When it comes to staying in a hotel in your home city, the test for me is how far it takes you out of the daily routine: the softening of the harsh edges of day-to-day life; the dulling of reality.
Hotel 41 certainly passes this test. Situated on Buckingham Palace Road in regal heart of London, its proximity to the Queen’s residence, the royal parks and to Victoria station is perfect and surely a hit with the tourists – several of the rooms even look over the Royal Mews.
I made the mistake of walking into the entrance of The Rubens Hotel (owned by the same company – Red Carnation – as Hotel 41) and was quickly whisked through what appeared to be a secret door in the wall to the left of the reception. Perhaps even a mock-book was pulled to open it.
Hotel 41’s lobby is about as low-key as you can get, with one very amenable man sat behind a large oak desk. In fact the hotel itself feels small, but not in any way that detracts from one’s stay: you rather feel like you’re staying by yourself in an elite club, sheltered and cocooned away from the rest of the world.
The hotel opened 11 years ago, adding to the group’s portfolio of a further eight hotels in London and 14 world-wide. It’s instantly clear that an emphasis has been placed on service, with a staff appearing at times to outnumber guests.
The intimate service is clearly thought through and once you make that mental switch allowing for the fact that all your whims are going to be catered for throughout your stay, it becomes a very special sojourn indeed.
The hotel comprises of 41 de-lux rooms and four split-level suites including a Master room with a conservatory roof, where I assume, if you peer hard enough through London’s orange light-pollution haze, one might be able to catch a glimpse of the stars, failing that it doubles as a plane-spotter’s nirvana.
There’s an elegant black and white theme to the décor which contemporises the rooms. A different owner could easily have opted for a look in keeping with the age and original character of the hotel, but the subtle modern touches keep you firmly in the present.
The rooms are not huge but incredibly cosy with a great attention to detail. From iPod docking stations to a request list as long as your arm (want an exercise bike in your room? No problem), no customer whim had been left to chance. The James Bond-esque remote controlled real fire adds to the sheepskin rug glamour of it all. My only small gripe was that the television was at a ‘difficult’ angle, allowing for a bit of the old ‘crook’ neck. But such is the level of service, even the merest thought would likely set off the alarm bell and a dozen staff would appear and move the television to a different part of the room. But why would I even consider watching television anyway when there’s all this luxury to indulge in?
The executive lounge was small and intimate – the former Rubens boardroom – clad in mahogany with a surfeit of books. Despite the enormous globe, which serves as a striking focal point and roaring fire, it wasn’t stuffy and didn’t take itself too seriously – with most notably the large plasma television showing Italian football at one end.
One corner served as an honesty bar where one was sorely tempted to spend the evening mixing cocktails to one’s heart is contented and head is a bit squiffy. Instead, my partner and I opted for a G&T (me) and (her) a not-quite-fitting-with-the-environment pina colada. I was tempted to sink into the deep sofas and continue in this fashion, but I had a job to do and a three-course meal to eat. Oh, the hardships.
Dinner was served downstairs in the library (how many books constitute a library exactly these days?). The sporting ephemera, ornate décor and comfortable furnishings made up for the room’s lack of windows and therefore natural light. Again, a peaceful and tranquil ambiance, helped by the low lighting and respectful distance between tables created a cosy environment. Nice touches such as the selection of table salts – from as far away as Hawaii and the Murray River in Australia (yes, Australia – that will get the Greens air-mile hopping mad), but nonetheless as a novice on the finer qualities of world salt, they delighted the taste buds when sprinkled on crusty bread.
After being served a delightful amuse bouche each, I opted for a starter of thinly sliced garlic and ginger beef, which came fanned on the plate, with a light salad. The flavours all complemented each other but perhaps didn’t come together sufficiently to create a perfect whole. For the main course, I opted for tender duck breast served with mash potato, gravy and butternut squash puree. The dessert of chocolate with candied oranges was as rich, velvety and as indulgent as these things can get.
So, the following morning it was back into the bustle of Victoria station, the tranquillity of Hotel 41 a distant memory. Nice to know peace and quiet still exists so effortlessly in London.
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Photography by Juliet Murphy.
