Behind Closed Doors: Evenings at The Lansdowne Club, Mayfair
There’s a particular frisson that comes from stepping through the doors of somewhere that is genuinely exclusive. Not in that over-hyped, velvet-rope way, but in that almost tiptoeing inside the kind of place where discretion is woven into the architecture of itself. The Lansdowne Club, occupying its corner of Berkeley Square with the quiet confidence of something that’s been there since 1763, is precisely that sort of establishment. BY SAMANTHA READY
The building itself is an architectural blueprint of considerable distinction. Designed by Robert Adam for the 3rd Earl of Bute, it was later acquired by William Petty Fitzmaurice, 1st Marquess of Lansdowne, who served as British Prime Minister from 1782 to 1783. The Treaty of Paris (there is an incredible copy of the signature page of the document encased in glass in the main hall), which ended the American War of Independence, was drafted in what is now the Club’s Round Room Bar – a detail that rather puts one’s own daily concerns into perspective. The house later passed to Gordon Selfridge, whose legendary 1920s parties added a layer of Jazz Age glamour to its already storied past. Be sure to watch out for framed black and white photographs of his life (including his mistresses!) as you descend the main stairwell…
When the building was converted into a members’ club in 1935, it did something rather radical for its time: it admitted men and women with equal social status from the outset, a progressive stance that distinguished it from London’s traditional patriarchal clubland. Today, it holds a Grade II* listing – the mid-tier of statutory protection that recognises its Robert Adam interiors alongside the Art Deco elements introduced in the 1930s.
Walking through the entrance, you’re immediately struck by the layering of centuries. Adam’s neoclassical bones remain – those impossibly high ceilings, the restrained elegance of Georgian proportions (you must visit the library just to stare at the fireplace and upwards in wonder) – but they’ve been enriched by Art Deco flourishes that speak to the building’s reinvention nearly a century ago. The scalloped cornices, the decorative fan grilles, the interplay of period detail, all coexist with remarkable harmony.
The club sprawls across multiple floors, each with its own distinct character. There’s the 25-yard Art Deco swimming pool – a genuine showpiece with columns and vaulted ceilings that make you feel as though you’re swimming through a particularly glamorous piece of history. London’s only private club salles d’armes caters to those who fence, while the squash courts, a state-of-the-art gym and treatment rooms ensure that members can pursue wellness in whatever form appeals. The Round Room Bar where treaties were once negotiated, now serves exemplary cocktails. There’s even a piano salvaged from the RMS Queen Mary, because of course there is. And just when you think there won’t be any more surprises you meet Harry and Rose, the Club’s resident cats who live a palatial life of luxury and are the spirit animals I now aspire to be.
We were fortunate to not only be granted member access for the evening but also to be granted an overnight stay in one of the 73 rooms and suites that provide a quiet, comfortable abode for members and their guests.
Our suite, recently redesigned by Rosendale Design, was a lesson in how to honour a building’s heritage while providing contemporary comfort. The colour palette drew from the club’s historic interiors – particularly the greens and pinks that once adjourned Robert Adam’s First Drawing Room, now dismantled and residing in Philadelphia’s Museum of Art. But these are not the vivid, candle-lit hues of the 18th century; they’ve been softened, rendered in tones that felt both elegant and liveable.
The scalloped cornices from the swimming pool found echo in the room’s architectural detailing, while the fan motifs from the building’s grilles appeared subtly in fabrics. It was the sort of thoughtful design that makes you feel connected to the Club’s broader narrative rather than simply occupying a hotel room that could exist anywhere. The bed was supremely comfortable, the marble bathroom generously proportioned, the addition of a spacious lounge area useful for working breaks, morning paper reads or rare leisurely TV watching. The whole space possessed that particular quality of quiet you only find in the best buildings, where you feel properly insulated from the frenetic world beyond.
That evening, joined by a celebratory Jerry and Karlene, Adam and I made our way to The Dining Room for what would prove to be a memorable work-versary meal. Occupying the second floor adjacent to the beautiful piano bar at which we pitstopped for an aperitif cocktail (the Sicilian Lemonade Drop and The Amalfi Dream are worth the visit alone) and enjoyed the tinkling of jazz ivories over dinner, the space manages to feel both grand and intimate, with high ceilings and architectural details balanced by warm lighting, contemporary decor, tables spaced with the sort of generosity that allows for genuine conversation, and effervescent Italian hospitality.
Executive head chef Henry Brosi has crafted a menu that showcases seasonal British ingredients with considerable skill, and there’s a pleasing emphasis on the sort of tableside theatre that feels increasingly rare. This isn’t food as performance for its own sake, but rather a return to the kind of service that treats dining as an occasion worth marking.
We began with starters with a nod to land and sea. The potato and leek soup was everything this sort of soup should be: velvety, deeply flavoured, the sweetness of leek perfectly balanced against the earthy comfort of potato. Charred and creamed leaks added textural interest, while a dollop of crème fraîche provided gentle acidity. It arrived with a warm cheese puff, gougères and perfect for a sly dunk. The seared hand-dived Orkney scallops were impeccable. Sweet, yielding flesh with that perfect caramelised crust that only properly hot pans and quality produce can achieve. The crispy pork bell provided a gutsy, savoury counterpoint, while the romanesco – that beautiful brassica – added a gentle bitterness and remarkable visual appeal. The mussel broth tying everything together with a deep, marine richness that tasted of Scottish shores.
But it was the Foreman’s smoked salmon and home-cured dill gravadlax, served from the trolley with appropriate ceremony, that truly captured the spirit of the place. The trolley itself, wheeled to the table by staff who clearly take pride in the ritual, boasted a heaving plump salmon that was then expertly sliced to translucent perfection before being arranged in generous layers. Accompaniments were classic and correct: capers, shallots, bread, lemon. Sometimes the old ways endure because they’re simply the best way.
For mains, the roast rib of Herefordshire beef – also carved tableside from a gleaming silver trolley was magnificent. Properly aged, roasted to blush medium-rare and all the proper trimmings, Yorkshire pudding, crisp roast potatoes, honey-glazed carrots and parsnip, treated with just enough care to bring out their natural sweetness, buttered cabbage still possessing some bite and the right amount of gravy, by which I mean copious. Unapologetically my ‘death-row’ dinner, it was reassuring to see it dominating the menu here, reminding others why British cooking, when done with skill and respect, needs no apology. Continuing the beef theme, Adam’s wagyu was impeccable. Gloriously pink, tender and flavoursome, the rich peppercorn sauce and crisp fries were almost forgotten. Then there was the roast pork belly and smoked tenderloin, so alluring it tempted two of the party, both of whom declared it wonderful. A study in contrasts, the belly all crispy crackling and yielding fat, the tenderloin lean and subtly smoky. An anise carrot purée brought unexpected sophistication, its gentle liquorice notes playing beautifully against the richness of the pork, while the roasted shallots and balsamic-glazed carrots added both sweetness and acidity. It was thoughtful cooking, the kind that understands how to build a plate with balance and intent.
Dessert began with a chocolate and salted caramel mousse that was unapologetically rich – dark chocolate intensity offset by that particular pleasure of salted caramel, with coffee ice cream and hazelnut crunch providing textural punctuation and a welcome bitterness to cut through the sweetness. The white chocolate mousse was altogether lighter and more playful: tropical brightness from mango sorbet, gentle heat from the chilli-laced mango salsa, passionfruit providing its characteristic tang, and chocolate soil adding an earthy, slightly bitter finish.
But the evening’s crescendo – and I do mean crescendo – was the crêpes Suzette, flambéed tableside with the sort of theatrical flourish that had neighbouring tables turning to watch. Our server worked with practiced confidence that belied the fact it was his first turn making the signature dessert, the smell of Grand Marnier and caramelised sugar filling our corner of the room as flames leapt briefly skyward. The crêpes themselves – lacy, delicate, soaked in that glorious orange-scented butter sauce – were served with Tahitian vanilla ice cream that melted slowly into the warm folds. A perfect end to a fabulous meal.
What strikes you most about The Lansdowne isn’t any single element but rather the cumulative effect of all of it: the weight of history, the quality of service that begins with the effortless concierge of Vlad and permeates throughout, the sense that standards are maintained not for show but because they matter, It’s a rare thing, in any age of calculated informality, to encounter somewhere that takes formality seriously without stuffiness, that honours tradition without being trapped by it.
We left through the same discreet entrance from which we arrived, back out into Berkeley Square, feeling as though we’d been granted a glimpse behind a particularly elegant curtain. The world outside continued exactly as it had before, but for a few hours, we’d inhabited a different London entirely – one of polished trolleys and flambés and rooms where treaties were once signed and parties reigned supreme. It is a rather lovely place indeed.
The Lansdowne Club operates strictly on a members-only basis. For those interested in experiencing this particular slice of Mayfair heritage membership enquiries can be directed to the club directly. Various categories exist – including a Country option for those that live 50 miles+ away, each with different access levels and annual subscriptions including options for couples.
