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ENGLAND SUFFOLK IPSWICH HINTLESHAM HALL
Hintlesham Hall is, unsurprisingly, in Hintlesham, a village which is just far enough from Ipswich to preserve a real sense of being in the countryside proper. It is a quintessential English manor house, a happy medley of architectural features from the Tudor, Elizabethan, Stuart and Georgian periods. As you can see from the photographs, the Classical proportions of the main façade made an harmonious backdrop for my motor car. It has 33 rooms, some in the main house and some in the converted stable block. Within the estate’s 175 acres are a health and beauty centre and a golf course. Its owner and Managing Director, since 2003, has been Dee Ludlow. I am happy to report that she has maintained and enhanced the lovely sense of welcome for which Hintlesham is justifiably renowned. Within the beige bathroom was another large window (which really ought to have had a net curtain, so that daytime privacy could be preserved without using the main blind), one wash basin, a loo, a tub of generous length and a separate shower. At breakfast I found that The Saloon looked as good in the day as it had done in the evening. I tucked in heartily to my Corn Flakes and (very good) fresh fruit salad, secured from the buffet table, and my mushrooms on toast and crisp bacon, brought from the kitchen by the waiters. They also kept me well supplied with cafetières of coffee and my customary, concluding cappuccinos. This was a good way to start the day. And, later, what better way to celebrate the middle of the Lord’s Day than with an old-fashioned Sunday Lunch back in The Saloon? Smoked chicken with grain mustard, lovely roast rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding and super white chocolate and spearmint délice with dark chocolate sorbet (£28.50) – just what I needed. After lunch, I climbed into the Silver Cloud, turned the key, pulled the lever to engage the automatic gearbox and began the journey homewards, this time avoiding the nasty A12. Man and motor car had been to Hintlesham Hall. The Royce was happy. And so was I.
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ADDRESSES HINTLESHAM HALL
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© Francis Bown 2003
If the Royce is happy, so am I. The old dear likes being cosseted and has impeccable taste. If she turns into a drive and starts to purr, I can be fairly confident that the establishment which is about to provide hospitality for the two of us has something special to offer. I confess that I do not always choose the best roads on which to take her. I should have gone up the M11 motorway and then cut across towards Ipswich on the pretty and enjoyable roads. Instead, I made the Silver Cloud endure two hours on the ghastly A12, a mixture of road works, traffic lights and suburban housing, which tried my patience to its limits. Still, Rolls-Royces are made of stern stuff. Even after this miserable trek, a smile lit up the radiator under the Spirit of Ecstasy – as soon as we glided through the gates and past the sign with the legend, ‘Hintlesham Hall’.
This is not one of those establishments which import the City into the Country. Hintlesham Hall has a ‘lived in’ air, and it was not difficult for me, at various moments during my visit, to imagine that I was staying at a private house rather than at an hotel. The furnishings of my bedroom reinforced this impression. I was staying in ‘Regalia’ on the first floor of the main building. This is a ‘large principal double room’, and therefore £285 a night, bed and breakfast for two. Its size – about 18 feet by 20 feet – certainly justified the official epithet. The door from the corridor took me straight into this near-square chamber with a high ceiling. Through its three casement windows lots of natural light shone on the cream walls, the large fireplace, the turquoise carpet, the two easy chairs and the free-standing mahogany wardrobe. The small pieces of Georgian furniture looked right, but the tapestry picture above the mantel shelf of the chateau at Chambord, in the Loire Valley, make me blink a little at first sight.
I had arrived at four o’clock, in time for the afternoon ritual. I made my way downstairs, through the sitting rooms (the hotel has several, all generously stocked with comfortable sofas and gilt-framed paintings) and out onto the garden terrace, to be greeted by that sound which cheers the heart of every Englishman – the tinkle of silver spoons stirring tea in porcelain cups. Soon I was settled in a wrought iron chair, a white linen tablecloth had been spread before me and I began to tuck into ham, smoked salmon and chicken sandwiches, strawberry tartlets, chocolate éclairs and scones with raspberry jam. (The set tea is £15 per person.) The branches of an ancient yew tree stirred in the gentle breeze and the shadow of a Jacobean chimney inched its way across the mown lawn. This was a lovely place to be on a summer’s afternoon. 
My next eating was done in The Saloon (pictured). I sat at table number three, next to the fireplace, and admired the proportions of this impressive chamber. It was a fine setting for dinner. Here was more white napery. The good glassware was without a name. I asked for the huge chandelier to be dimmed, and thereafter – with the single candles on each table lit – the atmosphere was both formal and relaxed, as it should be in a dining room. I looked around and thought that I was in as respectable a gathering of diners as I had encountered in many a year. They probably would never have dreamt of breaking the hotel rule against mobile telephones in the restaurant, but I was glad that the prohibition was in place. It should be enforced everywhere. The service – from the Head Waiter, Christophe, from Limoges, and from the other waiters in dark suits or black waistcoats (my waiter was a local chap, called Richard) – was correct and friendly.
Chef Alan Ford cooks with confidence and skill. This is not the land of Michelin stars, but it is the land of honest, enjoyable, straightforward food marked by clear flavours and careful presentation. I began with caramelized scallops, with broad bean purée and rape seed oil emulsion – a well-conceived and decently done dish. Next came a meaty ham hock, leek and pimento terrine, accompanied to good effect by creamed cauliflower. My meat course was really tasty chump of lamb, with peas and some perfectly boiled new potatoes. And the best came last – a splendid vanilla soufflé, with cherry sauce. (These four courses were £60, including a £3 supplement for the soufflé. The three course weekend à la carte dinner menu is £45.)
Prices on the 350-bin wine list are friendly, ranging from £19.50 for a 2005 Côte de Blaye to £450 for 2000 Cristal rosé champagne. Krug Grande Cuvée is £123 and 1998 Yquem is £245. You need to have your wits about you, however, when you are choosing the older clarets. If I were spending £390, I would be much happier with the 1986 Latour than with the 1983 Talbot. The list circumnavigates the world, so I went for a German dry riesling and a Chilean carmenère. The 2007 Riesling Kabinett, Klusserather St Michael, was soft and smooth, with some sherbet but no petrol, and alcohol of just 9% (£19.50). The 2007 Chilean, Papel Valley, Carmen, was in a higher division, full of ripe plums and blackcurrants and utterly delicious (£24.50). Incidentally, if you like a bit of drama when you open your champagne bottles, the hotel has ‘Sabrage Evenings’, at which you can learn the noble art of de-corking your bubbly with a sabre. (Ask for details.)