Bye-bye, London

Monday, July 27, 2009 by Jason Oliver Nixon.

Dear readers, my trip across the pond has drawn to an end, and I am headed back to our fair shores refreshed, renewed and reinvigorated. I lived in England as a child, so my frequent jaunts to Britannia return me to my jeunesse dorée and work wonders for the system when New York’s daily grind gets me down.

As I review my notes from the past ten days, here are some further highlights from a terrific trip:

—Cocktails at the impossibly stylish Connaught Bar, within the totally refurbed Connaught Hotel, where I sipped the gin-laden Collins, the bar’s signature cocktail. Divine! And, of course, I simply had to nibble the little plates of delicacies such as Bigorre ham and tomato bread, the terrine of foie gras and the skewers of chorizo, squid and sun-dried tomatoes. As for the décor, check out the stunning photo of the 54-seat space.

Just look at how amazing the Connaught Bar is with all of the mirrors, black lacquer and shiny surfaces throughout. Makes you want to stare at yourself as you suck up the potables.

—There is nothing more delicious than London’s Firmdale Hotels, so if you have not experienced such hotels as the Charlotte Street, Covent Garden, Haymarket and Soho, you must book a trip to London . . . and soon. The Firmdale folks do everything to perfection—from the glorious public rooms done up like the chicest country house transplanted into the city to the amazing rooms that are so, so comfortable. J’adore Charlotte Street especially. It is perfectly situated only steps from the hustle-bustle of Oxford Street and such white-hot eateries as Roka.

Here’s the entrance to the Charlotte Street Hotel, my true home-away-from-home. I am mad for the folks at Firmdale Hotels—they do an impeccable job.

Just look at how stylish are the public rooms at the Charlotte Street Hotel. Comfort-o-rama!

This was my bedroom at the Charlotte Street, tucked away under the eaves like the garret of a very stylish artist who hired a talented interior designer.

—One simply must, must, must take tea at Claridge’s Hotel in the heart of Mayfair, where I lapped up the scones and clotted cream like a sponge to water. Claridge’s couldn’t be any more glamorous—but it’s never stuffy or off-putting. If I could move into this hotel, I just might, but I’d need to make lots of money.