Hunting London Edition
They had me at the concept videos. Collaboration, art, and argument, which made perfect sense to me: when you tell me why you created this, I will understand what it has for me. Don’t tell me Marriott; don’t say Ian Schrager. Tell me push-pull, and how design lures comfort. Make me think.
When you create anticipation like that, with conversation, unlikely settings, and conflict, it gives the realization flavor and energy from the start. Does the design frame of mind and curiosity and blend extend to the guest experience – or just to the public areas? And my real question, being who I am and doing what I do – who stays here? And why will they want to?
So when the pictures of the interiors emerged, I both was soothed by the calm color palate and stirred by the arty promise. I wanted to put my head there – in the public spaces as well as onto the very crisp white pillows in the fur throw-draped bed.
And, thus lured, I went.
So proud are London cab drivers of their skills that on a recent trip when our driver could not find the obscure address I had chosen in South Kensington, his professional embarrassment was such that he refused to charge us for the fare. So when my friend’s driver didn’t recognize its location by name alone we knew London Edition was still a kept secret. “Ah,” he said when they pulled up (my friend had to produce the address) (11 Berners Street; write this down), “this was once [insert name of Who Cares Hotel here, because what has taken its place has absorbed and eclipsed its memory forever].”
Once we pulled up and my car door was opened, I went from one cheerful, kind greeting to another – was handed out of the car to the entrance door and then escorted through an opulence-meets-modern lobby hovered over by a silver orb [actually called The Orb] to a well-staffed and sincerely helpful check-in experience. Black on white marble floor (the original, carefully restored) led from entrance to reception, and tied together gorgeous Edwardian stuccoed ceilings and fireplace in a buzzy lobby bar with inviting clutches of leather seating, a business center featuring computers at your service and space to plug in your own and get a bit of work done, the day’s selection of newspapers, and the large welcoming desk of the Concierge on duty. A corner wrought-iron staircase led enticingly up and down to places I would explore later.
All of this was swirled around with a barely-there vibrant scent that I wanted more of, and found myself inhaling deeply trying to place – was it someone’s perfume? Was there a spa wafting its magic from an upstairs corridor? [No spa, but excellent in-room massage and a nothing-missing fitness room.] I learned later that Edition has a dedicated scent, created in the center of such things, in Grasse, France. There are candles in the guestrooms, if you wish to immerse further, and of course the scent features in the bath products and soap. Subtle and seductive, it crosses over gender boundaries and ties the senses to this place so that in the coming days walking through the lobby triggered memory, and a huge indrawn breath of welcome.
At reception, cabin-shingle wooden walls introduced a cozy factor, and the glow of a neon coil caged in plastic lured me towards an inviting mystery destination [‘Portal’; the question is asked, ‘How far back does it go?’ and the answer is, of course, ‘As far as you want it to’]. This nod to Tron was in complete and charming contrast to the tapestry hung behind the reception desk based on the legend of the Golden Fleece, the original of which can be found in the Court Dining Room of Draper’s Hall and was featured in The King’s Speech, in the scene where Colin Firth’s King George studies the words he will speak to the country on the eve of war. History on several levels, and beauty as well, as one is made welcome.
How London Edition is the brand flagship, and is also standalone, the story of London.
That this is a design hotel goes without saying, but the surprise is that it exists on such an unselfconscious level. Every visual is a new surprise, and the blend of old with new and art with texture and history with on-trend makes this journey from the lobby to the guestroom an enriching experience.
Oh, the arrival into the sleeping quarters. Moving in the blurry half-awareness that Transatlantic travel brings, how isn’t it exciting to be somewhere else? This is how I feel when I meet a new guestroom. I am not interested in having an at-home experience - this is why I left. I am here to be somewhere else. Someone else. And so, especially for the first few days when I allow my mind to turn things over differently, I welcome the new; I sleep on a different side of the bed; I taste adventure from a new menu.
And here in Room 705 I am immediately met with those crisp whites that lured me at the start: a delicious pile of plump and plentiful pillows (six!), taut and tucked but fluffy duvet, and the ubiquitous faux fur throw. I was so tempted by this delicious sight that I almost broke my personal rule of no nap on the day of arrival. Silk and linen-draped windows with – really? how can this be? -- a view of the London Eye and Big Ben (really Elizabeth Tower, but, you know – it’s what we still call it). And the pretty rooftops and chimney pots and window gardens of Fitzrovia making the picture-perfect London welcome.
It’s impossible not to feel cozy and cosseted in this warm paneled room, slanted ceilings adding to the old-fashioned oceanliner vibe. My laptop and I welcomed the cantilevered desk running the length of a wall, complete with comfortable wooden chair. Design magazines were tucked in the shelf below – couture, design and cuisine, all bases covered. A small clutch of hydrangeas in a low glass vase added just the right note of freshness, and welcome.
All guestrooms feature a tufted George Smith chair, low to the ground and almost as tempting as the bed; I curled up here with the fur throw and spent my first evening reading all of the design magazines and planning my London weekend. Lighting here is – subtle, let’s say. There’s a huge wash of light through the large windows in the day, and in the evenings there’s a sort of blurry edge from two globe lamps next to the bed and what I can only call a reverse tray ceiling, which is back-lit. In the evening, this low-level lighting is a nice, cozy touch. London light is soft and filtered, and I like the echo of that here. For practical purposes, there are eyeball lights mounted on springy microphone-stand arms above either side of the headboard (the white leather headboard; did I mention this?), and a focused strip of light over one side of the desk.
Of the 173 guest rooms, most have king beds but 15 are fitted with two small queens and can be requested that way at booking.
And, while my bath had a large shower and no tub, if you are a soak-in-the-water type, there are 25 rooms across all room categories which offer tubs and can be confirmed this way at booking.
Oh my gosh, the shower – it’s a kaleidoscope of water options: rainforest gentle drenching from overhead, or hand-held wand with great quantities of soothing sprayed heat, or both. Plenty of space for toiletries – you could dance in here, if you were having that kind of morning – and you would be, with the herb-spicy signature scent aromatherapy madness. I am a BYOP (Bring Your Own Products) girl devoted to my own lotions and potions, but I have to say I Edition-brand bodywashed and lotioned with reckless abandon, and felt no shame.
Stepping out of the shower was toe-squish bliss, the bath mat was so plush and matched the towels, fluffy white and full and thirsty and thick, the piles of them on shelves and under the vanity. The best kind of hotel bath math: two guests always need at least four towels and we had six = the perfect equation. Great lighting and an excellent portable pedestal mirror with at least 3X and perhaps more magnification, for those pore-perfect makeup moments.
As I write this I remember that I meant to purchase an Edition robe before I left. I have never wanted to do this. Ever. But these robes are not the inches-thick and rolled-sleeve terrycloth insanity usually foisted off on unsuspecting hotel guests. They are brushed cotton and softly lined, just full enough for comfort and fitted enough for cozy. I wore it constantly. Even slept in it once. I wonder if I phone, whether they’ll ship one to me….
Sitting in Berner’s Tavern the next morning for breakfast, I wasn’t sure what to admire first – the beautifully crafted white stucco ceiling, or the amazing visual feast of paintings and pictures below it, arranged cheek-by-jowl on dark taupe walls. Ian Schrager curated these 165 pieces (there’s a booklet so you can self-guide a museum moment), where florals meet black-and-white photographs over pastoral scenery beside bowls of lush fruit, all beautifully framed and perfectly balanced. Gorgeous egg-shaped chandeliers center the room and are modeled after those hanging in Grand Central Station. Opulent, inviting – and thinky. This glorious visual feast blends with a low pulse of music and the chatty cacophony of conversation. Absolutely everyone in the neighborhood seems to be having breakfast here; this is a room full of locals, only corporate in the sense that all of the men are wearing suits and there is an overabundance of briefcases. Reservations are required, since it’s a small room, so think ahead -- it would be a pity to miss the avocado on toast with two pretty poached eggs. Or the organic oatmeal with London honey and fresh bananas. Oh, and the organic vanilla rooibos tea.
Once I realized reservations here were desperately dear, I immediately tried to book for the following evening’s dinner (mind, this was a weekend). I had heard several before me attempt to reserve a table for any evening in the following week, any time, and had seen them turned away (gently and regretfully, of course). I knew I would have no success, but the very kind hostess recognized me as a hotel guest and so managed to squeeze us in for the Saturday night. 6 pm early, but I would have arrived at 5, I was that grateful.
Between breakfast and my next adventure I perched at the business center tables where blocky wooden Scandi-chic chairs are just my height, and scribbled away at notes. I was greeted almost immediately by a member of the bar staff with still water in a pretty glass and a kind comment about how hard I appeared to be toiling away. This was a very much appreciated touch and in absolute contrast to the plastic cups thrust at me the day before as we were landing at Heathrow by airline employees using the people-weary patronizing dragged-out syllables of those who have clearly been on the job a few too many years. How a voice sets the tone for service, and what a difference it makes here.
Probably my really good mood was in part due to the amazing mash-up (yes, this phrase originated in the UK so it’s ok to use here) of great music throughout, what I began to call The Edition Channel, a sort of Motown-meets-today motion and movement on a soundtrack-of-your-day sort of scale. I had felt the pulse throughout breakfast and enjoyed it now as I was sorting the rest of my day’s plans. Energy, a smooth groove, and that Spice Girls poppy zing that never quite goes away in Britain.
Here’s what makes the hotel what it is: Yes, design and beautifully curated art, furniture, light and occasional specific lack of it. Yes, flow and interest and beautiful architectural features; history. Yes, all of that. But it begins and ends with the greeting at the entrance, and the kind farewell as you depart. In between you have staff with an overwhelmingly guest-forward attitude. Their uniform dress (black, grey and white in some combination or other) assures you of their identity, but each carries their personal touch – hair, accent, kind smile. They are free to express individuality and this makes for a very personable experience. Not that you-must-be-my-friend familiarity, and definitely not that formal constant-at-the-elbow obsequiousness, but a cordial personal touch. No ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Sir,’ but Mrs. Last Name, which I quite like. You have taken time to know me; you recognize me. The staff wear no name badges, which makes connection that much more possible – I know your face, I appreciate your help; thank you. (Now what was your name again? I am embarrassed that this is me!)
I had to see more, and though the hotel was full for the weekend I was fortunate to be able to be guided by the lovely, stylish and justifiably house-proud Jill O’Hare, Director of Sales & Marketing, through the one just recently unoccupied space – The Penthouse. That serene wood-panelled guestroom vibe continues here in room after room of well-settled groupings of leather furniture in brown or white, a separate office with a desk I am still craving, and vast bathroom dressed in white with a soaking tub centerpiece. This flowy space is cozy styled glamour wrapped by two balconies featuring wrought-iron chairs, tables, and beautifully potted shrubs. Plenty of room for the Pitts, or whomever needs a private luxury nest when stopping in London.
The building housing London Edition was built in 1835, when Edward was king and besotted with everything French. Reminders of this are found in the kept pieces of the building – the lobby fireplace, for instance, watched over by what you’d swear was a Vermeer, but actually painted by Hendrik Kerstens in the Dutch master’s style, whose daughter’s lovely, classic yet resigned visage you’ll find in various forms throughout the property and the guest rooms, her hair bedecked with unique headdresses made of … toilet paper rolls, or a helmet sculpted of aluminum foil. You can hear her, daughter to father – ‘Dad. Really? Could I not just have a tiara or something?’ Tongue in cheek; beauty with a bounce, and a wink.
Look at that, I digressed. This happened to me constantly – in my notes, or while I was walking in one direction and found myself, distracted and charmed, moving in exactly the opposite. That I continued to veer off course – history to texture, music to the shape of a chair -- is less a reflection of writer’s ADD than a tribute to how Edition’s combined disparate design elements create a whole. Stand on the second level looking down over the wrought-iron railing at the masterpiece of social space and you’ll see – and feel -- how this works: how the throb of music in the lobby mingles with backchatter, the glow of light and wood, elegant reminders of King Edward’s Francophilia, and the business of a hotel – greetings, and the charming fact that the Edition gatekeeper’s job is to keep traffic moving, as the tendency people have is to stop below The Orb and stare upward. Having done this very thing myself, I understand it. That the hotel does as well is the answer to its success – eye-catching style, underpinned with phenomenal service. We are so glad you’re here; it’s quite a place, isn’t it? We think so, too.
Don’t let me make you think it’s stuffed-couch-in-the-den cozy here, beyond those cool touches around reception. It is vastly comfortable, yes, but in a vibrant, luxurious and lively way, with the energy that comes from staff who are getting things done and guests moving here to there. You want to settle into a leather couch and have a drink, but conversation has edges and interest, and there is no settling back. I wondered how this would translate to evening, and was not disappointed.
We began with the eagerly anticipated dinner at Berner’s Tavern. Jason Atherton is the chef of the house, and never mind that his Pollen Street Social is Michelin-starred. He’s chosen this venue as a place where he can step down the formality and just cook -- which is true if by ‘just cook’ you mean turn out extraordinary starters and mains with emphasis on British cuisine, organic and locally-sourced produce, and cocktails (and mocktails) that tempt just by name alone: Mead, Myself and Aye; Cereal Killer; and my personal favorite, Once Upon a Thyme. Please don’t leave the table without having sampled the Egg, Ham and Peas starter, Duck fat chips, and (yes I know, but it was extraordinary) the Aged Scottish beef burger. End your meal with the chocolate-filled donut sugared with cinnamon and I promise you will be hunting me down to kiss me on the mouth for recommending it. (You are welcome; smooch not necessary.)
So here’s the difference between trendy and on-trend, and how it feels to walk into such a place. Last year I frequented a hipster enclave out Shoreditch way. The hotel did not disappoint in terms of interest and vibe, but when we returned the first evening after dinner to enjoy the promising public space in the lobby, I searched the room for a place to fit, and my excitement hit the wall of disinterest. I felt we’d come by mistake to a party for which we were not properly dressed (oh, we definitely were) or to which we had not been invited.
At Edition, the feel is all about invitation – and it starts with the staff. Welcome, have a drink, how are you, what can I bring, let me recommend this, back in a minute, and there you are, happy and chatty, settled in. This is how you will feel at dinner in Berner’s Tavern, and if you are wise, you will have made reservations for The Punch Room (or Punch, as you say after the first visit) to continue your evening’s conversation.
Punch is a group of private rooms just off the lobby, a protected space reserved for hotel guests and their parties, where you won’t get swept up in the masses and can truly relax and have a drink and a chat. Do you know the history of punch? You should Google it later, but let me just say that history features here as it does everywhere in the hotel, as the warmly wooden paneled room and clubby tables and chairs are surrounded by silver punch bowls of various sizes, and their corresponding ladles. Here is where the service is fine-tuned to a seamless, gracious nighttime-casual ease. We are greeted with the evening’s signature punch in a sweet crystal flute, and then there followed a lot of chat about which punches were best – the menu goes on for pages, and each description is more tempting than the last. I was not mocked for my mocktail status, but instead enthusiastically directed with questions about my preferences – Fruity? Tart? Sweet? I was favored with two options, and both were unique and delicious. The animation surrounding our table was surprising, since there were just the two of us. A good place to unwind, or wind up.
If you find you’re wound, head down to Basement, the hotel nightclub. In a design hotel all art is curated, and here so is access to the club. The wish is to cultivate a certain crowd, a certain age group – to avoid the lesser elements of what typically comes with a nightclub. Hotel guests and their guests are always welcome. The rest are sorted by the gracious but fierce Irene by whom you are greeted. Once you’ve made the cut, you are in an extraordinary space, built to the specifications of a recording studio to hold and amplify sound, with seductive performance lighting and breathtakingly beautiful wooden floors and walls. I am including photographs here because my description will never match the visual. You want to spend time here, believe me. So be on your good behavior, leave the club drugs behind, and dress well: you don’t want to be turned away.
Just one final word, and this about the neighborhood. Fitzrovia sits at the crossroads of Bloomsbury and Soho. If you search the skyline for the BT Tower, you’re there. It is, I promise, walking distance to absolutely anywhere you want to go, one block off of Oxford Street, just between Tottenham Court and Oxford Street Tube. We strolled to Somerset House on the Thames in a matter of minutes. Walked back from Jude Law’s phenomenal Henry V performance near Leicester Square zippedy-quick. I came laden with not one but three Oyster cards from past visits, and never even set foot in the Tube – unheard of. I have been coming to London for decades, and this, I promise you, is the best address in town.
Book early; stay as long as you can.
Will you have a good night’s sleep?
Oh my, yes.
Will your mind be stirred, palate pleased, soul soothed?
Yes.
And will you be back?
Absolutely.