QUINTESSENTIALLY | Insider | Lauren Clarke

Yorkshire – not the most obvious choice for a luxury weekend away, it is perhaps more akin to waders, gun dogs and nature enthusiasts than blackberry (the non edible kind) toting city dwellers trying to keep their Hunter wellingtons out of the mud.

However T’Yorkshire I was going one sunny June afternoon, boarding my Grand Central train at the rather stylish new look Kings Cross Station.
I’d also brought the boy along with me to embark on our cross country trek, he’s an adventurous type you see, and a good man to have around in case there’s a tricky field or stream to negotiate on the way to the spa.

But why Yorkshire, I hear you ask? Well I’d heard a whisper, that a place so heavenly, so quintessentially luxurious, had popped up in a little village called Helmsley and was simply too good to miss.

When Emily Brontë wrote of ‘bright white clouds flitting rapidly above – the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze’ as the ‘perfect idea of heaven’s happiness’ she was telling the truth, and as we raced across the countryside, I was starting to see why we had made our journey in the first place.

The Feversham Arms was originally an 18th Century coaching inn that sits opposite a picturesque church, and as we pulled into the driveway I was struck by how modern yet still original the glass and Yorkshire stone building looked nestled in the heart of the village.

My inner sugar junkie rejoiced when we were told afternoon tea was waiting for us outside by the pool – yes that’s right – the pool, which at the Feversham lies in the centre courtyard, surrounded by the cottage style poolside suites, where other guests swaddled in white robes were relaxing in the afternoon sun.

As something of an afternoon tea connoisseur, the Feversham’s tea did not disappoint – Yorkshire ham with spicy apple chutney had been rolled into fingers of freshly baked bread, followed by the most wonderfully well risen scones topped with the homemade strawberry and passion fruit jam, and to my immense delight, lemon curd!

But the highlights were the chocolate and raspberry pots served in miniature terracotta flower pots and topped with marzipan mushrooms, followed closely by the strawberry jelly striped with elderflower pannacotta – childhood memories on a plate.

Now to the bedroom – our spa suite was aptly decorated in soft blue William Morris florals, with a wonderful lounge area complete with buttery leather couch and this month’s latest glossy titles. The bathroom was my own personal Elysium with the double-ended 6ft bath, l’Occitaine products, and vanilla scented candles acting as the perfect balm to my city sore limbs.

Sitting on our balcony, we opened one of the two bottles of champagne that had been waiting for us in the room bearing the cheeky missives ‘one for now’ and ‘one for later’, as the sun set over Helmsley Castle in the distance.

Dinner at ‘The Fev’ (as we had learned it was affectionately called amongst the staff and seasoned guests) is a relaxed affair in the hotel’s atrium style dining room surrounded by vintage jeroboams and charming paintings from local artists. The food was spectacular,  from the pan-fried scallops with chicken wings cooked in maple syrup, Thai mushroom puree and crispy chicken skin to start, to the tender fillet of beef that melted like honeycomb in my mouth for the main.

But the meal was dominated by the gargantuan cheese cart that worked its way tantalizingly around the room before finally coming to rest at our table. Being more of a cheese lover than an expert, we asked the Fev’s resident turophile to make some recommendations for us to sample, I went for a local smoked cheese and some superbly aged cheddar, whilst my date feeling a little more adventurous with his palate opted for the Stinking Bishop and the Epoisses de Bourgogne – a cheese so pungent it is banned from French public transport – lucky me!

And so satiated, relaxed and perhaps a little merry we went to bed, but not before the do not disturb mascot – in our case a sheep, had been firmly placed outside the door.

To be continued…