A Michelin-starred aviation-themed restaurant elevates London dining with playful elegance and precision.
Drone shot of The Peninsula
Tucked in London’s heart, The Peninsula transcends traditional luxury. Its marble lobby evokes a James Bond ambiance, while the rooftop restaurant, Brooklands, offers a Michelin starred dining experience adorned with aviation nostalgia and stunning skyline views, crafting an unforgettable culinary adventure high above the bustling city.
The Peninsula London is the kind of place that whispers luxury the moment you waltz into the lobby and just adds a British accent to its international allure. Take the suites, the sort of spaces where you half expect Bond to stroll out of the marble bathroom in a tux, martini in hand. I couldn’t resist tinkering with the in room tablet, which feels less like tech and more like having your own very polite butler. Need a revitalising facial or ten perfect pillow options? Done. Want the bathtub ready at precisely 42°C while jazz plays softly in the background? Just tap. It’s hospitality distilled to its most meticulous expression. It’s not just another hotel experience, it’s a soft whisper of luxury in a city that often shouts.
But finding your way to Brooklands by Claude Bosi, the hotel’s rooftop temple to fine dining, feels like a little scavenger hunt, albeit one where the treasure is two Michelin stars. Tucked discreetly to the right of the lobby, beyond the wellcoiffed crowd nibbling on something dainty, there’s a lift bank that looks like it’s been plucked out of a steampunk fever dream. Wicker-lined walls? Hot air balloon vibes? Cute, but the screeching sound as you ascend?, characterbuilding, if nothing else.
As the lift releases you on the eighth floor, it’s clear where you are. A 1933 Napier Railton race car greets you in dramatic fashion, glinting under the soft lighting like an actor who’s just landed a pivotal role. It’s an unapologetic wink to the restaurant’s namesake, the Brooklands racetrack, known for daring feats of speed, British aviation heritage, and a certain thunderous, devil may care glamour. The walls are rich with black and white nostalgia, triumphant drivers mid pose, Concorde’s sleek silhouette mid-flight. Even original passenger seats are encased in glass like some holy relics for the petrol obsessed.
Step out of the racetrack fever dream and onto the runway, err, restaurant floor. Here, Claude Bosi and Francesco Dibenedetto bring things back down to earth, but just barely. Concorde replicas hang elegantly above, the colour palette whispers cool silver skies, and the constellation carpet underfoot gives you the feeling of dining at 40,000 feet, without the claustrophobic snacks. Being handed a napkin weighed down by a mini Concorde? It doesn’t get more ‘bespoke at 35 mph and 1,354 mph’ than this.
The chairs? Oh, the chairs. Swivel seats by Pierre Paulin. At first, it feels like the kind of playful design choice that could irk a traditionalist dining crowd, but once you’ve settled in (or spun around like a highbrow Bond villain), you’ll understand. Comfort meets whimsy. Michelin stars, meet mischief. The first thing that strikes you about Brooklands, beyond the aviation motifs and race car nostalgia, is the view. As you step through the dining room, the panoramic windows reveal a sprawling Mediterranean style terrace perched high above the skyline, as if you’ve stepped into a Riviera daydream.
I imagine how glorious it would feel to sip a crisp white wine out there in the spring, the London breeze politely nudging you into a moment of peak maincharacter energy. But alas, this being a decidedly grey winter evening, I stay firmly inside where it’s all about the food, and oh, the food. We went for the five-course tasting menu, though ‘five’ is a loose promise once you factor in all the surprises that arrive along the way. (Let’s just say, your appetite will not leave underfed or unentertained.) Case in point, things kicked off with an amuse-bouche of fava bean tart spiked with feta, mint, and cured St Ewe yolk, think of it as a bite-sized slice of spring, complete with a vibrant, almost cocky sense of itself. If chef Claude Bosi wanted us to lean in from the get go, it worked.
Then there’s the bread. Ah, the bread. A warm loaf of Coombeshead buckwheat perfection, its crackly crust giving way to a tender, nutty crumb. Alongside it, two golden spreads vie for your attention: the classic salted butter (perfectly respectable, not life-changing) and a virgin butter from the Isle of Wight that’s so creamy it might as well be dairy seduction in disguise. We tore at it between sips of Deutz Cuvée Peninsula Brut, a pairing so blissful I had to physically restrain myself from going for a third slice.
But the runaway standout? A dish that snuck up on me, the Great Fen Farm celeriac nosotto with crab and coconut. It tasted like what a Michelin starred laksa might be in an alternate dimension, silky, aromatic, and indulgent in ways I didn’t know were possible.
As I stepped into the crisp London night, Brooklands’ final flourish, a sleek, airmail-inspired envelope containing my personalised menu, a paper Concorde, and a luscious orange chiffon cake, felt like the perfect goodbye. Brooklands doesn’t just serve meals; it stages them. Like the Concorde, it’s stylish, thrilling, and unapologetically first class. Bon voyage.
Where? 1 Grosvenor Place, London SW1X 7HJ
Call: 020 3959 2888
Awarded the ‘Best food writer in the country’ by the Indian culinary forum, WACS and the ministry of Tourism, Rupali Dean writes on food and travel.
