The Ritz, London—goodbye old friend

When we first heard that the Barclay brothers had sold the Ritz, we knew a major revamp was imminent. More likely than not, it would end up meeting the same fate as so many of our favorite places in London—stripped of character and sanitized for modern tastes. A grande dame with a facelift.

We understand the commercial rationale for a refurb. The London hotel market is more competitive than ever and catering to the expectations of a luxury clientele means offering the modern, minimalist aesthetic that has come to define the global luxury hotel standard. You know the one: neutral color palette, gleaming white marble, chrome fittings.

Nothing wrong with that. But this is the crux of our turmoil: our soul is inherently baroque.

We believe that civilization is etched into ornamentation. Our favorite epochs in history are those where wealth and optimism converged to produce artifacts of opulence, even ones that were later derided as gaudy.

Aren’t adoration and revulsion just two sides of the same coin?

In our latest collection, we aimed to draw a parallel between fin de siècle decadence and the opulence of the 1980s.

The 1980s stand out as an era that remains deeply underappreciated in our view. It was politically, economically, and culturally significant, especially for the United Kingdom, but it isn't sufficiently ancient for listing regulators to want to safeguard its built legacy, leaving only fragments of that era's existence to endure—like a faded fabric sofa in someone’s basement or the emerald marble countertops in the Ritz's bathrooms.

There is something distinctly 1980s about the interiors of the London Ritz that eludes precise description. It's not immediately evident in the common areas, such as the Rivoli Bar, but it’s there in the overlooked spaces, like its bathrooms and corridors.

Perhaps, beyond the chintz and the mirrored halls, the word we’re grasping for is “patina”—even the most sensitive restoration can never recreate the intoxicating aroma of 40-year-old wool carpeting, or the weathering of Empire armchairs, with cushions that have started to sag just so.

All of this is to say that the Ritz in London intrigues us for a very specific reason: it's a layer cake of dated ostentation—a belle époque base with a 1980s refurbishment on top. Its interiors are heady and familiar, and they evoke a profound yearning for childhood that few places in the world can match.

So, ahead of its £300 million renovation, we dropped by to bid adieu to its current incarnation.

Sundowners at the Rivoli Bar.

The carving of the pressed duck.

Magret course, studded with lavender and other Provençal aromatics, served with a poached apricot tart, radishes, and a side of pommes soufflés. Everything, from the food to the theatrics, was perfectly executed. Beautifully so. Escoffier would be proud.

Wearing a Heron’s Ghyll Teal Blue Linen Nehru Jacket. If you've ever questioned whether a Heron’s Ghyll Nehru Jacket complies with the Ritz Restaurant's strict dress code, we're pleased to affirm that it does.

We love a dress code. Often in fine dining establishments, it's the waitstaff who are the best-dressed. But at the Ritz Restaurant, everyone looked impeccable, from the elegantly attired patrons to the staff in their white gloves and crisp uniforms.

Ordering a cup of mint tea at the end of dinner led to a special mint tea trolley being rolled out with over 20 types of mint plants for us to choose from.

There was also an elaborate, almost Japanese ceremony when it came to steeping the tea that involved pouring hot water over the teapot and placing an hourglass on the table to time it.

The partaking of tea is such a universally revered ritual; why should it be reduced to throwing a handful of leaves into a teapot? Why shouldn’t one have a conversation with a tea master as he delicately snips leaves from your chosen plant right beside your table? In the photo, you can just about see the passion and excitement with which the mint tea maître spoke about tea.

As Kakuzo Okakura eloquently scribed in "The Book of Tea," “Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence.”

Ostentation gets a bad rep, but it can also be seen positively as a display of grandeur, luxury, or opulence intended to delight others. In this context, ostentation celebrates abundance, reflects an appreciation for beauty and extravagance, and offers an experience beyond the ordinary. Ostentation is what happens when we reach for new heights.

Why should interiors soothe when they can awe? Why shouldn't men take as much care in dressing for dinner as they do for their wedding? And why should a post-prandial mint tea be nothing more than an afterthought when it can be an opportunity to delight?