THE BRIEFING

THE LATEST NEWS FROM THE WORLD OF LUXURY

Having had its launch date pushed back by eight months, the McLaren Artura will finally begin appearing on the roads this summer. While externally the model may look similar to other supercars produced by the Woking-based manufacturer, beneath its aluminium skin a twin-turbo V6 has been mated with a plug-in electric motor. Welcome to the future of McLaren (p.22).

14 The Yacht A vintage America’s Cup-winning superyacht is up for sale 18The Hotel Paris’ storied Le Meurice welcomes a new head chef 22 The Car On the road with McLaren’s first-ever, series-production hybrid 26 The Design Inside OKU, Ibiza’s new ‘It’ hotel 30 The Restaurant Is Tattu London the capital’s best Chinese restaurant? 32 The Eco Lodge Glamping in the Namibian desert

01

THE YACHT

J Class Rainbow

AHEAD OF THE SALE OF ONE OF ONLY NINE J CLASS SUPERYACHTS IN EXISTENCE, LUXURY LONDON TOOK THE LEGENDARY AMERICA’S CUP RACER FOR A TEST SAIL

Words: Jeremy Taylor

Forget oligarch-owned cruisers with helipads and jet skis, the J Class was the original ‘super’ yacht; a titan of the sea that exists today as a throwback to the golden age of sailing – a time when the cut of your jib was as important as crossing the finishing line first.

J Class boats are considered racing royalty in the yachting world and dominated the America’s Cup during the 1930s. With massive masts and a crew of 30 or more, beautiful vessels like Endeavour II, Shamrock V and Ranger elevated the oldest competition in international sport to new heights.

Owned by billionaire enthusiasts from some of America’s wealthiest families, J boats famously pushed the boundaries of racing technology. Using new materials and innovative design techniques, they were the Formula 1 racing cars of their era.

Remarkably, many of these steel-hulled leviathans were scrapped just a few years later to provide materials for the American war effort. Just three survived, but a second generation of faithful reproductions has now helped to bolster the J fleet to nine yachts.

Among them is Rainbow, launched in 2012 by Dutch shipbuilder Holland Jachtbouw and based on the J Class America’s Cup winner of 1934. Rainbow was built to strict J Class Association performance rules that date back decades. Underneath that 40-metre aluminium hull, however, is a series of modern upgrades.

The modern Rainbow is the first J Class to feature carbon rigging and an innovative, hybrid propulsion and power system, not dissimilar to a hybrid car. The design not only reduces emissions but provides exceptionally quiet cruising, without the usual waft of diesel fumes.

She can also be sailed entirely on lithium-ion batteries, with a lightweight 50kW variable speed generator combining with the 50kW main diesel engine generator to

provide power. The batteries are charged as the boat sails under wind.

Now 10 years old, Rainbow is up for sale, priced at €6.95 million (approx. £6m) by her American owner. She’s also available for weekly charter for around €55,000, if you want to try before you buy. Earlier this summer, Luxury London was invited to Mallorca to discover what makes J boats so sought-after, and why, quite frankly, €6.95 million seems likw something of a bargain.

The marina at Palma was packed with expensive vessels of all shapes and sizes, but it was easy to find Rainbow. A J Class yacht is the seafaring equivalent of a classic Ferrari. Despite which other machines may be parked nearby, all heads will be turned towards it. You could feel the envy seeping from almost every other porthole. Owning a J Class is joining the world’s most exclusive sailing club.

“I’ve sailed all my life, but this is the first boat that requires the crew to actually think about their sailing,” explains skipper, Mathew Sweetman. “There isn’t a control panel with a rash of buttons to work the sails – the foresails are huge and manually operated. There’s no room for error.”

When the chance to join the Rainbow crew arose, Sweetman didn’t think twice: “It is an enthusiast’s dream, designed to race but luxuriously comfortable for guests. I find it exhilarating to feel the surge of power when the sails fill, the dramatic tilt of the yacht when she is under full power. Rainbow is the perfect boat for competitive racing and cruising. She turns heads wherever we go.”

Like the exterior, the living accommodation is classically chic. Masses of mahogany panelling fill the cabin spaces, which include a formal dining area for six people and a large lounging sofa that’s bigger than a double bed.

Rainbow’s aft master-cabin is fully equipped with an even bigger queen-sized bed, shower and bathroom, plus acres of storage space. Black and white photographs of the original Rainbow being launched in 1930 adorn the walls. The only sound is the hum of the air conditioning.

The two guest cabins are relatively small, both containing a pair of single beds, but even the sinks are cut from marble. A seven-strong crew – including the chef and stewardess – have to be experienced sailors to help out on deck when under sail. Even their roomy accommodation is upmarket compared to most modern yachts.

The interior may be a work of craftsmanship but it’s upstairs where Rainbow really sparkles. A vast expanse of teak decking stretches from bow to aft; even the winches and deck equipment have been bead-blasted to avoid the shiny stainless steel seen on most modern yachts. The attention to detail extends all the way to the caulking between the teak planks – light grey instead of conventional white.

As we sail away from Palma, past the city’s great Gothic cathedral and watching holidaymakers, Rainbow’s slim hull starts to keel over in the breeze. It’s a thrilling experience as ropes and mast gently creak under the strain of 20 knots of wind.

Stood at the helm, Rainbow feels comfortable at 13 knots. That’s less than 15mph, but I doubt I’ll ever experience this much pleasure travelling at this speed again. “It’s a yacht you never tire of sailing,” says Sweetman.

“When you’re heading upwind in a decent blow, it’s easy to imagine being at the helm of an America’s Cup boat all those years ago. There’s spray, drama and excitement – Rainbow is simply the ultimate yacht. There really is never a dull moment.”

Rainbow is exclusively for sale through Y.CO for €6.95 million (approx. £6m), y.co/yacht/rainbow

THE STATS

BUILDER

HOLLAND JACHTBOUW

BUILT

2012

LENGTH

39.95 METRES

BEAM

6.47 METRES

DRAFT

4.90 METRES

GUESTS

UP TO 8

HULL

ALUMINIUM

THE ORIGINAL RAINBOW

The first Rainbow J Class was launched in 1930 after just 100 days of construction at the Herreshoff boatyard in New England. She was commissioned by Harold Vanderbilt, the American railway executive with a competitive streak, and was said to have cost $400,000 (or $24 million today).

A champion bridge player, Harold was the great grandson of railroad and shipping tycoon, Cornelius Vanderbilt. Vanderbilt is said to have chosen the name Rainbow as an expression of his hope that America would soon come out of the Great Depression.

Designed by William Starling Burgess, Rainbow was an immediate success on the water, with a hull cut from bronze plates (that didn’t require painting) on an iron frame. Unlike the current Rainbow, there were few comforts down below – the boat was effectively an empty hull to cut down on racing weight.

At the 1934 America’s Cup, Rainbow successfully saw off the British challenge from aviator Sir Thomas Sopwith’s Endeavour by four races to two. However, with war in Europe looming, the 1937 America’s Cup was the last for 21 years and Rainbow, almost inevitably, was scrapped to aid the war effort.

02

THE HOTEL

Le Meurice, Paris

THE STORIED PALACE HOTEL BENEFITS FROM A ROOM UPGRADE AND WELCOMES A NEW EXECUTIVE HEAD CHEF

Words: Rob Crossan

Timing is everything in a truly great hotel. And in Le Meurice, I can tell you that running a full bath takes around 45 seconds. Breakfast, meanwhile, takes over an hour.

That’s exactly as it should be in a Parisian ‘palace hotel’; an official designation ascribed to only 11 of the grandest haunts in the whole of France. At Le Meurice you can, should you require it, demand a terrarium, a terrapin or a Thierry Henry’s Greatest Goals DVD to be delivered to your room in the time it takes to calculate how many dubiously authenticated Salvador Dalí stories relate to the place.

You might have heard some of them. Like when the artist ordered the Le Meurice staff to go out and catch flies in the Tuileries Gardens across the street. He wanted, and received, a jar of crickets for his room as he liked the sound they made when they rubbed their legs together. He hired a mariachi band to stand by his bed and play music to keep him awake.

OK, I made the last one up. But what this should tell you, if you didn’t already know it, was that Salvador Dalí was an appalling human being (quite the most overrated artist of the last century) with his annual, month-long stays at Le Meurice (he booked in for 30 years on the bounce) no doubt preempted by a glut of staff requests for paid leave, unpaid leave, sick leave or any other kind of leave that might get them out of having to wait hand-and-foot on ‘Avida Dollars’ (‘Hungry for Dollars’, as was Dalí’s nickname) and his feckless wife, Gala.

The great artists of today don’t really come to Le Meurice for dinner any more. But their work resides inside; particularly that of Philippe Starck who, on my visit, had left a giant picture frame of ice in the lobby, which guests are encouraged to scrawl on before, school blackboard-style, the ice gets scrubbed over each day.

That’s not the only slightly surreal quirk that Le Meurice boasts. But in the main, this is a place that manifests the Paris of a potentate’s fantasies or oligarch’s dry humps. A CocaCola from room service costs €11.

Personally, I love Le Maurice. Chiefly because the hotel continues, despite all I’ve said, to attract a decent number of actual living Parisians who pop by daily; something you can’t really say for other palace hotels such as the Four Seasons George V or Shangri-La Paris.

Firstly, a visit to the 228 Bar, with its high ceiling, dark woods, enormous Lavalley fresco of Le Fontainebleau and still-intact air of indiscretion and sexiness. It’s a lifeaffirming confirmation of just how good everybody’s lower halves are in Paris, men and women alike. Males seem to know just how to get their denim and cotton to fit so that their derrieres look like two Christmas hams jostling for supremacy. While women of advanced ages display pins that are as shapely as they were when, no doubt, Serge Gainsbourg leered at them on a St. Tropez beach in 1971. Suddenly I feel far, far away from Britain where our legs, by comparison, look like stair bannisters covered in choux pastry.

Alain Ducasse had been overseeing the food at Le Maurice for many a year but in 2021 his protégé Amaury Bouhours was named as the new executive head chef. You can choose from taking the uber-gourmand option in the Louis XIV-styled dining room, or the frankly less oppressive atmosphere of Le Dalí next door, which manages to make its huge space feel rather cosy thanks to sepulchral lighting, a jazz duo playing just quietly enough and a scattering of local Parisian characters who, wonderfully, still treat the place like we’d treat a branch of Upper Crust, i.e. with informality and slight disdain.

It is while dining at Le Dalí that I watch a man with bramble-bush hair the colour of Ardennes mud, wearing a Great War trench coat stamp into the room, plump up his multi-coloured polka dot scarf and drain a Ricard whilst scowling at an André Gide paperback.

The menu at Le Dalí loves to tell you exactly which part of France your dish is from. Not so much a love letter to Paris as a group circular for the entire country. It’s one of those menus that looks simple but must have been agonising to create.

I wanted to order the entire card but settled for oysters from Kermancy (as saline and creamy as a mermaid’s ear lobe), trout from Banca in the Pyrenees and scallops from Normandy, which came with a nipped-and-tucked dressing of lovage and celeriac. The rooms, many of which were refurbished last year, are borderline preposterous in their views, which all face directly out onto the Tuileries and beyond to the Eiffel Tower. My Executive Suite was a breathy, utterly-unstuffy haven that felt like a cherished, little-exposed-side-room in the Palace of Versailles.

Brass plug sockets, acres of Arabescato marble in the bathrooms, Missoni-style chairs, blackout shutters, wallpaper shades of the deftest, sunniest, duck-egg blue and, best of all, a shower that is uniquely and absolutely free of dials. A simple button is all that is displayed. Press it and instant, perfect-temperature water explodes from the ceiling. A small thing, but how many hours of our lives have been wasted fiddling with shower dials in hotels?

The only disappointment was the mini-bar. Surely some exquisite Parisian macaroons or fromages would be more appropriate than the mini-jar of Pringles I stare at in bafflement? If guests really, really, really want Pringles then you’d think they could call down and ask for them, knowing that their request will be received with faultless diplomacy by the staff, no less efficient and eager to please than if they’d been asked to order a taxi to the house of Henri Cartier-Bresson.

It’s only as I reluctantly check out that I notice Zoulikha Bouabdellah’s contemporary sculpture, The Kiss, in the lobby. Two twisting, cavorting, melding Roman columns, the six-foot-high piece seems to suggest that even the coldest and sternest of antiquities needs comforting or, at least, something to rub up against now and again.

Perhaps that’s why the locals of the Rue de Rivoli keep coming here. Because this hotel, much as it attracts moguls and megastars, is also part of the community. You could never call Le Meurice an old friend; that would be far too familiar. But it’s a distant relative that you can’t wait to see again. Especially now that idiot Salvador isn’t around to bring flies into the place.

Doubles from £672, dorchestercollection.com; Eurostar Business Premier runs from London St. Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord with in-service dining created by Raymond Blanc OBE. Returns in Business Premier from £490, eurostar.com

03

THE CAR

McLaren Artura

ON THE ROAD WITH MCLAREN’S FIRST-EVER SERIES-PRODUCED HYBRID

Words: Jeremy Taylor

It may be remembered as the Curse of Artura. McLaren’s stunning new supercar is loaded with so much fresh technology that its launch has already been blighted with delays.

The Woking brand’s long-awaited hybrid was set to be launched in Spain in October 2021, only for a software fault to halt proceedings days before the first media drives were scheduled to begin.

Eight months on, waiting to experience the car on track at the famous Ascari circuit in Andalusia, a component failure caused the sort of PR fluster normally reserved for a Cabinet reshuffle. McLaren’s first-ever series-production hybrid has got off to an awkward start.

Whatever the problem – it wasn’t revealed – McLaren’s team worked through the night to rectify it. Two cars were fixed in time but it’s hardly an auspicious beginning for a ground-breaking model that marks a new era for the company.

The Artura may look like, well, every other McLaren, but what makes this car different is what lies underneath that svelte, aluminium exterior. Replacing the entry-level Sport Series range, the Artura reveals for the first time how McLaren will build for an electrified future.

Gone is the company’s outstanding twin-turbo V8, replaced by an all-new, 2,993cc twin-turbo V6 that revs to 8,500rpm. The M630 has been developed with Daniel Ricciardo and is set at a 120-degree V-angle, with the turbos mounted in the middle. The compact, ‘hot-V’ unit saves space and helps trim weight by more than 50 kilos. And in this particular McLaren, weight is an important issue, for the new hybrid system and battery pile on the pounds.

Apart from the aluminium bodywork, the car features countless weight-saving features, including lightweight glass and a carbon-fibre windscreen surround. Even the hinges on the dihedral door have been put on an enforced diet.

Artura’s electric motor is mounted in the housing of the eight-speed gearbox, rather than the rear axle, helping

to drive the wheels through an electronically-controlled limited-slip differential. Interestingly, there is no mechanical reverse gear – the e-motor provides backward motion.

Together, motor and engine produce 531 lb ft of torque and 671bhp: 571bhp from the V6 and the rest from the e-motor. They help the Artura fly from 0-62mph in three seconds, onto a track-only maximum of 205mph.

Such heady output is still some way below McLaren’s original hybrid; the P1 debuted in 2012 and produced 903bhp. Built in limited numbers, the P1 came with a price tag of £866,000. Today, it’s worth in excess of £1.5 million.

The Artura’s bodywork and powertrain also sit on an all-new chassis. The next generation carbon-fibre structure is called MCLA and built in-house in Sheffield. It’s six kilos lighter than previous, yet manages to incorporate the battery housing and extra fixings, too.

Despite this, Artura is still 50kg heavier than a McLaren 570S. However, considering the hybrid systems add 140kg, designers have done an incredible job keeping the overall weight trimmed to 1,498kg.

Among the other McLaren firsts in Artura is driver assistance – including the annoying lane departure warning system required in every car. Thankfully, the melodic warning note won’t send you careering off the road in rage. If you can’t keep between the white lines, you probably shouldn’t be driving a car. Over-the-air software updates mean there’s also less need to visit a McLaren service centre.

Driving along hairpin mountain roads north of Malaga, it’s impossible to detect any of Artura’s weight gain. The e-motor provides instant torque, catapulting the car forward with an astonishing throttle response.

The benefits of an electric motor in this instance aren’t aimed at improving economy, or saving the planet. Officially, this is the most efficient McLaren ever, returning up to 61mpg. That’s nonsense in the real world – but the 19-mile electric-only range does have side benefits.

For example, you can now start a supercar silently in the morning, without waking the neighbours. And while some poseurs like to shout with their twin exhausts, I promise there’s nothing cooler than silently gliding through a sleepy village square powered by a battery pack.

There’s no doubting the car’s performance stats, but apart from missing the aural drama of a McLaren V8, the Artura also feels strangely sanitised. As was the case when I drove the all-electric Pininfarina Battista – the fastest car ever produced – I found the whole experience slightly removed.

Artura’s hydraulically-assisted steering isn’t new but feedback to the driver is exceptional. McLaren’s Proactive Damping Control system has also been lightened and updated to boost handling.

Keeping the rear-wheel drive Artura on the road are Pirelli’s all-new P-Zero Cyber Tyres. As the name suggests, the four tyres feature a chip that ‘talk’ to the car’s electronic systems and generate real-time data. This is far more advanced than a tyre pressure monitoring system, offering temperature and other information to maximise performance.

While I doubt anybody would have time to clock a tyre temperature readout hurtling around the Ascari track, Pirelli rubber offers exceptional grip, especially when combined with the stopping power of Artura’s standard, carbon-ceramic brakes.

Inside, McLaren promises a completely new interior but, again, it’s spot the difference. The instrument binnacle now moves with steering column adjustment for a clearer view of the numbers, while the drive mode control sits atop the binnacle. Unfortunately, some of the plastic materials are less than premium.

The driver can choose from four powertrain modes, including E-mode for that silent driving experience. Separate handling mode options are also accessible without taking a hand off the steering wheel – the ride height adjustment for speed bumps is slightly hidden underneath the dash.

An all-new infotainment screen is light years ahead of what you will find in other McLarens. The Achilles’ heel of past models, this is finally a system worthy of the car, easy to operate one-handed and very intuitive. Remarkably, Artura is also the first McLaren to feature Apple CarPlay, which finally puts it on a par with other stellar vehicles, such as the Dacia Jogger (if you know, you know).

McLaren spokesman, Phil Mockford, added: “From the very beginning of the project, designing and engineering the Artura has been all about challenging ourselves to innovate; pushing and pushing to achieve. The result is the all-new carbon-fibre monocoque, electrical architecture and interior. New, too, is the V6 engine, while the transmission also integrates a new type of electric motor for the industry.”

Potential buyers will be pleased to know that the car comes with a five-year vehicle warranty, a six-year battery warranty and 10-year corrosion warranty. But, with prices starting at £189,200, and climbing to well in excess of £200,000 with options, you’d hope not to have to claim any of those warranties.

First deliveries of the Artura are due in July 2022, from £189,200, mclaren.com

THE STATS

ENGINE

3.0L V6 (2,993CC)

TORQUE

720NM

POWER

680PS

MAX RPM

8,500

TOP SPEED

205MPH

0-62MPH

3.0 SECONDS

04

THE DESIGN

OKU, Ibiza

THE FIRST FIVE-STAR HOTEL IN IBIZA’S SAN ANTONIO IS PAINTING THE NOTORIOUS PARTY RESORT IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT

Words: Richard Brown

You can’t help thinking that Thomas Cook was onto a winner. No, really. Back in 2016, three years before everything went belly up, the tour operator launched something called Casa Cook. The concept was simple. The world had changed and young people no longer wanted to stay in the kind of whitewashed identikit hotels their parents picked out from laminated travel brochures. Casa Cook was a collection of properties – in Rhodes, Crete and Spain – with polishedconcrete floors and hessian artwork hanging from the walls; design-led hotels for people that drank flat whites and didn’t balk at the cost of avocados.

And, unlike Thomas Cook’s planes after September 2019, it should have taken off. Ba dum tuss. Social media was booting off. Career Instagrammers were about to become a thing. People wanted to stay in places with resident Pilates instructors that looked a little bit Scandi and a little bit Japanese (the hotels, not the Pilates instructors) and if they could get a picture of themselves eating sushi somewhere near an infinity pool, then bingo bongo. #Blessed #BestLife #Etc #Etc.

Alas. While Casa Cook was reading the metaphorical room – and installing reams and reams of rattan in its actual, physical rooms – the rest of the Thomas Cook Group was focused on the project of heaping up debt.

Following a soft launch in July 2019, Casa Cook’s fifth outpost opened in San Antonio, Ibiza. Two months later, its parent company went into compulsory liquidation. Shucks.

And then Christmas. And then Covid-19. And then a buyout from an investment company called Westfort Capital (previously Thomas Cook Hotel Investments Limited, a little digging on Companies House reveals), which purchased two Casa Cook properties – the one in Ibiza and another in Kos – and to April 2021 and the opening of OKU Ibiza.

Not that you should think of OKU simply as a change in the name above the door – I just wanted to explain how we got here. Casa Cook Ibiza was only half finished when it half opened in 2019. Local architects MG&AG studio had artfully re-rendered an existing building in smooth concrete and cedar-wood latticing. The rest of the project, including a six-storey new-build where breakfast is now served, was constructed in the winter of 2020. Say what you will about Spanish builders, but they got the job done in just two months. OKU, for all intents and purposes, is a brand new hotel. And it hit the ground running.

With 189 new-agey rooms, two design-led restaurants (both headed up by an executive chef from SushiSamba), two bars (one for booze; one for juice), two pools (one, at 50 metres long, the largest in Ibiza; the second for kids, although we didn’t see any), a rooftop yoga studio, and a gym equipped with the sort of fitness equipment sold in The Conran Shop (get this: people were actually using it, on holiday. Mental), OKU is San Antonio – Ibiza’s answer to Magaluf and Ayia Napa, for the uninitiated – but not as you know it (or don’t).

Just how different is OKU from the other hotels in San Antonio? OKU has cubist portraits by LA-based artist Steve Tepas hanging on its bedroom walls. You can buy the artwork as a keepsake. The portrait in our room cost €9,000. But the damn thing wouldn’t fit in the suitcase.

In Japanese culture, ‘Oku’, roughly translated, means ‘deep inner space’. So, soothing stone, calming wood, lots of wicker and a colour scheme heavily into brown, green and grey. You’ll have been to similar spaces before. Indeed, you could be anywhere, really. Croatia, Greece, Fiji, Hawaii, Bali, Costa Rica. Nothing particularly shouts to the fact you’re in Spain, or Ibiza specifically. Though it’s a fact you get over pretty quickly.

It’s obvious to whom OKU is aimed. See the bit about flat whites and avocados. It’s heavily engineered, like anywhere that aims for that Insta-friendly Japanese-Scandinavian kinda look; Wabi-sabi is a paradox, right? But not in a lazy, purelyfor-the-’gram sort of way. Props to the people behind it, you can tell that OKU actually gives a crap.

You can hear it in the birdsong that plays in the lifts. Smell it the Le Labo shampoo in the showers. See it in the Bird of Paradise plants between the sun loungers (how utterly incredible are those plants, by the way?). OKU has character. OKU is cool. OKU has, and I hate this word more than you, trust me, ‘vibe’. (Apologies, we won’t use it again.)

The hotel’s dark-and-moody main restaurant is something straight out of Berkeley Square. It’s the work of Woodfever interiors; the design outfit behind that impressive glass wine cellar in Shangri-La The Shard, if you’ve ever seen it. It serves the sort of Japanese-Asian-Peruvian fusion food that’s been the bedrock of London’s fine dining scene for the past decadeand-a-half. If you’re a fan of Zuma, Nobu, Roka, et al, you’ll already know your way around the menu. Sashimi, nigiri, tempura, Black Cod, Wagyu beef – you know the drill (revert back to the bit about how you could be anywhere, really).

Breakfast is further evidence of how seriously OKU is taking the F&B side of things. Served in an Inca-style, indoorout dining area, the buffet covers everything from nuts and fruits, to meats and cheeses, to home-made carrot cake and honey served straight from the honeycomb. A made-to-order bar serves eggs however you want them. Even the coffee tastes like it’s been roasted from beans that have passed through the backside of a palm civet.

What’s the crowd like? Young, ish, for a five-star hotel. Then, we are in Ibiza. Mostly couples in their thirties, former rave kids, maybe, grown up, married, on one last mad-one before the babies arrive (note: OKU never properly kicked off when we were there, the in-house DJ sticking to a sweet spot somewhere between anthemic EDM and anesthetising deep house).

Next to me, a fella spent half an hour trying to nail a selfie in his new Aimé Leon Dore bucket hat (make sure you get that ‘NY’ logo in, mate. Oh, you have, good lad, as you were). Around the pool you can play a game of count the Submariners (Rolexes, I mean. We didn’t notice anyone in wetsuits. Although I’m sure the concierge can help you organise that sort of thing). Plenty of Germans. Some French. Not too many English, result, and people reading actual books, not just doom scrolling. (Really? On holiday? Have a day off).

OKU is Ibiza for grown-ups. For older boys and older girls who still Just Want To Have Fun – only while staying some place they can get a fresh-pressed juice after their free rooftop yoga session. Now, let’s all inhale the future, and exhale the passsttttttt…

From approx. £312 pn on a B&B basis, okuhotels.com

05

THE RESTAURANT

Tattu London, Denmark Street

THE NEW, EXPERIENCE-LED RESTAURANT ELEVATING CHINESE FUSION FOOD TO AN ART FORM

Words: Anna Solomon

Food and theatre. Yes or no? The debate continues to divide critics. Should food speak for itself? Are cloches of dry ice just smokescreens (see what I did there?) to distract from mediocre dishes? Should we simply consign ourselves to eating our meat and vegetables and ruminating upon the quality of the broiling, baking and braising? Forgive me, but, yawnnn. Of course, there will always be a place for white tablecloths but, seriously, what’s life without a little fun?

If Tattu, the high-end Chinese restaurant newly-opened on Denmark Street, is one thing, it’s fun, which seems to rub some people up the wrong way. One particular food critic, with typically food-critic hauteur, dubbed it ‘somewhere the Kardashians would enjoy’. Well, Mrs-I’m-above-havingcandyfloss-in-my-cocktail, maybe the Kardashians would enjoy Tattu because it’s a rollicking good time. And would that, by which I mean having fun in a restaurant, be the worst thing in the world?

Tattu is housed on the sixth floor of the Outernet building, a new music venue, office space and hotel, which perhaps acts as a sign of what is to come for the historically shabby area that surrounds Tottenham Court Road station. To access Tattu you take a lift, which opens into a bar area.

To the sound of ‘lounge house’ beats (I didn’t identify the genre, the much-cooler-than-me maître d’, Yiannis, did) and looking over a part of town that’s increasingly Blade Runner-esque, we sampled some cocktails. The Peep Show Royale (champagne, mango and passion fruit) tasted like a melted fruit sorbet; the Maohattan (Sazerac Rye, Vermouth and oolong) was poured, consommé-like, from a glass teapot. Lots of people seemed to be ordering the Skull Candy, which comes in a smoking cranium-shaped glass, and gave me the first inkling of Tattu’s flair for the dramatic.

The concept of Tattu, as Yiannis explained, is that each area of the restaurant is protected by a traditional Chinese animal – koi, phoenix, tiger and dragon – with corresponding décor. Overhead, there’s a huge cherry-blossom installation (great Instagram fodder); elsewhere, pagoda-style beams, blue-and-white porcelain, and Chinese hanging lamps all contrast with lots of shiny marble.

The food, like the décor, is very fusion, taking the best of China and Japan and throwing in European notes like coriander and aioli. It comes out when it’s ready, but we follow a loose chronology of dim sum, small plates and large plates.

Dim sum: we went for the wagyu ribeye dumpling and the Ibérico pulled pork wor tip. The former is beetroot red, reminiscent of a red velvet cupcake, which actually signals chilli heat; the latter plumpy packages of flavour garnished with coleslaw, chilli oil and five-spice black vinegar.

Next we tried sugary-salty crispy squid – exceptionally aromatic and beautifully presented, too, topped with green chilli, pomegranate and mint. The black cod croquettes, meanwhile, cracked under the teeth, as croquettes should, to release delicate seaside flavours.

The char siu honey-glazed monkfish was delicious; medallions of fish drizzled with a caramel orange sauce. The wok-fired ‘angry bird’ – a plate of bright-red chicken, flavoured with roasted chilli peppers, cashews and sesame honey soy – is also a must. The richness of the food was tempered by a mineral-tasting Bodega Colomé from Torrontés, Argentina, paired by Tattu’s masterly in-house sommelier.

By this point, you’ll be stuffed. But take my advice and find room for dessert. It’s delightful, especially the miniature cherry blossom tree of candy floss and filigree chocolate, which ‘grows’ out of a chocolate soil and is served on dry ice that billows onto the table in mesmerising wreaths. We were also brought a fishbowl of panna cotta under a layer of aquamarine jelly on which swam moulded milk chocolate koi – an absolute work of art.

To call Tattu Kardashian-grade, which implies superficiality, is click-baity and unsubstantiated. There’s serious substance behind the style, plus, the whole thing is a rip-roaring experience. Give me edible flowers and chocolate fish any day of the week. The more gels and foams and smoke the better!

The Now Building Rooftop, Outernet, WC2H 0LA, tattu.co.uk

06

THE ECO-RESORT

Zannier Hotels Sonop

A SOLAR-POWERED COLLECTION OF CANVAS SUITES IN THE NAMIB DESERT TAKES ‘GLAMPING’ TO A NEW LEVEL

Words: Anna Solomon

When Angelina Jolie visited the Zannier Hotel in Cambodia, she urged the owner, Arnaud Zannier (of the vineyard-owning family), to visit Namibia. He did, and decided to open a hotel there.

Namibia is one of the driest and least-populated countries on Earth. An odd choice, you might think, for the next hotel for the French entrepreneur. But he was so taken with Namibia’s landscape – haunting in its arid beauty – that he opened Zannier Sonop bang in the middle of the Namib desert.

Here, hazy escarpments zigzag on the horizon, and the plains shift from sepia yellow to burnt umber depending on the sun’s position in the sky. They’re studded with heaps of granite boulders, and it is on, or in, one of these agglomerations that Zannier Sonop resides. Powered entirely by solar panels, ten one- and two-bedroom tented suites lean into a colonial 1920s theme. Each features a private terrace, which comes in useful at night, when the sky becomes a canvas of distant milky ways – you haven’t seen stars until you’ve seen them above one of the most sparsely-inhabited deserts on Earth.

You are miles away from civilization here – Zannier Sonop is reached by Land Rover or bush plane – but this is in no way limiting. Guided excursions include horse-riding, electric fat biking, walking trails, hot air balloon safaris, and sunrise or sunset excursions. Downtime consists of vegging out by the infinity pool, admiring the view as oryx and springbok saunter past. Everything comes back to that landscape – an almost Martian vista of red dunes and contorted camel thorn trees, jarringly beautiful in its inhospitality.

zannierhotels.com

- CONCIERGE -

HELPING YOU LIVE AN EXTRAORDINARY LIFE

ENQUIRE NOW

CONCIERGE.LUXURYLONDON.CO.UK 020 7636 4385

FOOD CRITIC FAVOURITE CHRIS DENNEY HAS OPENED FIEND IN PORTOBELLO, WHERE HE’S LETTING THE INGREDIENTS DO THE TALKING

BETTER THE

DEVIL YOU KNOW

Fi iend (noun): an evil spirit or demon. As the name of a restaurant, it doesn’t inspire optimism. The same goes for the adjectives ‘mercurial’ and ‘disruptive’, which have been used to describe Fiend’s CEO and Executive Chef, Chris Denney (the man behind Notting Hill’s 108 Garage), who co-founded his latest venture with partners Brian Jamieson and Rishabh Vir.

Go sniffing for clues on Fiend’s menu and things get even more nebulous. There’s barely any descriptors – no sautéed this or confit that – as though it’s not even trying to sound appealing. Dishes are to-the-point: ‘cucumber, dill, kalamansi’; ‘carrot, liquorice, coriander’; or simply ‘jerk cod’. Some read almost as a challenge: ‘lamb heart agnolotti, kohlrabi, mustard dashi’ or ‘celeriac, mushroom, pistachio granola, hollandaise’. It’s a menu that knows it’s being subversive; taking ingredients out of their usual context and daring you to make sense of it all.

Accept the challenge and you won’t be greeted by white tablecloths and silver service, but rather black walls decorated with slightly unnerving art. The location is fitting: Fiend sits on the idiosyncratic Portobello Road.

What you will also find is that all of the mystique surrounding Denney’s venture is backed up by genuinely incredible food. The menu, which may sound hare-brained on reading, falls into place like the pieces of a puzzle on eating. That lamb heart agnolotti? A fragrant bowl of offal and pasta broth. The celeriac? Deliciously salt-baked and irresistibly moreish with the nutty granola. The cucumber thing is a sorbet – the perfect palette cleanser. Along with the bells and whistles (caviar, tartar relish, dandelion), there’s also plenty of meaty substance – sea trout, veal sweetbread, wagyu short rib, and more.

Everything is prepared in the open kitchen in view of diners; Fiend is keen to make this not just a restaurant, but an experience. There are two bars and, as the evening wears on and the dark restaurant gets even darker, the energy ratchets up a notch, or three.

‘Fiend’ can also mean ‘an enthusiast or devotee of a particular thing’ and – judging by the meticulous, almost obsessive quality and creativity of the food here – expect the nation’s most esteemed restaurant critics to once again be reaching for the superlatives.

301 Portobello Rd, W10 5TD, fiend-portobello.com