espresso, I move on, it seems like no one else has moved. A popular place indeed.
With horse riding available on the doorstep (apparently there are stables in Hyde Park itself), its spa, restaurants, bars and suites and not to mention the various discreet entrance and exits, you can see why visiting dignitaries, stars and aristocrats often choose the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park as their home from home while in London. Apparently plenty of Hollywood players stay here when over on film business. Bet they don’t eat kippers for breakfast.
