Beyond the glittering dining rooms and Michelin-starred kitchens of London's finest establishments lies another realm of luxury altogether — their utterly fabulous facilities. Join me for a rather cheeky tour of these decadent selfie suits, where even the hand dryers deserve their own Instagram following.
One simply cannot discuss the palatial powder rooms at Sexy Fish without first mentioning the jaw-dropping £20 million worth of artwork that adorns this Mayfair sensation. The loos, though, are absolutely spectacular too — featuring illuminated onyx sinks, crocodile-leather walls, and hand-painted murals that would make even the most jaded Londoner gasp. While recovering from the sheer fabulousness of the facilities, I found myself utterly seduced by their black cod gyoza with yuzu miso — each dumpling a perfect parcel of umami heaven that practically dances on the tongue. The yellowtail sashimi with truffle ponzu nearly brought tears to my eyes, though I suspect the Ruinart I'd been sipping might have played a small part in that moment of emotion. Frank Gehry's fish lamps cast their ethereal glow over the dining room, while overhead, an enormous blue Japanese dragon writhes across the ceiling, creating an atmosphere that feels like a perfect fusion of Bond villain lair and underwater palace.
Some restaurants aim to impress — Park Chinois makes them look like amateurs. The moment you descend into these powder rooms, you're transported to 1930s Shanghai with their art deco splendour — think hand-painted silk wallpaper, golden swan taps, and vintage perfume bottles that would make Coco Chanel herself swoon. And if these mirrors have witnessed more than a few sneaky selfie sessions... well, I couldn't possibly comment. Having composed myself (and my Instagram feed), I settled into a plush banquette upstairs, where the dim sum absolutely sang — the crystal king crab dumpling, at an eye-watering £24 for three pieces, proved worth every penny. The duck de chine, their signature serve, arrives with all the pomp and ceremony of a royal coronation. The entire venue is a theatrical feast, with the dining room a masterclass in opulence: red velvet, gilt mirrors, and live jazz floating through the air like expensive perfume. Even the chopstick rests are little works of art.
Damien Hirst's crystal-encrusted Pegasus may dominate the dining room, but dare I say, the true masterpiece awaits in the realm of personal refinement. The facilities here are a brilliant exercise in Art Deco meets contemporary glamour — think illuminated mirrors that would flatter a supermodel, peacock-feather wallpaper, and the sort of lighting that makes everyone look like they've just returned from a fortnight in St. Tropez. Martin Brudnizki's design throughout is pure Instagram catnip, but it's those loos that have developed their own cult following. The marble-clad sanctuaries feature custom-made vanities that would make any influencer weak at the knees. While the decor dazzles, the culinary offerings prove equally seductive. The lobster spaghetti arrived like a work of art, kissed with just enough chilli that made my afternoon absolutely sparkle, while their signature melting chocolate bombe performed its own little theatre — hot salted caramel sauce cascading over dark chocolate to reveal a honey-roasted ice cream core.
The whole venue is a masterclass in transportive design — you enter from Berkeley Square and suddenly find yourself in a glamorous Rio supper club, complete with lush foliage, electric blue banquettes, and a copper-scaled ceiling that ripples like the Amazon itself. Their selfie suits are nothing short of a tropical fever dream — in the most fabulous way possible. The facilities continue the restaurant's rainforest theme with abandon, featuring emerald green tiles that shimmer like serpent scales, golden bamboo-framed mirrors, and the sort of mood lighting that makes you feel like you're freshening up in a luxury treehouse. As for the culinary delights, hamachi tiradito with passion fruit leche de tigre had me practically purring with pleasure — each slice of yellowtail perfectly accented by that zingy tiger’s milk. The jazz lounge downstairs is where Madrid meets Mayfair, all sultry lighting and live music that makes you want to order another round of their signature smoking cocktails.
In a former life, these facilities were part of the Midland Bank's executive washrooms, and by Jove, they've maintained every ounce of that grandiose banking heritage. The refurbished 1920s powder rooms feature original verde marble, restored vintage vanity units, and the sort of ceiling roses that would make a National Trust property blush. I dined at Cecconi's, one of the nine restaurants within this behemoth, where the veal Milanese stretched across the plate like a golden continent. The truffle tagliolini was pure indulgence — simple yet devastatingly effective, rather like the building itself. The Grade I-listed banking hall, with its verdite columns and old bank counter-turned-dining space, creates an atmosphere that's both imposing and intimate. Even the brass hardware in the loos tells a story of pre-war luxury.
The washrooms at 34 are nothing short of a masterclass in sophisticated whimsy. The custom de Gournay wallpaper features a parade of high-heeled ladies walking their pampered poodles — it's frightfully clever and absolutely fabulous. The vanity area could double as a Hollywood starlet's dressing room, with lighting that flatters and mirrors that seem to stretch into infinity. The restaurant itself is a carnivore's paradise — I practically swooned over their Japanese Wagyu beef cutlet, cooked over charcoal to absolute perfection. The theatrical tableside preparation of their steak tartare is worth the visit alone. Martin Brudnizki's interiors throughout are a symphony of art deco elegance meets contemporary comfort, with burnt orange leather banquettes and custom-made lights that cast the most flattering glow over both diners and their dishes.
If there were a Nobel Prize for restaurant bathrooms, Annabel's would win it hands down. The ladies' facilities have become more photographed than most London landmarks — with their magical forest of silk flowers cascading from the ceiling, hand-carved pink onyx basins shaped like giant shells, and golden swan taps that would make Liberace look understated. But the restaurant deserves equal billing — I savoured their Dover sole, expertly deboned tableside and finished with brown butter and capers, while marvelling at the Picasso artworks casually adorning the walls. The club's £65 million renovation has created something truly extraordinary — each room is a different fantasy, from the garden restaurant with its retractable glass roof to the nightclub's mechanised unicorn. The attention to detail is staggering — even the loo roll holders are wrapped in hand-tooled leather. It's maximalism at its finest, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
