TRAVEL

Great British Escape

A Surrey

Retreat
Henry Hopwood-Phillips escapes to the
country for a foodie stay to remember

ts a cold and rainy day. Im 34 miles from Charing

Cross. Not even zone six stretches out here. And
the distance feels further, because the buildings are
marooned in 123 acres of parkland.
Its necessary to flag the plural (buildings). This is an
assortment. Having passed the England rugby union training
camp that stands in the grounds; an unapologetic (and
unfortunately unforgettable) cuboid, my companion and I
play a game of guessing in which era parts of the hotel were
built. The core is a 19th-century manor house.
This is no cliquey boutique; in fact, its the nearest thing
Ive encountered in Britain to a resort. With eight swimming
pools split between the 45,000sq ft spa and outdoor area,
not to mention a nine-hole golf course beyond, this is a
set-up thats more familiar on the continent than land this
side of la Manche. It all feels slightly surreal and its not easy
to pin down why. Perhaps its the rugby teams presence.
Maybe its the ubiquitous smart-casual men who seem
existentially pitched mid-way between a business trip and
a jolly. It might be the dcor that drunkenly veers between
Tudor resplendence, chic voluptuousness and nondescript
corporate. Whatever the issue, it certainly hasnt stopped the
hotel gaining a celebrity following, including Russell Crowe
and several James Bonds.
The suite is in one of the modern wings. Its red brick
walls contrast awkwardly with the would-be-grand oils

B E L G R AV I A R E S I D E N T S J O U R N A L

that show a muddle of

creepy paintings. Inside,
the curtains are drawn
for a reason the view
is a glum mix of walls
and tiles. The shades of
colour seem to have been
inspired by a motelmeets-boudoir theme that
leaves one feeling cheap
Michael Wignall
and sleazy.
On a lighter note, the bathroom with its walkin shower, stand-alone bath and millions of mod-cons
looks the part. And the spa, in spite of failing to sell me
swimwear for 40 minutes because staff could not access the
safe, deserves its accolades. Although Im not sure I was a
fan of the underwater music which was, at some points,
indistinguishable from nattering dolphins.
Its the Latymer that really redeems the place. Run
by the best chef youve never heard of according to Olive
magazine, Michael Wignall is that unusual creature: a toprank chef with very little media presence. He was almost a
BMX rider in another life, before he decided to train under
the legendary northern chef Paul Heathcote MBE (who was
himself a protg of Raymond Blanc OBE) at Broughton
Park. His arrival at Pennyhill Park in 2007 resulted in five
AA rosettes half a decade later and a second Michelin star
in 2013.
The meal is one of the best of my life. Tasting menus
can be hit and miss, techniques can trump ideas, limp
foams can ruin good food, spherification can homogenise
an otherwise superb dish, but Michael cannot abide such
faffing. Its important not to go over the top with modernity.
I would never compromise combinations of taste and
texture. Backed by Ali Rasouli Nia, a top notch GermanIranian sommelier, on the floor, who pairs our dishes with a
peerless Riesling auslese sweet when young, and when aged
often retaining the same flavours but in a dry manner.
Pennyhill Park Hotel, London Road, Bagshot, Surrey,
GU19 5EU,
01276 486 156
(pennyhillpark.co.uk)

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