|
Chewton Glen
An English original...Chewton Glen is a luxury country house hotel and spa set on 130 acres of Hampshire countryside on the edge of the New Forest National Park
By: Mary Gostelow
Oh the pool - but that is only one of a myriad of reasons to return to Chewton Glen in Hampshire, one of England's most loved country house resorts, says Mary Gostelow.
|
  |
Everyone is so utterly helpful. Even before we were 50 feet from the main door, someone had come racing out to help with our bags. The employees come from 15 countries, and before they are allowed 'out' on the guests, newcomers are told that Chewton Glen style is going beyond the norm, taking good hotel keeping to great. Service is built in to all bills, and gratuities are not welcome, though a discreet box is available for guests who want to contribute to the staff annual parties, a summer barbecue and a bonfire night, with potatoes baked in their jackets, on the most English of nights, November 5th, commemorating that date in 1605 when one Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament.
There is a display of really antique suitcases. A leather-bound visitors' book, open and ready to sign, is on a polished wood central table, by one of the dozens of vases of fresh lilies. A wall-set real wood fire burns, flanked by stacks of dry logs. The wall art, as throughout the hotel, reflects the tastes of the former owners, the highly respected hoteliers Martin and Brigitte Skan.
Up 42 stairs from the main hall, do a couple of U-turns and you are top floor (third floor, American style), at the back of the house overlooking the outdoor pool. You actually gasp when you enter the suite, as it is so different, different from the pink flowers and chintz that you expected, different from the deluxe norm of branded hotels. Thanks to designer Anita Rosato, this looks more like a private apartment. Colors are complementary rather than universal, and there are unusual one-offs, like a spindle-shaped freestanding table, a floor-standing light that looks like a trunk of a dead tree, and the leather shrouds for the wall lights in the small office.
But I jump ahead of myself. I enter a yard-by-yard, square, foyer, carpeted in honey (color, that is). There is one step up, now, to the main room and sensibly there are fluorescent lights to indicate the step's rise. I am now in my parlor, wider (24 feet) than it is deep (12 feet). Ahead to my left is the office, with dormer beams, and an arched dormer window (three feet high, five feet at maximum width, at the base). If this really was the house where, in 1847, Captain Marryat - brother of the building's then-owner - wrote 'Children of the New Forest', this is where servants, several of them, would have stayed. As it is it is now an extremely comfortable apartment for two.
Husband, indeed, is so at home he immediately flops in one of the tweed sofas - one honey, one pale olive - that flank where a fireplace would once have been - now there is a wall-set Sony television, in its place. A clear lucite coffee table between the sofas holds a silver teaset, with leaves rather than bags, and Villeroy & Boch white china. The wall to my left has an all-over pattern of white flowers, green leaves. The wall behind me, by the entrance, is Figured Anigre wood, inset with two full-length mirrors. The other walls are cream: the wall to the right has a Bang & Olufsen radio and CD system, and a Braque-like oil in soft muted brick, olive and gentian hues.
To the left is the bedroom, the king size bed headboard a honey-and-corn tweed panel (matching the day coverlet) set on to the wall, between square windows. Above the bed headboard the wall is covered in plain sand tweed (matching those windows' drapes): this rises to the ceiling, extends forward to form a canopy with honey-and-corn tweed skirt supported from angled wood bea-ms from the wall, a modern take on a traditional half-tester bed. I will lie in the bed, with its cloud-like Swiss Schwob Gastrotextil linens, looking straight ahead to an all-wood wall with inset Sony television, knowing that the beautiful gardens are behind me. To my left is a walk in closet, with a dressing table, and double back from this and there is the bathroom, with a pair of white hemispherical basins, a freestanding tub and glass-walled shower cubicle, three heated electric towel rails, and another wall-set television. Toiletries are Molton Brown, large size, and there is lots of white toweling, both towels and robes. Back in my office (yes, I feel at home here!) I find two hotel postcards, already stamped - first class, of course - which I can send to friends. The compendium is an alligator-like brown leather, the wireless Internet WiFi is really quick, and free.
Chewton Glen Hampshire, as it is now called, is tradition meets the 21st century, with a certain amount of quirkiness, Vivienne Westwood style. Its new logo is a simple C and G, set in a way that makes one think of Chanel or Gucci, namely style and class, with good business sense behind it. Chewton Glen, for instance, is ideal for a pre-cruise stay before sailing from Southampton: you can park your car free, at the luxury resort, and they offer complimentary limousine to the ship, and back on your return. It is also a unique venue for learning English. Apparently one Russian guest stayed here and took a limo every day to a language school the resort recommended in nearby Bournemouth.
Yes, there is lots to do here. According to the wacky new brochure, the beach is only 10 minutes away, but today there is no time for that. I make my way to the spa, which is accessible by indoor corridors, a useful feature in the Land of Rain, also known as England. The gym has Cybex equipment, and a range of Pilates balls. The women's changing room has pressure-pad locker security, a good sauna and a swimwear dryer. I go down to the amazing 53-foot ozone-treated indoor pool, which gives the feeling of being surrounded by an ancient Roman villa. Tall columns soar to a ceiling painted with cloud-studded blue sky, and a central clear story, with side windows, rises even higher. One wall is sheer glass, looking out into the real trees outside. Other walls have trompe l'oeil stonewalls and ledges on which 'sit' classical urns with willowy green foliage.
|
Next door is L'Orangerie, the circular vitality pool area: here the ceiling is painted, in 20 radial segments, sky blue, inset with fiber optic lights. There is also an outdoor jacuzzi.
I wish there was a spare hour for a Linda Meredith facial. Back in her Beauchamp Place, London, headquarters, this genius apparently makes such perennials, as Madonna and Posh Spice - also known as Victoria, or Mrs. David Beckham - look better. But a Meredith makeover has to wait, for now.
Without time to waste, we shower and head down to dinner, in a room that is half indoors, half in a graceful year-round conservatory. Tables are set with all-white, linens, candle in a glass holder, and Villeroy & Boch china. There are silver salts and peppers, and cutlery is Baker. Color comes from a single deep red rose, which matches the lattice pattern on servers' white shirts, which are worn with red cummerbunds and black pants. The water is Hildon, with its distinctive label the same color as the swimming pool ceiling. The menu is stone-colored, with red inserts. It offers the most-popular three-course à la Carte options, plus a five-course gourmand menu, available with or without wine. To add even further to the personalization of Chewton Glen, the menu lists the Food & Beverage Director, Fatima Guerra; Executive Chef Luke Matthews and his Development Chef Cameron Rutherford, and Head Sommelier Alan Holmes. I would wonder what a chef develops but conversation is flowing so marvelously my thought process moves on. Four different breads, including an addictive hard-flour white bread roll, come on a flat basket. One is tomato and basil. A little soup cup, an amuse from one of the 27 chefs in the team - a fact gleaned from that encyclopedic menu - is also tomato and basil.
We have a lovely bottle of Loire red wine, Dme Filliatreau Saumur Champginy 2005 Vieilles Vignes. I am trying to read the label when my hand touches the water goblet, which has a rounded bottom, and, in slow motion, I watch it gracefully fall over, wetting the tablecloth (thank goodness it was not the wine!). A server swiftly covers the puddle with a napkin and I attend to my first course, salad on a square glass plate. There is a mound of vegetables al dente, and two halves of lightly boiled quail's egg. The asparagus and fennel must, I am sure, have come from Valimex, London, one of the suppliers listed in that copious menu. Next comes a white bowl holding a manly tail of line-caught seabass lying on baby spinach, with a minimal fricassee of summer vegetables and just enough juniper berry sauce. I have asked for a side of the smoked mash from another dish - wow, is that also good? I am told later that it is regular mashed potato, enhanced by smoked butter. Now the next challenge is to work out, at home, how to smoke butter without it melting...Desserts include such tantalizing confections as caramelized banana and chocolate ganache with spiced biscuit and caramel ice cream; the range of sorbets kicks off with passion fruit and lemon grass flavor, and the old-fashioned cheese trolley looks marvelous.
As the sun comes up, I take advantage of a lull in the rain and run the estate, from one main entrance to the other. Not only do I not find a single bit of litter but also not even a blade of grass dares to be out of place. There are thousands of mature, and fledgling, deciduous trees, gardens of ornamental flowers, nine-hole golf, and a two-court indoor tennis center, and a helicopter landing pad. Good, it is seven o'clock. The spa opens on time - one or two local members are, as always, there for their pre-work workout. I do another few laps, luxuriate in the vitality pool, shower down there and head up to get ready for breakfast.
This is another splendid meal (golly, this job is all about eatin 'n' drinkin', you might say). The inner part of the aforementioned restaurant now has a splendid buffet, displayed on white linens. Thank goodness Fatima Guerra has chosen real yogurts (125-gram glass jars, Ferme des Peupliers), with no sugar, no artificial flavoring. There are whole fruits, plus grapefruit sections, strawberry bits and so on, and lots of cereals. The juice is marvelous, as is the strong coffee, in four-cup cafetiere filters. I pass on the offered oatmeal porridge, or eggs and bacon or, that UK specialty, a kipper from Loch Fyne, in Argyll, Scotland: my man enthuses about his Loch Fyne smoked salmon, with a chunk of perfect chèvre goats' cheese. The bread selection is as good as last night, including addictive slices of ciabatta. And, a big plus, Chewton Glen has taken 'toast' to another level. You are automatically brought a little silver toast rack, but instead of holding the tasteless heavy-toasted white and brown sliced bread that sadly is the hotel industry norm, here the rack holds lightly-toasted slices of real artisan bread, both strong white and grain-studded whole meal. Soft piped piano music completes the theater.
The log fire in the main hall is already burning. The lilies on the central table have been refreshed overnight. No one has pinched the antique suitcases. Front desk ladies urge us to come back. As we drive away - the 90 minutes to Heathrow rather than to cruise or learn English - we see the hotel's energetic General Manager, Andrew Stembridge, talking to one of his gardeners. Both wave heartily as we pass.
Chewton Glen, Hampshire, United Kingdom
See other hotels in Hampshire (2)
Sign up for Confidential Newsletter
Send this article to a friend
View other Away Nights Articles
|
| |   | | Pousada de Arraiolos Sra da AssunçaoThe village of Arraiolos, 90 minutes' drive north-east of Lisbon, Portugal, is a cluster of terracotta-tiled buildings, whitewashed with the occasiona... more
By: Mary Gostelow |
| |  | | Shangri-La's Rasa Sayang Resort & SpaThis iconic resort, on Penang Island, off the Malaysian coast, reopened September 28th after a 21-month rehab, much needed after 33 years of action. more
By: Mary Gostelow |
| | |
|
| | | | Sign up for the Free WOW Confidential Newsletter |  |
Advertisement | |
BACK
