FORTY YEARS ON, AND CENTURIES IN THE MAKING, A QUIRKY MANOR-HOUSE HOTEL AND RESTAURANT REMAIN AT THE AVANT-GARDE OF FARM-TO-TABLE COOKING.
Great Milton, England
Gravel crunches beneath the tires of a vintage Rolls-Royce as it glides up the driveway of Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons, the 15th-century manor house turned 32-room hotel and flagship restaurant of the renowned French-chef-turned-Englishman Raymond Blanc. Moments later, a British couple in their golden years strolls into the lounge and settles onto a fluffy, feather- stuffed sofa within earshot of where I'm enjoying a glass of Lillet. They've just driven in from London, I hear, and they are ready for a drink after the nearly two-hour journey to the Oxfordshire countryside. The lovebirds' frisky flirtations belie a lifetime of wrinkles and the lack of urgency in their gaits.
"Can you believe the lavender?" she whispers, pointing out the window to where a riot of purple bushes threatens to overtake the sidewalk, and then across the room to a vase packed with a chaotic spray of freshly cut flowers. "Doesn't it smell lovely?"
A server approaches: "Is this your first time joining us?
"Oh, no," the woman says, suppressing a giggle. "I was here 29 years ago, on this exact day, but with a different husband. A lot has changed, I suppose."
"I suppose a lot has changed here, as well," the server replies. "May I bring Champagne?"
"Veuve Clicquot," the new husband chimes in.
Although they call it "the lounge," the pair of drawing rooms on the main floor of the manor house is much more than that. It's a bar, of course, and the hotel's de facto lobby. It is the social epicenter: a place of transition in which to reacclimate after a frenzied drive, a meeting point before donning aprons for a cooking class. And when you schedule a tour of the orchards, the gardeners will collect you from here. Most importantly, however, the lounge serves as an extension of Blanc's renowned restaurant, which shares its name with the hotel. They are one and the same - and when dining here, you will be expected in the lounge no less than 30 minutes, preferably 45, before your actual seating. This isn't the city. No one goes straight to a table, even if you're running 30 minutes late. Slow down. Take a breath. "What would you like to drink?"
I'm told it happens occasionally. Still, I cannot fathom anyone visiting the manor overnight without intending to dine. Even so, staying here involves much more than simply eating and drinking. It's about what Blanc calls "living in the seasons." He wants everyone to properly commune with nature, to immerse themselves in time and place - even if that means, at the very least, taking a pre- or post-dinner stroll around the lushly landscaped gardens and ancient ponds. During my summer visit, lavender and magnolia blossoms perfume every inch of the estate. Come fall, the air inside and out should be redolent of pear blossoms, mulled wine, baked apples and, before long, the comforting incense of woodburning fireplaces.
While the restaurant and lounge constitute the beating heart of this hotel, the gardens are its lifeblood. Since opening in 1984, Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons has defined the modern garden-to-plate movement. Blanc grew up in France, but he has lived and worked in Britain for most of his adult life. As a chef, he is entirely self-taught - driven, he says, by childhood memories of his mother's home cooking and the ease and joy with which she bounced between her kitchen and the family garden. The estate occupies 27 acres, much of it farmed and harvested year-round - 250 different organic vegetables and herbs, 70 varieties of apples, 40 types of pears, most with their own micro seasons - and all of it destined for the table (plus the local community).
"What are you picking?" I ask a young chef crouched over low- slung weeds in the herb garden. Before she can reply, I smell the answer. "Lemon verbena," she confirms, "for tonight's sorbet."
Restaurant reservations open to the general public three months in advance, but hotel guests are always guaranteed a table for dinner. Don't stress it. Just secure the room first. Each of the hotel's uniquely named and designed rooms is bookable by its specific name rather than a vague category. Certain spaces, like the gorgeous Blanc de Blanc or L'Orangerie terrace suites, get gobbled up months in advance. My old-fashioned metal key opens the door to the Lemongrass suite, perched atop what used to be the horse stables, with vaulted ceilings and window boxes. Beautiful morning light bounces off rich green silks, Oriental patterns and Buddhist iconography, inspired by Blanc's travels to Southeast Asia. I would have preferred something more British, or even French - time and place, after all - but options were limited on the last-minute, very rigid dates of my journey. And when a fog rolls in and a chill settles across the estate, I relish the exclusivity of having the only bathroom in the hotel with its own steam room, not to mention a fish tank - "Oh, hey, Wanda!" - built into the wall between the bedroom and bathroom.
As expected, dinner in the restaurant proves sublime: eight courses paired with wines, mostly French, including a stunning Chassagne-Montrachet. Breakfast, too, makes me smile, especially the still-warm-from-the-oven breads, locally sourced charcuterie and a do-it-yourself bloody mary bar. But what surprises me most is lunch. The restaurant closes between breakfast and dinner, so the midday meal must be taken elsewhere. It's an extemporaneous riff on room service that you can enjoy anywhere you desire: in the cozy lounge, the privacy of your suite, on the shaded terrace overlooking the croquet lawn or tucked into one of the many romantic nooks scattered around the property. Wherever you decide - a different spot each day, I suggest - lunch will be delivered with elaborate pomp and ceremony by an immaculately groomed server in a long white Frenchman's apron with the manners of an English butler. And it will have you instantly checking your calendar to figure out how quickly you might be able to return for another, slightly longer visit. Asparagus and morel season in April? Peach season in July? There's no way I'm waiting 29 years. Surely the husband and I can find an opening on the calendar sooner than that.
Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons, A Belmond Hotel
Your travel advisor can secure Internova SELECT perks, including a $100 food and beverage credit in addition to complimentary daily breakfast for two.
WRITING AND PHOTOGRAPHY: BRAD A. JOHNSON
