A Heavenly and Utterly Romantic Escape at Coworth Park, Ascot
I’ve stayed in some rather lovely places over the years, it’s rather an occupational hazard of the job, but there was something about Coworth Park that got under my skin in a way I wasn’t quite prepared for. Perhaps it was the way the late afternoon winter light gilded those Georgian windows as we swept up the drive. Or the particular scent of woodsmoke and beeswax polish that greeted me in the entrance hall. Or maybe it was simply the knowledge that for the next 24 hours, I had absolutely nowhere else to be and that everything that I had heard about Coworth was simply incredible…BY SAMANTHA READY
This 240-acre estate in Ascot unfolds like a particularly good novel, the kind you don’t want to rush, where every chapter reveals something new. The main house, all honeyed stone and restrained Georgian elegance, sits at its heart, surrounded by ancient parkland that seems to go on forever. Horses graze in distant paddocks. Peacocks strut with ridiculous grandeur across immaculate lawns. It’s the England of your most romantic imaginings, but somehow better, because it’s real and you’re actually here.
The main house, Grade II listed, naturally, commands attention without arrogance. Wisteria climbs its façade with studied nonchalance, while inside, the interiors strike that impossibly chic balance between heritage and contemporary ease. Think roaring fires, jewel-toned velvets and contemporary art that somehow feels entirely at home beside 18th-century architectural details. It’s the kind of place where you immediately want to curl up with a leather-bound book and a rather large glass of something exceptional.
Our suite, a generous upgrade that had me practically pirouetting with joy, occupied the corner of the main house and was nothing short of sublime. Floor-to-ceiling dual aspect windows framed views of the gourds like living oil paintings, the kind that shift with the moody English light. The bathroom alone was larger than my first London flat, all marble and rain showers and Bamford amenities that I unashamedly admit to having looked up online to purchase for home. The bed? An absolute cloud. I slept the sleep of someone who hadn’t a care in the world, which at Coworth Park, feels gloriously accurate.
Before dinner Mr R & I surrendered ourselves to the spa, and what a sanctuary it is. Housed in a stunning contemporary pavilion that sits in beautiful counterpoint to the main house, the spa is all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling glass that frames verdant views of the grounds. Natural light floods the space, bouncing off blonde wood and pale stone, creating an atmosphere that’s both energising and deeply calming. The architecture feels deliberately pared back, Japandi in its restraint, allowing nature to be the real decoration. Vaulted ceilings soar above the pool, a light filled haven where Mr R floated blissfully watching clouds drift past, as I was indulged with a signature full body massage. The treatment rooms themselves are cocooning sanctuaries, each one a study in understated luxury, with heated beds and that peculiar quality of silence that only the very best spas seem to achieve.
My therapist’s hands were nothing short of miraculous, kneading away months of desk-bound tension with a deep tissue massage that was somehow both vigorous and profoundly relaxing. She worked with intuitive precision, finding knots I didn’t even know existed. Emerging an hour later, muscles loose and mind wonderfully empty, I felt reborn. Ready, in fact, for what would prove to be one of the most memorable meals of my life.
Woven by Adam Smith
If Coworth Park is the jewel of the estate, then Woven is its beating, brilliant heart. Adam Smith’s Michelin-starred restaurant isn’t just about exceptional cooking, though Lord knows, it’s that in spades, it’s about storytelling. Every dish (including the actual plates themselves) is a love letter to British provenance, a celebration of the farmers, fishermen and artisans whose passion ends on his plate.
The dining room itself, which also offers a sublime private dining space, is a study in understated elegance: warm woods, soft lighting, tables spaced generously enough for intimate conversation. There’s an energy here, though, a quiet thrum of anticipation that tells you something rather special is about to unfold. And unfold it does.
We began with what I can only describe as the finest bread service I’ve encountered on these shores. Not mere bread, you understand, but warm pillowy, crunchy, brioche-y perfection, served with house butter so rich it could have been dessert. Award-winning? Absolutely. Addictive? Dangerously so!
Then came ‘From the Pantry’ – a procession of ingenious bites that had me reassessing everything I thought I knew about canapés. The cheese and onion ‘sandwich’ was pure whimsy, somehow capturing the essence of a childhood favourite while being unquestionably grown-up. Cornish tuna sang with freshness, while the XO beef bun delivered a gutsy punch of umami that lingered long after the last bite. Cornish crab was sweet and delicate, while the jellied Devon eel, glossy, quivering, utterly brilliant, proved that British ingredients need not apologise to anyone.
Our wine pairing began with a crisp, mineral driven Chablis that cut beautifully through the richness, its citrus notes dancing alongside the seafood with balletic precision.
The BBQ scallop arrived next, and honestly I could have wept. Seared to caramelised perfection, its flesh still sweet and giving, it was crowned with smoked roe that added a savoury complexity, while citrus and Oscietra caviar provided brightness and that unmistakable pop of brine. Paired with a textured, peachy Burgundy, the combination was nothing short of symphonic.
Then, Mr R’s mushroom dumpling, a dish of such earthy, autumnal beauty that he found himself closing his eyes to better appreciate it. The walnut and celery adding crunch and freshness against the dumpling’s silken exterior, while our sommelier poured a butty, oxidative Jura wine that somehow made the whole thing taste even more of the forest floor. In the best possible way.
The Wyndford Wagyu was a masterclass in restraint. Japanese beef of this calibre needs little embellishment, and Smith wisely lets it shine, supported by the holy trinity of onion, parsley and mustard, classic companions elevated to art. Each bite was butter-soft, deeply flavoured, profound. The Bordeaux alongside – structured, dark-fruited, elegant – was a perfect dance partner.
For Mr R it was the Cornish turbot with native lobster that truly stopped him in his tracks. Turbot so pristine it barely needed cooking, its flesh flaking beautifully beneath his fork in pure white shards. The lobster was sweet, almost indecently so, while the truffle and cep added earthy opulence, and the salted grapes, oh, the salted grapes, provided bursts of concentrated sweetness that somehow made everything else taste more of itself. Our sommelier paired this with a Grand Cru white Burgandy, all hazelnut and minerality, that elevated the dish into the stratosphere.
Cheeses followed. A considered selection of British beauties in various states of ripeness, each one singing with terroir and the skill of its maker. With these, a glass of aged Tawny Port, all dried fruits and gentle sweetness.
And then, the finale. Smith’s signature chocolate with sea salt was a masterclass in contrasts: bitter, sweet, saline, rich. The crème fraîche and cocoa nibs added tang and texture, while the ‘Madagascan vanilla’ – paired with oabika and black truffle ice cream – was so unexpected, so brilliantly conceived, that I actually laughed with delight. Who pairs truffle with dessert? A genius apparently. The accompanying Sauternes, honeyed and unctuous, was the final, golden thread in this extraordinary tapestry.
But wait, we weren’t quite finished. With coffee came a parade of petit fours that deserved their own standing ovation. The signature chocolate and truffle caramel was pure decadence, while the sparkling wine and sloe jelly provided a sophisticated palate cleanser with its delicate wobble and gentle boozy sweetness. White chocolate and pistachio offered creamy luxury punctuated by nutty crunch, while the Jamaican Blue Mountain fudge was so deeply coffee-scented, so perfectly textured, I may have made audible sounds of pleasure. The pecan and Pedro Ximénez brought sticky, sherried richness, while the lemon drizzle – bright, sharp, nostalgic – was the perfect final note. Each one tiny masterpiece, proof that Smith’s attention to detail extends right through to the very last bite.
The following morning, we returned to Woven for breakfast, the dining room transformed by daylight the atmosphere altogether different but no less lovely. The buffet was quietly impressive: fresh pastries that clearly shared DNA with last night’s award-winning bread, jewel-coloured preserves, thick Greek yoghurt with honeycomb that dripped golden and viscous, perfectly ripe fruits that actually tasted of something. But it was the cooked breakfast that truly sealed my devotion. I ordered the full English, because when in Berkshire, and all that, and it arrived as a example of simplicity done supremely well.
Cumberland sausages with proper snap, bacon crisped at the edges but still yielding, eggs with yolks the colour of marigolds (local, naturally), buttery mushrooms, roasted tomatoes that were almost jammy in their sweetness, and black pudding that would make any Irish grandmother (my own included I should think) weep with joy. The sourdough toast, warm, nutty, perfect for mopping up every last bit of yolk, was, unsurprisingly, exceptional. Accompanied by freshly squeezed juice and coffee so good I had three cups, it was the kind of breakfast that makes you want to abandon all dietary principles and move in permanently.
As I walked back through the grounds afterwards, peacocks calling somewhere in the distance, horses being led out to the estate’s polo fields, I felt that particular pang one gets when an extraordinary experience is drawing to a close.
Coworth Park wasn’t just a little escape for Mr R & I, it was a gift for my soul. Every detail was considered, every member of the team memorable in their own right, luxury was effortless rather than ostentatious and Smith’s Woven and his unique storytelling pulled at my own editorial heartstrings. I am already praying for my return.
