The 180-roomed Berkeley’s Hyde Park-hugging location is a part of the strip where intimidating five-star hotels stand shoulder to shoulder, all equal in their grand stature and number of bowler-hatted doormen primed to open your car door. A mere £18 cab separates you from the sweaty farmyard of Paddington Station and this formidable five-starer’s Portland stone and glass exterior, rooftop pool, wellbeing and “longevity” (yeah, no idea either) club, in-room Dyson hairdryers and Bang & Olufsen speakers, and £3000-a-night-for-a-suite bank account buster.
Why stay at The Berkeley?
For someone who doesn’t own a few oil refineries in the North Sea, dropping four figures (or chump-change £900 for a double) on a single night away is lunatic behaviour. It’s okay to admit that – for at least a third of your time there, as with any hotel, you’re paying to be effectively unconscious under a duvet. But for those who do have the cash and inclination for a splurge, The Berkeley offers immaculately presented rooms, views across one of the world’s most famous green spaces, and the reassurance of knowing your experiential investment is in the safe hands of Maybourne, the parent company behind Claridge’s.
What are the rooms like at The Berkeley?
Unsurprisingly magnificent. The big test – a Wrestlemania-style swan dive onto the bed – was passed in the most flying of colours thanks to a safe landing into a mattress with two toppers, all hidden beneath king-sized Italian bedsheets (thread count: intergallactically high) and duck feather down pillows. The bed itself feels ‘cool’ for a luxury hotel - it’s not the fussy palatial snooze pit you’d expect from one of Belgravia-Knightsbridge’s elite, but more of a pared-back Japanese-Scandinavian (I refuse to use the term Japandi) low-to-the-floor affair that played its role mightily in earning my seven-ish hours of kip.
The bathrooms are home to potentially the nicest-smelling hotel soaps and washes you’ll ever huff up your pipes, and a shower room that dwarfs your average home office floor plan. While the taps in the twin sinks were fairly irritating – soft, waterfall-style mini jets that do not wet your toothbrush head sufficiently – your attention is on the robot toilet at your disposal. Was I intimidated by this teched-out wet throne and its wall-mounted mass of buttons, self-closing lid, and rump-toasting seat? Yeah, absolutely, even more so at 7.30am when it woke me up while performing a scheduled clean. Bit of fun though, eh?
The rest is purely detail. But really good detail. Rich wooden floors, hideaway light fixtures, a standalone tub, shoji panel sliders, giant flatscreens, and a minibar menu that actually isn’t the most hilarious document you’ve ever seen – a fiver for a Kit-Kat doesn’t take the prize for silliest price I’ve seen in recent months. The £10 Asahi gets close, mind.
Where shall I eat at The Berkeley?
Food and drink here is really where the younger clout-chasing social media set come to beat their chests. I’ve never been awestruck by a Pain Suisse before, but it sure as heck happened at the hands of pastry powerhouse Cédric Grolet in his pâtisserie – a non-negotiable must-hit for an 11am coffee. Of the two morning meal options, breakfast at abc kitchens [sic] is the staff’s choice. The correct one, too. You will have to suffer your neighbouring table’s burgundy-suited braggadocio – boasts about the string of “very incredibly successful” private members’ clubs they’ve just opened; overindulging at a best friend’s film premiere last night; hardcore fasting retreats – but the silky omelette wrapped around slabs of smoked salmon is worth the aural torture. The best eggs in London? Contender, right here.
The best eggs in London? Contender, right here
La Môme is the Riviera-inspired jewel in this hotel’s eatery crown. There’s nothing subtle about this place: a DJ playing loungey electro with the dials up, flaming plates of meat weaving at head-height between chairs, and enormous experiences to wrap your eyes and stomach around. The black truffle macaroni (£43) is powerfully funky, the 200g Kagoshima wagyu steak (£63) is overwhelmingly rich, and the theatre of having a thyme bush trimmed into your dipping oil is try-not-to-giggle funny. Don’t take that as a negative, though. These unhinged belly-and-bank-account blowouts are what you’re here for.
What is the service like at The Berkeley?
Efficient. Berkeley has an in-house WhatsApp service that you can use to ask for absolutely anything – I went off the rails and summoned a bottle of still water (with ice!) at 10:55 and had it at my door by 11:08. The pinnacle, though, was Berkeley Bar waitress, Jasmine. She’s a liferaft of attentive and polite normalcy, whose reassuringly relaxed chat was warm and friendly against a backdrop of over-the-top £58 bar snacks, £2600 Dalmore whisky measures, and anxiety over our footwear choices for dinner.
What are the facilities like at The Berkeley?
Exactly what you’d expect from a five-star London hotel. The spa – Surrenne – has all the aesthetics and offerings of plenty of other luxe outposts we’ve experienced, with a long 22m pool, stacked menu of treatments, ambient uplighting, and pristine gym to help you forget about the world. The Berkeley’s rooftop pool, though, is a standout feature. Blue-and-white striped loungers with blousy shades around a heated pool (and the promise of iced Granita and cooling sprays) will take you to the Med without leaving zone one. I didn’t do it justice during my grey October stay, but it’ll absolutely slap in summer, I’m sure.
What’s the area like around The Berkeley?
Big bucks, baby. My 7.30am wake-up call from the black Ferrari razzing it along the A4 (in perfect harmony with the room’s industrious robo-loo) was a snappy reminder that Knightsbridge was right outside my window. If super-chic boutiques (and sky-high prices) isn’t your thing, then Hyde Park is a hop skip and jump in the opposite direction. And if all else fails you can always wander around the lovely backstreets of Kensington and gawp at the pretty houses. Oh, and don’t miss out on one of London’s best pubs, the Nag’s Head, just (literally) around the corner from the Berkeley.
Why should you book a stay at The Berkeley?
If you want a luxury hotel with a bit of substance to it – a story, a history, a vibe – then you’ll do better elsewhere. Maybe Air Street’s Hotel Café Royal, with its history of literary hedonism. The Berkeley is without doubt an elite choice, but it feels more focused on justifying a hefty price tag with luxury than building a more meaningful experience. And that’s absolutely great if a functional stay in pure finery is what you’re after – you’ll be hard-pressed to find a more five-star hotel elsewhere in the country.