Alex Larman has only one place in mind for his final night of bachelordom. Calm yourselves, it’s in a manner befitting the Arb, naturally…
‘You’ve got to stay at the Langham.’ There are few sentences that one hears muttered, whispered, murmured, shouted or squawked, but this seemed to be the one that I had been hearing for a while. Passers-by seemed to suggest it, and then look slightly embarrassed, as if they’d betrayed some sort of intimate confidence. Gentlemen and ladies of fashion of my acquaintance said it in a peremptory fashion, as if there was no other possibility. (‘Of course you should stay at the Langham. Nothing else for it.’) Which is why, when I was contemplating my final night as a single man, there seemed only one option worth its salt.
And you can bet your bottom dollar that it wouldn’t just be ordinary salt either; think rosemary-infused sea salt, possibly sprinkled over a divine piece of focaccia. Yes, the Langham is one of those places that not only takes pride in providing the sort of genuinely luxurious five star experience that seasoned travellers regard as de rigueur, but seems to take a certain glee in it as well. Not that the impeccable and endlessly helpful staff give anything more away than the hint of a raised eyebrow, or perhaps the faintest suggestion of a wry smile. They know that they’re the best, and don’t need to rub it in.
I’d visited a few times before, of course, once to interview Sebastian Faulks and once to drink champagne at the Artesian bar. Both times were suitably sparkling and convivial occasions, and had made me feel very well-disposed towards the Langham. So it was when I entered, feeling faintly apprehensive at not being a potentate or oligarch, but check-in to one of the salubrious Club rooms was but a breeze, and before I knew it I was luxuriating in a bedroom that boasted the size and feel of an ocean liner. If, that is, ocean liners gave you a panoramic view of Broadcasting House and came equipped with bathrooms larger than some flats I’ve lived in. Come to think of, it was larger than some houses I’ve inhabited.
My last night of bachelordom saw me accompanied by my best woman Sophie, whose rapier-sharp wit and glamorous appearance are only matched by a certain plain speaking when it comes to all things Larman. To be fair, I probably deserve most, if not all, of them. But when we were happily esconsed in the Club lounge for a pre-dinner glass of Laurent-Perrier, there seemed few treats more fitting, and some of the usual name-calling and weary sighs seemed muffled, as we took in the surroundings. And then it was time for nourishment, and we headed to the pride and joy, Roux at the Landau.
I don’t quite know why R at the L – as it really mustn’t be called – doesn’t boast a Michelin star. For one thing, it’s the brainchild of Albert and Michel Roux Jr, and they’re not men unused to the blandishments of the red star inspectors. And for another, it’s a genuinely wonderful place, offering unparalleled comfort and style with a menu that slyly mixes French classics with British produce. Windermere lamb saddle with smoked aubergine and roast Cornish squid are perfectly cooked, presented and accompanied by matching wines, and, at five courses, the tasting menu strikes the finest of fine balances between quantity and quality. Nobody wants to leave a restaurant like this hungry, and we did not, but nobody wants to stagger out, drunk and overstuffed, either. They strike the finest of fine balances, and Sophie, a discerning gourmand, was impressed enough to give it the nod of approval – a rarity in her purview.
Under normal circumstances, and especially with matrimonial thoughts on the morrow, we would have retired to bed. However, it just so happened that the room next to ours, the so-called ‘Infinity Suite’, was hosting a Bacchanal, and it would have seemed rude not to venture in and seeing what was going on. It transpired that the Langham had just played host to the first night of a site-specific play, The Armour, that starred none other than Hannah Spearitt from S Club 7, and was celebrating in its usual expansive style. We ventured in, curious and curiouser as to what was unfolding inside. We found ourselves confronted by beautiful people, saying beautiful things. Although only able to linger for a glass of champagne, we felt as if we’d crossed into another world, a fun, lively place full of laughter and glamour.
This, we began to understand, is the Langham difference. On the outside, you have the grande dame of hotels, but on the inside is something altogether different. Without being hyperbolic, it’s seductive, and fun, and has a lightness of touch and friendliness that you just don’t expect from a five star hotel. And that is why its name should be mentioned in whispers, or mutters, or yells. ‘You’ve got to stay at the Langham!’
Oh, and the wedding went fine as well.
Find out more at www.langhamhotels.com.
