London Calling, One More Time

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For all the talk of a post-Brexit malaise and austerity measures in the UK, the city of London seems to have ignored the memo. In fact, there was nothing austere about the entrance of the Broadwick Soho hotel in early December, when I checked in. I was greeted by gigantic elephants in top hats hovering above the pastel pink door. The doorman, decked out in a leopard-print blazer, ushered me into the kaleidoscopic lobby decorated with kitschy figurines, patterned wallpaper, and artworks from the likes of Andy Warhol, Francis Bacon, and Bridget Riley. It was all a bit of a fever dream, a welcome departure from the dreary skies outside. This was exactly what owner Hayden Noel, who spent his childhood at his family’s seaside hotel, was aiming for when he opened the property last spring: English whimsy meets Italian glamour…meets major maximalism. To design the 57-room property, he hired Martin Brudnizki, a former podcast guest of The Grand Tourist and the man behind some of the city’s swankiest spots, including Annabel’s and the Vesper Bar at the Dorchester.

This more-is-more aesthetic is evident in the guest rooms and Dear Jackie, the playful Italian restaurant filled with majolica tiles and Murano-style chandeliers, as well as the private salon for guests only. I sunk into one of the floral covered slipper chairs here and flipped through vintage books on David Hicks and Lucian Freud—just some of the creative folks who spent much time in this neighborhood.

While the Broadwick is a colorful jewel box on a bustling corner of Soho, it is just one example of the over-the-top ethos of the city’s latest luxury hotel boomlet. There’s the 120-room Raffles London, which opened in late 2023 in the Old War Office, an 800,000-square-foot behemoth that once served as headquarters for Winston Churchill. Every historical design detail, from the marble staircases to the gigantic chandeliers, has been carefully restored. There is a sprawling spa from Guerlain and nine restaurants and bars; several are run by superstar chef Mauro Colagreco.

Nearby in Hyde Park sits the Emory hotel, a Modernist glass-and-steel structure designed by the late Richard Rogers and the latest shiny project of the Maybourne group (Claridge’s, the Connaught). This all-suite hotel features a restaurant by chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten as well as classes led by Tracy Anderson at the Surrenne spa. The city has also welcomed a new Peninsula hotel, just a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace, as well as a second Mandarin Oriental, in Mayfair. Soon the Rosewood group will open the Chancery Rosewood, where architect (and The Grand Tourist guest) Sir David Chipperfield has reimagined the former U.S. Embassy, a striking Brutalist structure in Grosvenor Square, as a 146-room hotel.

While blue-chip galleries like Gagosian and Marian Goodman continue to invade the West End, Artfarm, the hospitality group founded by gallerists Hauser & Wirth, have opened Mount St., a second-floor restaurant above the stylish Audley Public House. I visited one morning for a full English breakfast with expertly grilled tomatoes, hunks of blood sausage, and fried eggs. My salt and pepper shakers were designed by artist Paul McCarthy. In fact, the dining room is chockablock with major works: a Matisse here, a Morandi there, a Picasso in the corner. It’s all quite decadent. Even the floor, made up of fragments of Palladian marble, is an installation designed by artist Rashid Johnson. The museum-worthy restaurant has lured a smart crowd, including King Charles and Queen Camilla, who recently opted to dine in the public dining room rather than one of the building’s private spaces.

Le Caprice, a favorite lunchtime boîte of Princess Diana (and Mick Jagger, Bryan Ferry, and Elizabeth Taylor, to name a few), has recently been revived as Arlington by Jeremy King, the original owner. The beloved Mayfair institution has retained its jazz-age ambience; David Bailey’s black-and-white prints dot the mirror and chrome walls, and the menu features old-time favorites like bang bang chicken and fish cakes. I opted for shepherd’s pie on the rainy night I dined there. Despite the rain and it being only 5:30 on a Sunday, the place was humming with a mix of terribly chic old-timers as well as a cool, young crowd. King, who has presided over some of the city’s buzziest spots, including the ever-popular Wolseley, is bullish on the city’s go-go days. He recently opened Park, a modern American grill in Bayswater, and is set to take over Simpson’s in the Strand, adjacent to the Savoy hotel. He’s also hoping to bring back its grande-dame status; it opened in 1828 as a chess club and café hosting illustrious guests like Charles Dickens and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

London’s private clubs, some of which date back several centuries, continue to proliferate. While there’s no shortage of starchy gentleman’s clubs, these days the most in-demand members-only clubs seem to be a bit more loose, if not louche.

Annabel’s, perhaps the city’s most lavish club, still brings in the international jet set (just like it did when it opened in 1963), but now there are newer spots like the Twenty Two. Located in an Edwardian building on Grosvenor Square, the Twenty Two “is dedicated to the art of lingering,” and it’s easy to revel into the early hours in this subterranean salon that has hosted everyone from Jeff Bezos to Rami Malek. (The owners have just opened a branch near Union Square in Manhattan.) The Groucho Club, a raffish, boozy joint favored by the city’s creatives, has recently been taken over by Antfarm, the hospitality arm of Hauser & Wirth. And then there’s 5 Hertford Street, the brainchild of Robin Birley (son of Mark). This power den, done up in country-house maximalism, is perhaps the city’s most influential club—there are various prime ministers, aristocrats, and billionaires among the members. The wait list to get in is rumored to be closed, and there’s always chatter of branches opening up in other glitzy spots across the globe. But for now, there’s only one 5 Hertford Street.

Since a plebian like me couldn’t get into the club, I did the next best thing: I headed over to Birley Bakery, the owner’s jewel-like patisserie in nearby Chelsea.