The Dorchester review: a sheeny bubble of old-world life

The Park Lane juggernaut, still known as a bastion for great dining and its ritzy interiors, continues to make the argument for how things once were

Words: Josh Lee

When frequent flyers determine what makes a good hotel – from the high-street groups to the historical grand dames, the home-from-home boutiques to the modernist temples – there is really only one unit of measurement to consider: the ability to create an impenetrable universe where nothing but your comfort matters. At their best, good hotels make you forget the world outside. The Dorchester, the Park Lane juggernaut where Elizabeth Taylor and Brigitte Bardot once laid their heads on the soft, gentle pillows, will always be part of the conversation, less a building with rooms than a daydream away from real life, offering deliverance from the inbox, deadlines and daily anguish, even if it’s just for one cosseted night or two.

The moment you drag your suitcase through the revolving door, the effect is almost Oz-like, with the monotone of reality fading into a lush blaze of life: a lobby large enough to fly a kite in; the elegant flow of sharply tailored staff; a seemingly choreographed movement of drinks trays and bellhops and guests on their way to dinner. And at The Promenade – the hotel’s suave heartbeat – designer Pierre-Yves Rochon has scoured out the previous scheme and loaded the space with statement rugs; unsparing splashes of yellow, pink and blue; glittering gold trims; important artwork; and seating that brings to mind the Marie Antoinette aesthetic.

At the back is Liberace’s mirrored piano and the ballroom is splendid. Sharpen the senses at Vesper Bar, where the artistic mixes are made according to a certain theme (the menu is currently influenced by the golden ratio), then prepare yourself for a three-star evening at Alain Ducasse, where you’ll be pummelled with first-rate produce and excellent wine. Equally, let Tom Booton’s grill fare soften the pains of the week. It’s an old-crooner’s place, a black-tie sort of place, a place that’s more appropriate for throwback romantics than corner-banquette business. In the frequent moments of blissed-out peace, you may feel as though the whole place has been custom-designed for your happiness.

In the floors above are the elaborate webs of corridors and guest rooms: there’s the light, floral scheme of the Dorchester Studio; the Belgravia Suite, dressed like a lush stretch of Hyde Park opposite, offers a look on to the armada of supercars that pull up to the front entrance; and with the Hyde Park Suite, perhaps the draw of the moment, you get the feeling that you’ve stepped inside a bit of Wedgwood tableware, with the room’s interiors blasted with a Pantone book of blues. It is in the latter pad where you get the perfect London view – not of the palace, or the skyrise, but of a long line of park trees – a floorplan that can easily host a quick five-a-side session, and tables sizeable enough to play a few late-night card games.

The bath, deeper than a sonnet, more welcoming than a hug, is the perfect place in which to mellow out, melt away and reflect on the hours beforehand.