The Laslett is a hip new lodge in Notting Hill, West London, that appears spanking — however scratch the floor and it falls aside.
It occupies 5 stucco-fronted townhouses and has most of the trappings of a self-consciously stylish haunt: a pile of Monocle mags right here, wacky artwork there (a framed pair of footwear), eating room tables that transfer up and down on an enormous screw, scribbled signage — besides that nobody appears to be hanging out a lot once we arrive on a Wednesday night.
There are 51 rooms. Ours appears to be like out the again at a grotty no-man’s-land the place baggage of rubble, damaged drainpipes and even discarded air-con models compete for area.
Within the know: The lodge occupies 5 stucco-fronted townhouses, and feels a self-consciously stylish haunt
So we draw the curtains and focus on the within, which is slick, with excessive ceilings, luxurious cover and pillows, and a walk-in mini bar.
The lavatory is masculine stylish, with Neal’s Yard smellies. We anticipate all this and extra for a room costing £285 an evening, with out breakfast.
What we don’t anticipate is just one bedside desk and an nearly full absence of pure mild.
We hurry to the Henderson Bar (named after the founding father of the Notting Hill carnival) and sit at one of many screw-top tables.
Dreadful digital rap music does its greatest to spoil the night, however we’re certain the employees prefer it.
I order a margarita, which takes an age to reach and when it does one thing is badly incorrect: it tastes like an orange vitality drink. That’s as a result of the hapless barman-cum-waiter has used Grand Marnier moderately than Cointreau and hasn’t given it half sufficient lime.
What horrifies us most is the usage of the famend chef Sally Clarke’s title to prop up the lamentable menu.
Hotspot: The well-known Notting Hill Carnival fills the world with individuals and noise each August
There’s clearly no correct kitchen, however some dishes have been purchased in from Sally’s close by deli and heated up or plonked on a plate.
We begin with potted Cornish crab, which contains a tiny cone of thick butter with valuable little crab inside. A person at a close-by desk has to ask repeatedly for his glass of wine to reach, whereas we get charged for a glass we by no means had.
However all that was nothing in contrast with the shambles at breakfast.
A distinguished-looking Frenchman needs some porridge and a cup of tea.
There’s no porridge and no tea, both, till he has requested for it 3 times. Who’s in cost right here?
I order the breakfast pastries and what turns up is one stale croissant, for which I’m charged £4.
The Laslett is over-priced, over-hyped and under-achieving.
