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The Mulhollands + Ballyscullion Park Book Festival Bellaghy Londonderry

Better Lives

Animal and children’s rights activist Janice Blakley sums up the Saturday, “My love of and belief in the power of the written word was reaffirmed as I sat in awe listening to the authors at Ballyscullion Park Book Festival. A truly wonderful experience and privilege to have been there. To quote Jane Austen, ‘I declare there is no enjoyment like reading’.” Let Ireland’s leading literary festival begin. Celtic Grace musicians serenade arrivals.

Rosalind Mulholland, who owns Ballyscullion Park with her husband Richard, launches the festival, “You come from far and wide, all over Ireland and the UK. It’s just wonderful that you’re here as lovers of books, ideas, poetry, history and storytelling. I’d like to remind us of the power of literature to connect people across generations and borders. I hope you will discover new voices and enjoy inspiring conversations and most importantly leave with a renewed love of books and storytelling and – really most of all – have a wonderful time!”

Ballyscullion Park, a demesne just beyond Bellaghy (best known as the home of Seamus Heaney: a literary and arts centre has opened in the village in honour of the poet) and above Lough Beg in County Londonderry, is both a private home and a wedding venue. It adapts well to the book festival. The main event space is the Marquee in the Walled Garden. The Ringrose Room and Stables Room, smaller spaces, back onto the Walled Garden. The Mulhollands’ son George manages the grounds and accommodation. Their daughter Cordelia looks after social media and events.

Smaller temporary marquees have popped up for the occasion celebrating the finest of Irish food, art and of course books. Cocobros Chocolate is all about colourful temptations. Exquisite cards by floral designer and photographer Suzie Scott (owner of Florestina which specialises in wedding and event flowers) illustrate her floral arrangements shot against a black background with all the depth of Dutch Golden Age still lifes. Louisa Scott Jewellery is inspired by ancient cultures and the natural world. The talented goldsmith and jewellery designer Louisa is Suzie’s daughter. The Secret Bookshelf has decamped from Carrickfergus, County Antrim, for the weekend.

“It is a singular honour to introduce this wonderful woman at this – so far! – fantastic festival,” says Madelaine Keane, Literary Editor of The Sunday Independent. “Jung Chang was born in China in 1952 during the Cultural Revolution. She worked variously as a barefoot doctor, a steelworker and an electrician. She then left for England in 1978, obtaining a degree in linguistics at the University of York. She was the first person from Communist China to receive a doctorate from a British university. Her extraordinary memoir Wild Swans was published in 1991 and sold more than 13 million copies worldwide.”

Madelaine continues, “She went on to write a groundbreaking trilogy of the history of personalities of China including Mao which she wrote with her husband Jon Halliday, the Empress Dowager Cixi and the three Soong sisters. Her books have been unsurprisingly translated into 48 languages and she’s been awarded a CBE for her services to literature and history. Her new memoir Fly, Wild Swans was published last September.”

Jung explains, “After Wild Swans was published in the early 1990s many people have asked me to write a sequel to it but I always thought that there wasn’t enough material to say. And then in 2023 I changed my mind. I was talking to my mother who was very ill in Chengdu in China and I was watching her from the screen of my mobile because I was not able to go and see my mother even at her deathbed because of the books I had written. So obviously I was very sad and I looked at my mother – she was enfeebled by her illness but she was still strong and I thought since the ending of Wild Swans in 1978 more than 40 years had gone by. I wanted to write about our stories along with that of China and to bring those stories up to date.”

Aged 26, Jung passed a national exam for an overseas scholarship but she would not have been able to leave China because her father had spoken out against the Cultural Revolution. Her mother, though, had previously petitioned to the Prime Minister, Zhou Enlai, and secured a paper which didn’t clear her father’s name but stated he shouldn’t be arrested.

Over to Jung, “That note got my father out of prison and my mother foresaw that this piece of paper would be useful for her children in the future. She hid the piece of paper in one of the padded cotton shoes which my grandma had made for herself for her crushed and bound feet. The note stayed there for 11 years. And in 1978 my mother unstitched my grandma’s shoe, took out the piece of paper and gave it to the Reformist Government and that got my father rehabilitated, allowing me to leave the country.”

The only British book Jung read growing up was Oliver Twist. She smiles, “The picture of this starving child Oliver with big eyes wanting more was etched into my head when I was a child! We were allowed to read it because it showed how awful Capitalist society was. Before coming to England, the only foreigners I had talked to were sailors in a south China port. When I was studying English we were sent to practise our English with the sailors. My fellow students and I were eagerly awaiting them in the International Sailors Club. We grabbed them as soon as they came on shore and of course we had no idea what must be on their minds!”

She says, “The sailors had no idea what we were talking about because our textbooks had been written by teachers who’d never met foreigners themselves so they were direct translations of Chinese texts. In those days people used to say in Chinese, ‘Where are you going? Have you eaten?’ So that was the English greeting I learned which I used when I first came to Britain!”

Jung settled in London and would marry the Irish historian and writer Jon Halliday. Writing a book about China was not on her mind. That all changed when her mother visited England for the first time in 1988. “We were walking in Hyde Park one day and she suddenly yelled, ‘Look! Look at that stone!’ It was a flat round stone. She said, ‘That looks just like a millstone.’ A millstone was used to crush baby girls’ feet to produce the three inch golden lilies like my grandma’s. So I asked my mother to tell me more about herself, my grandma, the stories. She stayed with me for six months and by the time she left London I had 60 hours of tape recordings and I started writing Wild Swans. It was my mother who made me a writer. I owe my happy and fulfilled life to my mother.”

Madelaine observes how the love between Jung and her mother “just leaps off the pages”. And: “How deeply symbolic it is that the letter that gave you your freedom was stitched into the shoes which were such a symbol of repression.” Jung responds, “My grandma’s bound feet were also the origin of my urge to write Wild Swans in the first place. My mother’s optimism was not wishful thinking or burying your head in the sand. It was to fight to gain what is that seemingly impossible goal. If you lose that optimism and the hope you might as well give up. My mother never gave up. Her life had many tragic events but her stories were never depressing. I drew a lot of strength from my mother when I came to write Wild Swans and Fly, Wild Swans. My hope is also based on rational analysis and not wishful thinking.”

Communism may be less of a segue and more of a connection of dubious tenuousness, but onto Benjamin Treuhaft in conversation with Lynsy Spence, author and founder of The Mitford Society. Ben is the son of Jessica “Decca” Mitford, one of the six Mitford sisters who fuelled 20th century newsreels with gallons of glamour and considerable controversy. Getting into festival spirit, his left big toenail is painted in the national colours of Cuba; his right, China. Decca was the Communist Mitford. Ben is a renowned piano tuner and piano builder. In 1995 he set up a charitable enterprise to send 237 pianos to music schools in Cuba to replace Soviet made instruments ravaged by the tropical climate.

“We didn’t talk much about Decca’s family history until she started getting her fame when she wrote her autobiography Hons and Rebels,” says Ben. “I was about 11 or 12. Then the whole Mitford thing started coming out of the woodwork. I think my mum had been trying to avoid it. She was too busy being a Red! There was a lot of work to do in McCarthyite US at that time.”

He recalls, “None of my aunts forgave Decca for marrying a Jewish lawyer. He wasn’t one of them and didn’t want to be one of them. But mum and Debo loved each other and had respect for one another.” The Communist and the Duchess. The youngest of the sisters, Debo would marry the 11th Duke of Devonshire and transform Chatsworth in Derbyshire into a leading heritage attraction. Ben finishes, “Now all these books are coming out. It’s so nice to have people writing biographies of one’s mother and aunts. Listening to Jung Chang was so fascinating. I wonder what my mum would think of her?”

Ulster University lecturers Stephen Price and Peter McMulllan lead a lunchtime tour of the Bishop’s Palace ruins deep in the estate woodland. They are armed with digital recreation image boards of the 1787 house built by Frederick Hervey, 4th Earl of Bristol and Bishop of Derry. “The Bishop’s Palace,” says Stephen, “had a 107 metre long façade with a domed central rotunda and two curved wings ending in pavilions which housed art galleries. He also laid out the picturesque landscape. The palace was dismantled in 1813.” An ivy clad stretch of one of the wings is all that remains.

Stephen confirms, “This palace was very similar to Ickworth, the Bishop’s house in Suffolk. The controversial image is our view of the oval hall in the centre of the rotunda. There are no extant drawings of the hall and descriptions are disparate and conflicting. All we know is that it had a double helix staircase accessing the two upper floors. The staircase was salvaged and taken to Shane’s Castle in Country Antrim, which was then destroyed in a fire. Rosalind noticed Fortnum and Mason’s shop in London has a good example of a double helix staircase!”

Richard Mulholland’s fascinating talk on the Bishop’s Palace and Ballyscullion Park is more than worth the sprint across the rain soaked lawn to the Stables Room. “The palace was never completed. The Bishop was a wonderful collector: one pavilion had French art; the other, German art. The portico was reused at St George’s Church of Ireland Church in Belfast. Pillars from the palace are now at Portglenone House in County Antrim. The replacement house Ballyscullion Park was built by Admiral Sir Henry Bruce, son of the Bishop’s cousin, in the 1840s. The architect was Sir Charles Lanyon. Ballywalter Park, my first cousin Brian Lord Dunleath’s house, is another Lanyon house. Some of the ceilings in the two houses are virtually identical.”

He continues, “In the 1840s the Mulhollands’ linen factory at Yorkgate in Belfast was the largest in the world. So the Mulhollands wanted to show off and built Ballywalter Park. It had the most wonderful conservatory but in recent years the metal had rotted and the glass was damaged. Pilkington Glass rebuilt the entire conservatory. It is perfect now. At £350,000 it would need to be!”

Richard’s grandparents, Sir Harry and Lady Sheelah Mulholland, bought Ballyscullion in 1938. Riddled with dry rot, they restored the house, added bathrooms and de-Victorianised it. “My grandmother came from Colebrooke Park in County Fermanagh, a simple unfussy house, which probably inspired her to simplify Ballyscullion. The sandstone pillars are very soft and easy to chip so needed to be restored. We wanted to paint the house white but when I sought a grant from Hysterical Buildings as I call Historic Buildings they wanted it painted Antrim Town Hall muddy brown! We didn’t take a grant.”

“Just after my grandparents finished the major restoration, the house and estate were requisitioned by the War Office as a military base. Most big houses in Northern Ireland were taken over during World War II. It was a small camp here of 80 soldiers. All the furniture was put into storage. At first Ballyscullion was used by the British army who didn’t look after it but then it was occupied by the Americans who were brilliant.” Richard has a literary lineage link: he’s a direct descendent of Jane Austen’s brother Edward Knight.

Mid Saturday afternoon the accomplished novelist from Omagh in County Tyrone, Martina Devlin, chats with the American author, journalist – and occasional provocateur! – Lionel Shriver. Ballyscullion doesn’t pull punches but does pull big names. Martina opens with, “A previous mayor of New York City floated this as an idea. In the midst of a housing crisis New Yorkers were to be offered money to host migrants. Lionel takes this as the premise for her latest novel.”

Lionel reveals, “This novel is trying to go at the issue of immigration in a way I find very few or perhaps no other fiction writers tend to do which means I am not just inevitably sympathetic with the plight of the immigrants themselves but I am also sympathetic with the plight of the host population. There are reasons why fiction writers are drawn to telling the story of the immigrant – the conventional quest structure, the immigrant is on a journey facing obstacles, has a goal, is probably disadvantaged in comparison to the host population. It’s a great setup – that’s exactly the sort of thing you want in your heroes.”

“Whereas the host population isn’t going anywhere by definition. It just sits there; it doesn’t seem to have a story. The people who are experiencing a large number of visitors are understood to be the backdrop. They’re either going to be facilitators accommodating newcomers or they’re just going to be bigots. The understanding is these are not important people, they are not the story. I think actually the experience of having your culture transformed before your eyes and inhabited by completely different people who were not invited – I think that is the story. It’s full of moral challenges.”

Lionel sees immigration as a definitive issue and that’s why she’s drawn to it: “Although I would qualify this novel has much more dimension than that. It is not meant to be restrictionist propaganda. I think it’s a book that represents all sides of the immigration debate. It doesn’t approach it as morally simplistic. I think everyone gets a comeuppance in this book including the highly progressive liberal altruistic mother who eventually brings considerable heartache on her family.”

“In some ways this book speaks for the host population but is also very critical because the host population is passive allowing this to happen whereas the immigrants in this book are represented as active,” she insists. “They’re going out and getting what they want. They want what you have and they’re going to get it. In a way the author is quite admiring of this and critical of people who allow themselves to be run roughshod over and give away their resources.”

Lionel believes, “Collectively Western civilisation is the most considerable civilisation the world has ever seen. It has made more advances in every field than any civilisation has ever made. It is something to be proud of but not to take credit for and I think that’s important. It’s something to feel an honour to inherit and an honour to transfer to another generation.” She lived in Belfast for 10 years from 1987.

Martina asks: “The title is A Better Life – for whom?” Lionel replies, “That’s the question. It’s a simple title. It is a resonant expression because we are constantly being told that immigrants are coming into our countries simply because they want a better life. The truth is everything we do in life is motivated to make our lives better. Just because someone wants something is it a good enough reason to give it to them?”

“To provoke a response in the reader is much better than putting them to sleep. A lot of books I encounter are genuinely soporific.” Lionel is in the ring. “I am not going to refuse to write about a subject because I am afraid of offending people. I am also always looking out for topics, plots, people, positions, perspectives that other people are not writing. It doesn’t make any sense for me to write another novel that illustrates that racism is bad. It doesn’t mean that I think racism is good but we don’t need that book right now. I like to write something that fills a gap about a subject that, sometimes for very good reason, no one else is writing about.”

“What do you mean by good reason?” questions Martina. The response: “It seems dangerous. It’s going to get you into trouble. It’s going to have the critics denouncing you. There have been leftwing critics who hate this book and that means I must have done something right. Although believe it or not I am a registered Democrat!”

Martina ends, “To wrap up – and remind everyone this is a literary festival! – do you have a tip for struggling writers?” The diminutive intellectual colossus leans forward: “I think the most important thing is to write whatever you damn well please and don’t worry about what other people think of you. Fearful writing is boring writing. Younger generations have been cowed so don’t allow yourself to be cowed. Don’t think you have to obey the rules. You can break all the rules you want as long as you do it with brio.” Nobody falls asleep during Ballyscullion talks.

Dr Charlotte Blease, who will give a talk the next day on her new book Dr Bot: Why Doctors Can Fail Us and How AI Could Save Lives, sums up the Sunday, “Ballyscullion Park Book Festival has a very eclectic mix of people and presentations: it’s a charming festival and day out. This event is extra special because of the warmth of the Mulhollands. This is the third year the family have opened their home and estate to host international writers. It’s the most memorable book event I’ve attended.” And so concludes Ireland’s leading literary festival for another year.

For book festival virgins and first timers to Ballyscullion Park, it’s easy to fall in love with both the event and the venue. Lionel Shriver declares in Abominations (2024) “falling in love twice is a lot of times”.

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The Secret Garden + The Witchery by the Castle Edinburgh

Know Your Stuff

March 2016. Getting stuffed. Maundy Thursday, quail’s eggs on a watercress stuffing nest at Mayfair regular Hush. Resurrection Sunday, fried duck eggs at Holborn favourite The Delaunay. And so a procession of lunisolar led lunches, moveable feasts, begins. An extended Easter Triduum. When a man is tired of London, there’s always Edinburgh. Easter Wednesday, squared hen’s eggs on board Virgin. York, Durham, Newcastle, Berwick-upon-Tweed … everywhere looks better when viewed from the 1st Class carriage. Rows of distant gambrel roofs punctuated by chamfered dormers announce to the visually aware the proximity of the Border.

“Oh yes I stayed in The Witchery by the Castle years ago,” a brave journalist whispered to us during the recent Making Africa press briefing in the Guggenheim Bilbao. Admittedly an unlikely moment for such a muted conversation. It was undoubtedly a memorable stay. “I woke up in the middle of the night in the most frightful sweat! It was like the bed was on fire! I was boiling alive!” She got an uninvited roasting, so to speak. The next day at breakfast the journalist voiced her concern to a waitress. “That’ll be the witches,” came the nonchalant reply. “They used to burn them at the stake on Castlehill right outside.” Presumably it wasn’t the effects of a wee dram nightcap.

Our Easter Thursday lunch in the restaurant turns out to be slightly less steamy but still hot stuff. Dr Samuel Johnson and his biographer James Boswell used to eat here. Well if it’s good enough for Sam and Jamie, both made of stern stuff … The schlep up the Royal 1.6 Kilometres past winding wynds and claustrophobic closes to the foot of Castle Rock is so worth it. We’ve arrived. Physically and metaphorically. Bewitchingly charming certainly; hauntingly beautiful definitely; ghoul free hopefully. Think Hunderby (Julia Davis’s pricelessly hysterical period comedy) without Dorothy. Or Northanger Abbey’s Catherine goes to town.

Owner James Thomson, Scotland’s best (known) hotelier and restaurateur, is evidently a follower of the Donatella Versace school of thought: “Less isn’t more. Less is just less.” An eclectic dose of ecclesiastical remnants, Gothic salvage and Jacobean antiques is healthily apropos for this 16th century building. Candlesticks galore flicker flattering light across The Secret Garden, a space even with its panelled walls and trio of fanlighted French doors and timber beamed ceiling would still induce the envy of Frances Hodgson Burnett.

The interior may flurry with wild abandon but thankfully the service and place setting don’t. Our Milanese waiter makes sure of the former. Tradition takes care of the latter. Linen tablecloths, phew. China plates (slates are for roofs), double phew. Unheated pudding (always a dish best served cold), triple phew. After a bubbly reception, the feast unfolds. Palate seducing grilled sardines followed by lemon sole with brown shrimp butter preceding chocolate orange marquise with espresso jelly raise spirits further. The huggermugger harum scarum of a prowlish ghoulish night owlish postprandial prance on the mansard tiles of Edinburgh’s Auld Toun awaits. The only way is down (hill).

November 2025. Still not sweating the small stuff. Random Friday, sôle poêlée aux graines de moutard in Mayfair’s La Petite Maison next to music producer Mark Ronson en famille. Remembrance Friday, baked Ragstone goat’s cheese gnocchi up the BT Tower in Soho. And so a procession of dinners towards the waxing crescent moon, moveable feasts, begins. An extended Advent. When a man isn’t tired of London but needs a weekend change of scenery, there’s always Edinburgh. Feast of Christ the King of the Universe Eve, double devilled hen’s egg on board LNER. Newark-on-Trent, Doncaster, Northallerton, Darlington … everywhere looks better when viewed from the 1st Class carriage. The snowcapped Cleveland Hills announce to the observant the proximity of the North York Moors.

Nine years ago the three course Table d’Hôte Lunch Menu at The Witchery was priced at £35. Today, we’re after the two course Light Lunch Menu, £34.50. Packed agenda: so little time, so many galleries. After a bubbly reception (déjà vu; déjà ivre; plus Bourgone Blanc Domaine Leflaive Burgundy 2017 – a good year), the feast unfolds. Appetite satisfying basket of bread rolls with smoked butter accompanying celeriac velouté then salmon, cod and smoked haddock fish pie. We’re stuffed. But as the great Scottish aristo actress Tilda Swindon (first seen in three dimensions dining at L’Ambroisie Paris; last seen in two dimensions in her ex partner John Byrne’s painting in the Edinburgh National Portrait Gallery) would say in her hushed dulcet tone, “This lunch is delicious!”

Our driver Eleftherios Galouzidis pulls up outside on Castlehill. The only way is downhill. We’re just in time for the brilliant recital of Moonlight Sonata by Candlelight in St Gile’s Cathedral. British impresario Ashley Fripp’s fingers dance across the grand piano. He opens with Johannes Brahms’ Intermezzo in A Major. “Next I will play a pair of Chopin Nocturnes – tone poems,” he states. “E Flat Major which was influenced by the Irish composer John Field followed by C Sharp Minor. The latter was fortunately discovered by one of Chopin’s students after he died.” There’s wild applause for Sergei Rachmanioff’s Prelude in D Sharp Minor, the Moscow Waltz. “And now for the one you’ve all been waiting for!” Ashley takes a bow after the dramatic third movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata climaxes to its conclusion. Nothing quite completes an evening of culture like prawn toast and chilli tofu at Jimmy’s Express Chinese Restaurant on South Bridge.

At last week’s St Martin in the Fields London Informal Eucharist the Right Reverend Oliva Graham preached, “Holy omnipresence is not a casual knowing. It is impartial and unconditional. We are called to live fully and love faithfully.” We’ll soon discover Chessel’s Court, a rare survival of 18th century tenements hidden behind Canongate on the slope from The Witchery by the Castle. The mansion blocks, to use a befitting but more southern term, were assertively restored in the 1960s. A heart shaped ivy enlivens the ground floor of one of the blocks. Always living more fully, loving more faithfully.

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The Goldens + The Lisantis + The Circus Restaurant Bath Somerset

Golden Ratio

“They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager delight,” Jane Austen enthuses in Northanger Abbey (1818). Between the architectural ring of perfection that is The Circus and the arc of joy that is Royal Crescent lies the uncurved stretch of beauty that is Brock Street. This artery linking major works is mostly residential except for The Circus Restaurant which fills the ground floor and basement of a house between one of the two Beau Nash antiques shops and Cobb Farr estate agents. Brock Street is exceptionally pretty but this being Bath prettiness is actually the norm. The architecture is still grand Georgian but taken down a notch in formality compared to its heavily parapeted and haughtily pilastered geometrically daring abutting addresses. Charles Robertson notes in An Architectural Guide to Bath (1975), “John Wood the Younger deliberately kept the Brock Street elevations relatively plain.”

The owners of Beau Nash know all about chips as well as Chippendales and sherry as well as Sheratons. The Food Guide (2024) prepared by dealers Ron Pringle and Cynthia Wihardja states: “We haven’t eaten everywhere but we have tried many places. When we recommend a place it’s not only about the food. We also rate the sincerity of the service. We believe the two are essential for a memorable dining experience.” The Circus Restaurant gets their approval, “You can’t go wrong. Good food, honest prices, seasonal menus. Lovely service and very good value for money.” And The Dark Horse sounds too tempting to miss: “Our top place for pre dinner cocktails! A vast array of concoctions to suit any palette. Cosy quality atmosphere.”

The West Country’s first culinary power couple Head Chef Allison Golden and her husband Geoffrey opened the restaurant in 2007. She recalls the warm glow of that golden era, “Our busy independent restaurant served modern European food accompanied by Old World wines in a relaxed atmosphere. We cooked sincerely and straightforwardly to ensure everyone experienced the authentic taste in our ingredients. You’d never find any of the big names that turn wine into an industrial product. Each wine on our list was the individual expression of expertise.” It was the golden age of dining but time moves on and Ally and Geoff have driven off into the sunset in their gold coloured Lamborghini.

It was a gilt edged opportunity for Chef Matt Lisanti and his brother Mike to take over the restaurant – one they couldn’t resist. The staff were retained and the new golden boys are serving up the same type of modern European food and independent Old World wines. Autumn Menu highlights include Sharpham Brie Croquettes (mustard mayo, black garlic ketchup) starter for £9.30 and Cashew Massaman Coconut Curry (sweet potato, pineapple, lemongrass ginger sushi cake, puffed rice noodle) for £21.30. House White is Claude Val Pays d’Oc (fresh, green apples, tropical, creamy) priced £26.50. The food and wine are easy on the tastebuds and wallet; the service is easy on the eye. After a busy day buying first editions from George Baytun bookshop and handmade Italian jumpers from Gabucci (moda per uomo) it’s straight up from the bottom of Gay Street for dinner at the top. Squeezing in a cocktail in The Dark Horse en route of course. Friday evening in The Circus Restaurant is buzzy with a D4 (Dublin 4) feel to it. “What a delightful place Bath is,” cries Jane Austen’s Mrs Allen.

In his essay A Sense of Proportion John Julius Norwich writes, “Bath is a city of superlatives. First of all, it is the most beautiful in Britain. Next, it is the most appropriately named [unlike Bognor Regis which despite name boasts an elegant Victorian seafront] … Finally, and most gloriously of all, it is the one city in this country where fine building and inspired town planning go hand in hand, together creating an atmosphere of Palladian elegance and civilised refinement without equal anywhere.” That was 49 years ago. But as Jane Austen’s character Mr Tilney asked 206 years ago, “Oh, who can ever be tired of Bath?”

The 2nd Viscount Norwich, son of the socialite Lady Diana Cooper, continues, “The Circus, with its three splendid superimposed arcades loosely based on the Roman Colosseum, is a triumph. Still unfinished when John Wood died in 1754, it was completed by his son, who went on to create an even grander concept, the Royal Crescent, the first crescent in English architecture. In the work of both Woods we can see the principles of Palladian landscaping being followed just as much as those of Palladian proportions. In The Circus, the streets leading in are carefully arranged not to bisect it; in the same way the Royal Crescent, though less than 300 yards away from The Circus down a dead straight street, is actually invisible from it – which makes the sudden discovery one of the great dramatic moments of European architecture.”

He ends, “Yet the beauty of Bath and its uniqueness lie less in these individual triumphs than in the ensemble – in the squares and crescents and parades, ranging from The Circus to many a secluded, unpretentious street behind. The life they were built to sustain was vacuous, vapid and, one suspects, quite shatteringly dull; but they themselves embody very different values – strength, reason, humanity, permanence. This is the paradox of Bath. When the guidebooks call it ‘a monument to bygone elegance’ they are wrong. Only the perishable has perished. The elegance remains.” People come and go; the golden hued architecture is still on show. “The bright genius of Bath is hardly more than a beautiful display, the whim or flourish of an era,” argues Jan Morris in the introduction to Charles Robertson’s An Architectural Guide to Bath. “Edited to the smallest detail of perfection,” to use a phrase of Min Hogg, Founding Editor of The World of Interiors.

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The Rutland Arms + Castle Inn Bakewell Derbyshire

Last of the Summer Viognier

Jane Austen visited Derbyshire prior to the publication of Pride and Prejudice, and likely stayed at The Rutland Arms in Bakewell. She is said to have revised the final chapters of her novel with fresh material from her holiday including a visit to nearby Chatsworth. A tall commanding presence dominating the landscaped roundabout at the heart of Bakewell, The Rutland Arms was built at the turn of four centuries ago. The author, if correctly reported, would have been staying in a new hotel. It’s a serious looking building of warehouse-like proportions: three tall storeys tower up to high pitched parapet-free hipped roofs. The maximalist interior decoration – school of Martin Brudnizki – is very jolly with a picture hang in the dining room to rival any art gallery. More is more; less is a chore.

Another sandstone hostelry in the pretty town is Castle Inn. On a more modest two storey scale, it is close to the picturesque bridge arching over the River Wye. The adjoining wing of outbuildings has been converted to additional guest accommodation. Overlooking the town on a hill – this is after all the Peak District – is All Saints Parish Church. Dating from the 12th century, the Norman style building was restored between 1879 and 1882 by George Gilbert Scott Junior. Cute cottages line the laneways between these landmarks. Bank House, Bank Mews, Coulsden Cottage, The Cottage, Haven Cottage, The Old Forge, Spire Cottage, Splash Cottage, 1820 Cottage.

On the same hill as All Saints Parish Church is The Gospel Hall. The local history is recorded as, “The Gospel Hall was originally The Oddfellows Hall. It was built in 1872 by the friendly society The Loyal Devonshire Lodge of Oddfellows as a meeting room for its members. The Primitive Methodists rented the building for worship from 1879 until about 1892 when they built a new church in Water Street. Around 1800 some Christians in Bakewell also began meeting on New Testament lines in the home of a Mr Sellars in The Avenue, Bakewell. By 1895 they were holding their Sunday Services in The Oddfellows Hall. In 1949 the Christians bought the building and renamed it The Gospel Hall. Between 1982 and 1987 the Hall was progressively altered and extended by converting the two basement garages, formerly stables, into an additional meeting room.”

The moist morning mist lifts to reveal an unclouded blue sky.

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Lasarte Restaurant + Monument Hotel Barcelona

Nonsense and Sensibility

Déu n’hi do! Lavender’s Blue is a release of pure joy. Visiting a metropolis to explore just one neighbourhood concentrates our minds. A new tourism. We’re on it like a Jane Austen bonnet. Especially when the met is Barcelona; the hood is Eixample; and the local is Lasarte. “Work, strive, feel, listen, talk, taste, observe, thrill, improve, excite, think, imagine, inspire, decorate, reflect, research, work, pamper.” So declares Chef de Cuisine Paolo Casagrande.

In an Ecclesiastical moment, away from lives crowded with incident, taking an initial step toward the Examen later, we’ll go for pamper. Three Michelin star pampering, if you will. Putting the gas in gastronomy we’ve enjoyed Everglades Hotel’s colcannon gnocchi (City of Londonderry) and the Capital Club’s Guildhall power breakfasts (City of London dairy) not forgetting the East India Club’s potted shrimps in seaweed butter plus we’re not averse to Hakkasan Mayfair’s finger lickin’ stir fry black pepper veggie chicken, but when in Rome the Continental foodie capital…

Lasarte is managed by the renowned Basque chef Martin Berasategui. His restaurant in San Sebastián is also called Lasarte. Guess what? It’s got the Red Book’s top accreditation too. The Barcelona outpost is on the ground floor of the luscious five star Monument Hotel, once the home of industrialist Enric Battló. Josep Vilaseca i Casanovas was the original 1890s architect. Lasarte is reached through the open plan bar, beyond the Michelin starred Oria restaurant, secreted behind enigmatic herringbone oak doors. Architects Carles Bassó and Tote Moreno, architect interior designer Oscar Tusquets and interior designer Mercè Borrell and have delivered a modern monastic aesthetic. An inner sanctum of sorts. Its cocooned in herringbone oak floors and panelling.

Martin’s signature looms large over the restaurant. Literally. It’s scrawled across clerestory height mirrors above the panelling. Paolo combines Martin’s fiery signature dishes with his own fearsome foray into Catalan cuisine, from ginger to jalapeño. He’s got range. Don’t you just love folded linen napkin trays? Synchronised pouring? Cork presenting? A wooden wheelbarrow piled high with special artisanal reminiscential original regional bread? Lasarte is the embodiment of brilliance. The Lasarte Menu is €215 a head. Time to raid the Lazard family vault again. Fotem un café?

Catalan fished stew? Suquet. Petit fours balanced on a candelabra? Candy-labra. Mim cava. Mmm cava. Ah cava. Colm Tóibín records in Homage to Barcelona, “In Barcelona the poets and the professors, the designers and the rest of the generation of 1992 have taken Champagne to their hearts. In Barcelona they call it ‘cava’, and they take it as seriously as they take most things. Codorniu and Freixenet are local brews, for everyday use like wine from a barrel… Drinking cava is an integral part of being a Catalan.”

We’re not leaving this block. Period. Homage to Eixample. Micro travel is all about discovering what’s next door. Imagine our surprise, and dedication to the cause, to discover – in a city that brims with power shopping strips – that Passeig de Gràcia, the strip that easily outstrips all others, is at the foot of the hotel’s marble steps. Colm says it has “a glamour to be found nowhere else in Barcelona, in the faces, the clothes, the hairstyles.” This is no cursory peep behind the faded Iron Curtain. These days we’re all about intense western festoons. After such sweet, salt and umami sensory satisfaction, now’s the time to join the style savvy and go spend the next two generations’ inheritance. Eixample: it’s an extension to our very existence. Salut i força al Canuti!

Categories
Luxury Restaurants

Royal Albert Hall + Aquavit St James’s London

School for Scandi  

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It is a truth universally acknowledged that life is better experienced from inside the box. Especially if said box is the most columned, curtained, cushioned, closeted, contained and catered for one at the Royal Albert Hall. “Anyone for sheep’s milk ricotta and elderberry jelly on potato tuile or sweet garden pea soup with poached quail’s egg and truffle foam?” asks our in-house in-box in-the-know waiter.

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A few days later, suddenly, sharing a waiter with other guests seems rather déclassé, or would be if we weren’t dining in classy Aquavit. Lady Diana Cooper once described Vita Sackville-West as “all aqua, no vita”. Not so this restaurant: aptly named after the Scandinavian spirit, it’s full of life. We’re here, for starters. Not just desserts. A Nordic invader of the New York scene in the 1980s, sweeping up two Michelin stars, it opened an outpost in Tokyo and has now come to Mayfair.

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Shepherd Market is the foodie haven west of Piccadilly. St James’s Market, Aquavit’s address, is a new or at least reinvented Shepherd Market hopeful east of Piccadilly. It’s a discreet location on The Crown Estate, but more luxury restaurants and flagship stores are due to open shortly. “The location is coming,” we’d been told. Cultural additions to this heralded “new culinary hub” include a pavilion opposite Aquavit styled like a cabinet of curiosities. The disembodied voice of Stephen Fry reading an 18th century ballad “The Handsome Butcher of St James’s Market” floats above stacked dioramas.

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In 1989, Country Life reported: “Until quite recently London lacked continental style brasseries. There has always been a wide choice of restaurants but the alternative to an expensive meal has been the ‘greasy spoon’ café, the pub or various questionable ‘takeaways’. Traditionally the City provided dining rooms, now almost extinct, together with a diet of boisterous restaurants such as Sweetings, the catering world’s equivalent of the floor of Lloyds or the Stock Exchange. But greater sophistication was demanded by a new generation keen on modern design, New York and cuisine, as opposed to cooking.”

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That all changed with the arrival of Corbin + King and Richard Caring who have filled Mayfair and beyond with brasseries. Aquavit fits into the higher end of that mould. CEO Philip Hamilton says, “Our aim is to create a relaxed morning to midnight dining experience.” Handy, as we – the Supper Club (Lavender’s Blue plus) – all have Mayfair offices, from Park Lane to Piccadilly Circus. Scandi style has been ripped off so much by hipster hangouts but this is west, not east, London. Pared back lines allow the quality of the materials to shine (literally in some cases) through: marble floors climb up the dado to meet pale timber panelling, softly illuminated by dangling bangles of gold lights.

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The airy double height interior with two walls of windows was designed by Swedish born Martin Brudnizki, the creative force behind Sexy Fish, and showcases works by Scandinavian designers such as Olafur Eliasson. Furnishings are by Svenskt Tenn; photographic art by Andrea Hamilton; silverware by Georg Jensen; uniforms, Ida Sjöstedt. Wallpaper* meets Architectural Digest. We’d been warned that “it’s a bit of a fishbowl” but we’re down with that. See and be seen. Duchamp shirts and Chanel dresses at the ready. This glass box is Nighthawk without the loneliness; The London Eye minus the wobbliness; Windows on the World missing the dizziness. A mezzanine over the bar contains two very private dining rooms named ‘Copenhagen’ and ‘Stockholm’.

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The menu is divided into Smörgåsbord, Starters, Mains, Side Dishes, Desserts. It’s tempting to overindulge on the smörgåsbord – really, a return visit is required for that course alone. So it’s straight onto the starters. Scallops, kohlrabi and lovage (£9.00) in a light citrus dressing demonstrate Nordic cuisine does raw well. Dehydrated beetroots, goat’s cheese sorbet and hazelnuts (£9.00) – we’re getting citrus, nectarine and dill – prove there’s life beyond seafood.

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Sourdough bread and knäckebröd (Swedish rye crisp bread with a hint of aniseed) come with whey butter. “The whey butter is from Glastonbury,” explains our waiter. It’s all singing all dancing. Chillout music is playing in the background. We’re experiencing what the Scandinavians call ‘hygge’, that cosy relaxed feeling you get when being pampered, enjoying the good things in life with great company. All the more reason to sample Hallands Fläder (£4.50), an elderflower aquavit. A continuous flow of sparkling water is (aptly) plentiful and reasonably priced (£2.00). Ruinart (£76.00) keeps our well informed sommelier on her toes.

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Monkfish in Sandefjord Smør (Hollandaise type sauce named after the city) trout roe (£28.00) tastes so fresh it transports us like a fjord escort to the Norwegian coast. Landlubbers be gone! Purple sprouting broccoli and smoked anchovy (£4.00) is a sea salty side grounded by the flowering vegetable. Chestnut spice cake with salted caramel ice (£8.00) is a slice of perfection revealing tones of vanilla and orange. Swedish hazelnut fudge provides a waistline enhancing end to dinner.

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Right now, Aquavit is hotter than Lisbon in July and cooler than the Chanel party in Peckham. And that’s just the beautiful staff. It shares Executive Chef Emma Bengtsson with the New York site and Head Chef is fellow Swede Henrik Ritzén, who previously cooked at The Arts Club in Mayfair. Emma, who is visiting England for a television appearance, believes, “Everyone has their own flavour profile – how they like things. I’m very intrigued with keeping flavours to highlight the produce itself. It’s very pure. The flavours are understandable… You gotta keep trying. Never stop trying.”

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Aquavit isn’t cheap but this is a high end establishment in Mayfair with form. It’s The Telegraph’s How To Spend It territory. After all, the person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good meal, must be intolerably stupid. And as Lady Diana Cooper once quipped, “money is fine”. Blink and you’ll miss daylight but that doesn’t mean January has to be dull or dry. We’re full and full of the joys. It’s not a school night and round the corner in Soho, Quo Vadis isn’t just a restaurant… Time to cut loose under a garish sky.

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Our dedication to reportage ever unabated, is it a dream sequence or the following day do we return for a smörgåsbord of diced and smoked mackerel tartare, sorrel and lumpfish roe (£7.00) in a salad bowl, sitting at a timber table on the polished pavement? Not forgetting the unforgettable Shrimp Skagen (£9.00)? Skagenröra isn’t just prawns on toast, y’know. Named after a Danish fishing port, other essential ingredients are mayonnaise, gräddfil (a bit like soured cream) and some seasoning. Grated horseradish, in this case, adds a bit of spice. Best crowned with orange caviar. It’s Royal Box treatment all over again as we have a dedicated waiter to our table. Or maybe that’s because we are the only alfresco brunchers braving the elements outside the box. By Nordic winter standards, it’s a positively balmy morning. We’ve a love hate relationship with Aquavit. Love here; hate leaving.

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