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Hotel Ritz, Madrid
Hotel Ritz, Madrid remains a key attraction and is considered as one of Europe’s original grand luxury hotels
By: Mary Gostelow
WOW.travel went to stay at Hotel Ritz, Madrid, one of Spain's iconic hotels, designed by Charles Mewès and Don Luis de Landecho in 1910.
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The front door has a glass overhang, and its surrounding frame (flanked by two big working lights with gold embossed swags) is surmounted by five flags, hanging closely side-by-side. You go up one shallow step and through into the outer lobby, then through a highly-polished wood and brass revolving door into the main lobby, a picture of mottled brown polished marble. There, a two-tier flower display of long-stemmed white lilies waves up and downwards as a Swan Lake corps de ballet. There is soft music from the man at the grand piano in the lounge beyond, where people are chatting and having coffee. Two carpeted steps lead down to another area, where the open door of the inner bar reveals four leather stools awaiting at the high counter. A cigar display is ready. Back at the main lobby, a narrow arch leads to a bijou reception area, with a leaf-lined bowl of polished red apples on the counter, and an upright grandfather clock.
Since there is just time for quick exercise, I head for the 24-hour gym, part of the aesthetic center. Technogym equipment is complemented by a matching silver Pilates ball and a Kinesis wall. I suddenly realize that if it is, as BBC World tells me, 7:41pm UK time then here in Madrid it is one hour later and I was due for dinner 11 minutes ago. Help! I run down 20 stairs into the main hotel lobby to find my dinner host, and several other people wondering where on earth I was.
Ten minutes later, showered and relaxed, I glide down to dinner in the Goya Restaurant, a stately classic room with a couple of central, three-sided bankettes and crystal chandeliers overhead. The tables are set with lemon cloths, white napkins and fine floral-edged porcelain. A pair of tall white candles rise out of floral bouquets that would be any bridesmaid's delight. Directed by a barely-perceptible conductor, manager Luis Mendez, a waiter in grey Balmain immediately brings a selection of four different breads. Butter is in a silver dish with cover, salt and pepper are in traditional silver towers. We have canapés, foie gras or smoked salmon on toothpicks. Chef Jorge Gonzalez, one of the few Spanish chefs who has ventured outside his homeland (he worked at Paris de Crillon during his years in France) offers his eight-course dégustation menu. The à la carte includes Spanish sturgeon caviar from Granada. There is also a section called The Game Corner.
My mixed salad is a small and beautifully deconstructed confection in a big white bowl, under a silver cloche. Gonzalez's best-selling fish, hake loin in a breaded crispy crust, has a green drizzle around it, which turns out to be an Iberian ham vinaigrette. His signature meat dish is suckling pig, a palm-sized rectangular shape, from a piglet too small to be culled in some other European countries (for example France). This is mouth-watering, no teeth needed. The crackling has become a paper wafer. The chief sommelier, Gemma Vela, has produced two Spanish reds, first a lighter Viña Pedrosa Crianza 2005 Ribera del Duero, and then a stronger Muga 2004 Reserva Especial Rioja. We drink of out of glasses embellished with the hotel's crest, a crowned shield of a bear standing under a tree.
Going back up stairs, I admire the patterned turquoise and gold corridor carpet with designs that seem to flow as curlicues. The same pattern extends over much of suite 105, although its octagonal foyer
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has a customized pattern with a 16-pointed gold-edged tomato star on blue. At one side of the foyer the minibar is hidden in a wall panel, sensibly marked Bar. The adjacent circular parlor has blue and white fabric walls, and three French windows with blue curtains, and blue, gold and red furnishings, and a coffee machine, and Tea Forté tea sachets. The standing flat-screen is Sony, the DVD is Nortek. I have a copy of the Orient-Express Traveller magazine, and a guidebook to Madrid: Style City. The leather-bound guide to services is in Spanish and English and has a comprehensive page of concierge ideas for any leisure time. The ormulu desk has a wired internet portal. The crested notelet pad, in a heavy, no-move leather folder by the with-cord telephone, comes with a designer-look pen. There is a wrapped, two-bite, divine homemade almond cake.
The bathroom is long and narrow, all white marble. As you enter, on your left you have a glass-fronted shower stall with rainforest faucet, and simple, Bulgari toiletries set out in the order in which most use them. Finally to the bedroom, which like all the main rooms has gold swags at the top of its walls; here they are golden watered damask fabric. Centerpiece of this theatre is a two-level carpeted stage for the bed, which has a dull tomato padded head and romantic-heroine portraits above. The bed is made up with linens hand-embroidered with the hotel crest. An ormulu desk has a wired internet portal. At night turndown proper padded slippers appear, and a pillow menu featuring ten varieties. All my piles of clothes have disappeared: I later play hide and seek, and find them neatly folded in one of the pull-out drawers in the fitted closets that remind me of my father's Gentleman's Compactum. César Ritz would have approved.
Next morning, I take a run outside. A table of coffee, cups (nothing paper) is set behind, as it were, the main staircase. My copy of the Financial Times (your choice of complimentary newspaper, at this thoughtful establishment) has been delivered by the time I am back. Showered yet again, and ready for this next day, I once again descend to Restaurant Goya. Betty, who could be manager of a Salamanca boutique in her chic suit and pearls, takes me to a table now set with matt linen - bold golden and white stripes - and a crested white napkin. I am immediately poured just-squeezed juice, and my choice of bottled water, and really flavourful coffee. The buffet includes a selection of yogurts, addictive prune compote and plenty of fresh fruits. Real-texture loaves have already been sliced and there are rolls, and a trolley of baked goods. A few stalwarts venture to the chafing dishes. The servers are busily replenishing, and clearing tables. As I leave my suite, a maid in a pale blue striped dress under a white apron with crossover back straps bids me farewell. Another farewell comes from the pint-sized female bellhop who helps me into the Mercedes, which instantly purrs into life.
Hotel Ritz Madrid, Madrid, Spain
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