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It is one of life’s pleasures to be able to drive a beautiful Rolls-Royce to a country house hotel. And the pleasure becomes a wonderful treat when one knows one is journeying to an establishment which offers comfort, old-fashioned hospitality and impeccably good taste. Hambleton Hall is such a destination. After a pleasant two-hour trundle northwards on the A1 from London, the Silver Cloud and I purred (yes, indeed – we were both purring) along a shady gravel drive and stopped outside the handsome porch of a Victorian hunting lodge. Above the door, carved in stone, was the legend Fay Ce Que Voudras – Do What You Want. I fancied I saw a smile on the Royce’s imperious face. (Can you see it in the photograph?) There was certainly one on mine.
Hambleton Hall is in Rutland, the tiny county which was wiped off the map by nasty politicians in the 1970s and which thereafter – to general rejoicing – was resurrected. It was built in 1881 by a brewer, Walter Marshall. Later it was owned by Eva Astley Paston Cooper. She liked the company of ‘theatricals’. They did not always repay her hospitality with conspicuous kindness. Noel Coward, a frequent guest, described his hostess thus: “Mrs Cooper was gay company. Her principal pleasure was to lie flat on her back upon a mattress in front of the fire and shoot off witticisms in a sort of petulant wail.” I fancy there has been no wailing since 1979, when the Hall was opened as a luxury hotel by Tim and Stefa Hart. They were determined to create somewhere special (getting in Nina Campbell to do the interiors, for example), and they succeeded in the most triumphant manner. Hambleton is now one of the most famous country house hotels in England. And its reputation is deserved.
I conversed with Mr Hart (pictured, with the Sommelier), and discovered that we share the same Cambridge college. A Jesus man who read Moral Sciences is likely to be charming, intelligent and articulate, and Mr Hart is all three. These qualities, together with his enthusiasm for good wine, make him a near-perfect host.
Upon arrival, my first sight of the Hall had given me a strong sense of déjà vu. I suppose it was the architecture: a rambling confection of stone and red brick, tiling and gables – the sort of Norman Shaw Queen Anne Domestic Revival style which has played a large part in my life. Surely this was a prep school? (Although, had I thought for a moment, I would have realised that no headmaster worth his salt would have permitted that hedonistic motto to remain over the front door.) Once inside, however, all impression of an educational institution has flown away. No prep school I know is full of fine rugs, good oil paintings, plump sofas, sumptuous drapes and crackling log fires. No need to prepare those Latin verbs, then.
I will say a word here about the staff. Everyone I met at Hambleton proved exceptionally friendly and courteous. This spoke well, not only of Mr Hart, but also of his General Manager, Chris Hurst (pictured) and of the Restaurant Director, Graeme Matheson (pictured).
The lady at Reception installed me in the tiny lift and told me that she would run up the stairs to the second floor to meet me as the lift doors opened. I insisted that she share the lift with me, but I do salute such devotion to duty. The beige and red apartment into which she showed me was called The Acorn Room – a ‘superior room’ and therefore £295-£345 a night, bed and breakfast for two, according to season. A little hallway had fitted wardrobes, wherein was a safe. 
The bedroom – its quirky shape dictated by the shape of the roof – was spacious enough for two easy chairs and a bow-fronted Georgian chest of drawers, as well as the usual sleeping arrangements. I liked the thoughtful touches, like the abundant magazines (including Country Life) and the tin of shortbread. In the blue and white bathroom were spotlights, a good-sized tub with a shower over it, a loo, one wash basin, toiletries by Penhaligon and another of those well-chosen extras – a portable wireless by Roberts.
Hambleton is in the middle of hunting country – specifically, that of the Cottesmore. It is also very close to the Belvoir, the Quorn and the Fernie. But my own pleasures are less vigorous. One is looking at the view. From the window of The Acorn Room, I could look across the sloping formal gardens (for once, the epithet ‘immaculate’ is appropriate) and across the fields beyond to Rutland Water. In my youth the creation of this reservoir caused no end of a stink, for it entailed the submersion of a handsome valley. Now it appears a model of placidity. As the sun broke through the clouds, flocks of birds wheeled and swooped over the steel blue surface and there before my eyes was the England for which most of us yearn.
Downstairs was something else for which most of us yearn: beautiful food which tasted as wonderful as it looked. Chef Aaron Patterson (pictured) is a local lad and, as the saying goes, has made good. For his culinary talent means that a Michelin star twinkles over the kitchen at Hambleton Hall. His approach is to take British, often very local, ingredients and to prepare them with the best French technique (with which he is certainly familiar, having worked in such famous kitchens as that of Le Crocodile in Strasbourg). His menu appealed to me enormously. Indeed, I think I could have worked through every single dish with massive enjoyment.
The dining room is as sophisticated and elegant as the rest of the Hall. At dinner I sat next to an oil painting which might well have been a work by Sir Peter Lely, artist to Charles II. Before me was white napery and on the tablecloth stood good glassware by Riedel. On my table, as on each table, was a single candle, burning behind a pieced silver shade. From the kitchen the waitresses in black waistcoats brought to me some very impressive food.
The opening course was superb. The lasagne of morel mushrooms with broad beans and a Grappa sauce presented the paradox which always delights gourmets: the dish which is somehow both delicate and exquisite and yet full of robust, earthy flavours. I scored this ten out of ten. Then came a plate which was nearly as good – the refreshing delicacy of cold poached tails of langoustines, carefully matched with tomato essence and asparagus. And my meat course zoomed back into the gastronomic stratosphere. This fillet of Hambleton beef was so tender and tasty that it was almost outrageous. With potato purée, bone marrow and Béarnaise sauce (the last served in a copper pot), I counted this one of the best main courses I have eaten for many a day. I finished with another lasagne, of rhubarb with English strawberries. (These four courses from the carte were £96.50.)
Sommelier Dominique Baduel from South West France (pictured, with Tim Hart) presides over a list which offers 357 bottles, plus 16 half-bottles and 15 larger bottles. Prices run from £22 for a white Coteaux du Languedoc to £1,100 for 1982 Cheval Blanc and £1,450 for 1990 Musigny (J.F.Mugnier). France dominates the cellar – with 1990 Dom Pérignon (£276), 1985 Mouton Rothschild (£500), 1990 Gruard Larose (£320) and 2005 Grange des Pères (£76); but there are temptations from elsewhere, like 1996 Tignanello from Italy (£281) and 1987 Penfolds Grange from Australia (£322).
My own drinking proved the excellence of this list, for I drank some of the cheapest wines and yet I drank very well indeed. An Argentinian white for just £23 was fruity and refreshing, with pleasing tones of pineapple and lychees (Andeluna Torrontes, Mendoza, 2010), and a Spanish rioja – made in the modern manner, with higher alcohol – was well-balanced, with a hint of residual sweetness and proved an exceptional partner for the beef (Decenio Las Orcas, Crianza Rioja, 2007 - £24).
Breakfast was back in the dining room. I love the breaking of the fast, particularly when – as at Hambleton – the highest culinary standards are maintained. I had enquired at dinner the previous evening about the possibility of some fish, and I was rewarded with a plate of delicate and succulent sea trout with sautéed mushrooms. To this I added, from the buffet, bowls of cereal and fruit salad, and cinnamon buns with raspberry jam, and to my table the waitresses brought pots of coffee, dishes of ice cubes, glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice (and it really was freshly squeezed) and slices of crusty toast. All this I consumed off crockery made by Villeroy & Boch, decorated with flowers and rose hips.
As I packed the Globetrotter in the boot of the Silver Cloud, I was glad to have visited Hambleton Hall. It offers a level of good taste and comfort, combined with truly excellent food and wine, which is found too seldom in our naughty world. This is what the English countryside should be like. We glided up the drive and turned out of the gateway, and I sensed that the Royce agreed with me.
Hambleton, Oakham, Rutland LE15 8TH, England. (3 miles East of Oakham by A606)
Telephone +44 (0)1572 756991
Fax +44 (0)1572 724721
Email: hotel@hambletonhall.com
www.hambletonhall.com
Double rooms from £250-£270, including breakfast (according to season)
Check for special offers
Bookings can also be made via Relais & Chateaux – telephone 00800 2000 0002
www.relaischateaux.com
