I’ve walked through Piccadilly Circus more times than I can count. Usually, it’s chaos. But from the window of our junior suite at Hotel Café Royal, it looked different. Framed by tall glass and marble window frames, the famous advertising boards glowed silently, like an art installation. The strangest part was the quiet. I’d expected the constant thrum of London’s busiest crossroads to seep into the room, but instead the silence was so
complete that at one point, I opened the window just to remind myself that the world was still moving.
That juxtaposition, the city’s energy outside and calm within, became the defining theme of our stay. Before dinner, we stopped at the Green Bar for their signature Café Royal cocktail – a mix of gin, honey and blackberry that was as elegant as it was dangerously drinkable.
It was felt most strongly at the Café Royal Grill, where dinner was more than a meal – it was theatre. Mirrored walls reflected the shimmer of glassware, gilded details caught the light, and the ceiling alone deserved its own audience. Painted with exquisite scenes of myth and allegory, it drew my eyes upward again and again.
Now part of The Set (a small collective of independent luxury hotels), Hotel Café Royal began life in 1865 as a brasserie, attracting London’s fashionable. Over time, it became a hub for thinkers, artists, politicians and celebrities. Today, following a renovation in the early 2000s, the hotel blends historical grandeur and contemporary restraint.
That legacy isn’t just visible in the walls and ceilings, it’s on the plate too. Chef Kevin Gratton’s menu honours the Grill’s 160-year history while keeping it alive for today. I began with a shellfish bisque sharpened with cider brandy, the sort of dish that makes you stop talking mid-sentence. My main, a Delmonico steak, was beautifully charred on the outside, perfectly tender within. By the time dessert arrived, I could only manage a scoop of ice cream – indulgent restraint, if such a thing exists. I thought of those who had eaten here before: Wilde, Churchill and Bardot, among many others. Sitting beneath the painted ceiling felt less like dinner and more like slipping into London’s memory.
That legacy isn’t just visible in the walls and ceilings, it’s on the plate too. Chef Kevin Gratton’s menu honours the Grill’s 160-year history while keeping it alive for today. I began with a shellfish bisque sharpened with cider brandy, the sort of dish that makes you stop talking mid-sentence. My main, a Delmonico steak, was beautifully charred on the outside, perfectly tender within. By the time dessert arrived, I could only manage a scoop of ice cream – indulgent restraint, if such a thing exists. I thought of those who had eaten here before: Wilde, Churchill and Bardot, among many others. Sitting beneath the painted ceiling felt less like dinner and more like slipping into London’s memory.
Our suite was serene – though more like an apartment than a hotel room – with pale oak floors, a bed dressed in crisp linen, and soft lighting that felt almost theatrical against the backdrop of the Circus outside. A walk-in wardrobe lined with dark wood made unpacking almost enjoyable, while the marble bathroom gleamed with twin sinks, a rainfall shower and a freestanding tub that seemed to demand an evening soak. But it was the dining table that stole the show – positioned directly opposite Piccadilly’s giant screens, it felt like the most exclusive table in London.
Shot by James Mcdonald - Darker lighting photos
On our final morning, I descended into Akasha, the hotel’s subterranean wellness retreat. A hammam, sauna, jacuzzi and pool awaited, each quieter than the last. After drifting between heat and water for a couple of hours, I floated in the pool, looking up at the ceiling, and realised that Regent Street – just a few feet above – had never felt further away.
thesetcollection.com, rooms from £695/night (correct at the time of writing)
