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BATH ROYAL CRESCENT HOTEL
Occupying the two central houses, the hotel turns out to be a surprisingly spacious and extensive complex. There are 45 bedrooms and suites, ranging from the modestly sized standard rooms at the top of the building to the palatial apartments with stuccoed ceilings on the first floor. But what comes as a real surprise is the delightful garden, which is much larger than one would have supposed possible from the street side. And, at the far side of the gardens, are stone villas with classical columns, wherein are to be found the spa (called the Bath House) and the restaurant. This is an hotel which offers not only an abundance of style and elegance but also that delicious sense of being within an exclusive and luxurious retreat.
Upstairs, on the second floor, my room – number 16 – was a ‘deluxe’, one category up from the standard. (The standard double rooms start at £290 a night. As the rates fluctuate according to the season and day of the week, you will need to check with the hotel about your precise requirements.) Air-conditioned, it was of a moderate size, with a slight hint of chinoiserie (from a bamboo-framed wardrobe and a dragon-framed wall mirror). Two casement windows and striped cream wallpaper made it light and airy. It was good to have a teddy bear on the bed to greet me, and I appreciated the provision of Jane Austen’s Persuasion as my bedtime reading.
It was therefore with a smile upon my face that I made the brief excursion across the lawns to the hotel restaurant. Pimpernel’s is named after a fictional hero from my youth. Sir Percy Blakeney saved French aristocrats from Madame La Guillotine, under the guise of The Scarlet Pimpernel. As a boy, I devoured these books by Baroness Orczy. What I had forgotten was that the Baroness had made her creation retire to Bath. And not just to anywhere in Bath, but to Number 16, The Royal Crescent – the precise address of The Royal Crescent Hotel. I settled into the gold velour of my corner banquette with the highest expectations.
For this proper and sophisticated food there is a proper and sophisticated setting, with white tablecloths, mahogany armchairs, Schott glasses, spotlights and waitresses in waistcoats and striped ties. Horrid canned music greeted my arrival, but this was quickly extinguished at my request. Thereafter the atmosphere was quiet and thoroughly civilized. Service, orchestrated by restaurant manager Akim Körner, was polite and efficient. If you wish to keep a rein on the wine bill, you will be pleased to know that the list offers numerous bottles in the £20 to £30 price range – like a white Bergerac for £20. A pleasing spread of clarets includes 1986 Montrose at £175 and 1995 Pichon Lalande at £210. Fans of white burgundy might want to try the 2001 Bâtard-Montrachet, Brenot, at £145. From California, the 2001 Flowers Sonoma Coast chardonnay is £71, and from Australia, the 1999 Glaetzer Family Shiraz, Old Grapes, is £75. It is always good to see a German sweet wine from one of my favourite producers, Hermann Döhnnhoff. Here it is his 2003 Riesling Auslese, Oberhauser Leistenburg - £55, half. Sommelier Martin Kocourek recommended two bottles of fine quality. The 1991 German dry riesling spätlese combined a refined nose of petrol with the most pleasing acidity (Wehlener Sonnenuhr, Dr Loosen - £45), while the 2001 Australian reserve shiraz from the Barossa Valley was plump and fat and oozing ripe blackcurrants and blackberries (Odin’s Honour, Viking Wines - £65). This drinking afforded me immense satisfaction. As did my breakfast the following morning, which included a succulent piece of smoked haddock. If I had had any sense, I would have breakfasted in the sunny garden, but it was still pleasant to return to the dining room. The canned music was back, but this time it was a Rachmaninov piano concerto – so I allowed the melodies to accompany the good grapefruit juice and croissants from the buffet. I suppose, to go with my surroundings, it should have been Handel – Musick for the Royal Toast and Marmalade. As my taxi glided gently away from The Royal Crescent, I was happy that this noble part of our architectural heritage continues to be such a good hotel. Happy are those able to visit and enjoy a brief moment within the majesty of one of the real gems of Georgian Britain.
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THE ROYAL CRESCENT HOTEL
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© Francis Bown 2003
Of all the many gifts to the world made by British art and culture, none – in the view of your humble correspondent – exceeds in beauty or significance the Classical architecture of the Georgian period. Its grace, its balance and its harmony reveal the human mind at its most rational. At least once a year, I endeavour to visit the town which most perfectly embodies this sublime Georgian ideal – the city of Bath. Of its 18 th century endeavours, the acknowledged masterpiece is The Royal Crescent – a 500-foot curve of tall stone houses, designed by John Wood the Younger in 1767, which is so lovely that to look upon it for the first time gives one a momentary shortness of breath. On this visit, I made straight for the centre of this man-made wonder – for The Royal Crescent Hotel.
Public spaces in hotels are important to me. I like to sit about and think my thoughts. As the old tag goes: sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits. At The Royal Crescent I was able to indulge these pursuits in the aforementioned garden and in the drawing room. The latter is to the left of the entrance hall and is a chamber of good furniture and handsome portraits. Somehow, our Georgian ancestors knew how to proportion a room so that it would harmonize with a fellow’s natural rhythms. Comfortably ensconced in a wing chair in this room, I felt at ease with the world and with my lot.
Yet the chief glory of number 16 was its bathroom. Covered in bright tiles of yellow and white, this spacious chamber boasted that sine qua non of all designer bathrooms, a large, free-standing metal tub. Having been a sceptic about these particular devices, I think I am now a convert. It was so comfortable to use. And, despite my previous expectations, I did not slop gallons of water onto the floor all around. Instead, my pre-prandial ablutions were easily managed and thoroughly enjoyable. I was, in any case, in a jolly good mood before I eased into the cleansing waters, because on the bathroom wall was a clock. A clock? Yes, it is strange but true that the provision of a timepiece in my hotel bathroom invariably pleases me no end.
I have eaten at this hotel several times over the years. This was by far the best meal I have had here. The talent of Chef Steven Blake was obvious right from the start – with a dish of langoustines, caramelized fennel and pan-fried foie gras. The combination of flavours and textures was brilliant, the presentation was delightful and everything on the plate had been cooked with skill and precision. Full marks. And my next course was nearly as good in both conception and execution: quail on a version of rösti potato, with braised lentils and a madeira jus. Then the lamb, fine meat that it was, showed perhaps a weakness of over-enthusiasm. The slow-braised shoulder with roast rump, with aubergine caviar and Provençal vegetables, was enjoyable, but it was just too complicated for its own good. I finished with a decent spearmint pannacotta. (2 courses are £45; three courses are £55.)