Savour the spectrum of exquisite dining, theatrical wonders and premium skies over London

It was a crisp autumn morning in London, a city full of contradictions, where centuries-old traditions rub elbows with relentless innovation. My itinerary was ambitious; farm visits, indulgent restaurants, theatre, and, of course, a little retail therapy. First stop? Rowler Estate in Northamptonshire, where Chef Larry Jayasekara, a culinary maestro with both Sri Lankan roots and French finesse, led me on a tour that was part soil science, part poetry. ‘This is where it all begins,’ Larry said as we wandered past kale fields standing like proud sentries and patches of wildflowers swaying lazily in the breeze. Rowler isn’t just a farm; it’s the heartbeat of his Mayfair restaurant, ‘The Cocochine’. Hyper-seasonal isn’t a trend here, it’s a religion. Every creation on the menu is a tribute to the land, Sika deer from Rowler paired with dark cocoa, native lobster kissed with tropical flavours, even honey straight from the farm’s buzzing hives. But it’s not just what grows, it’s how it grows. ‘Slow farming feeds the plate and the soul,’ Larry tells me, his voice serious but hopeful. Tanera Mòr, a remote Scottish island owned by the Rowler team, yields wild-caught seafood that’s rugged and bracing as the coastline. His dishes are storytelling on a plate, a harmonious ode to sustainability, heritage, and the land that sustains us.

THEATRE ON A PLATE

Across four stylish floors, where velvet-clad dining rooms flirt with art gallery chic, it’s the sort of spot where meals transcend the plate and stretch into theatre. At ‘The Cocochine’, they don’t just serve food; they compose it, orchestrate every detail flawlessly. Each bite tells tales of heritage, each element declaring ‘you’ve arrived.’ Fine dining gets a brand-new identity here, where celebrated chef Larry Jayasekara redefines flavours and textures with masterful precision, a Michelin masterpiece designed to linger in your memory. Perched at the chef’s table (eight sacred seats, lucky me), I soaked in the spectacle of an open kitchen working with almost hypnotic grace, fire kissing grills, pastry rolled like silk, mandolined shavings spiralling like vegetable confetti. It begins deceptively simple. a tiny golden gougère, the crown of Gruyère breaking under your teeth like sunlight through clouds. A prelude, and a promise. A sip of Austrian red, its tannins mingling with musings, and a philosophical pause, that bread can do that, can’t it? It primes you for the incoming theatre. Knives in hand, their handles echoing the sweep of a stairwell railing, we edged toward the next scene. What a protagonist, the Rowler Farm lamb shoulder. It arrived with cinematic flair, its skin golden and loud, yet its flesh whispered in tender tones, 48 hours of intentful cooking rendered with reverence. Fresh peas, their green almost indecently bright, tasted less like vegetables and more like sunlight in disguise. And then dessert strutted onto the stage, watalappam, the Sri Lankan crème caramel that feels like a childhood secret whispered between bites. Its jaggery sweetness, warm and nostalgic, found a sharp companion in mango sorbet so electric it was summer in spoon form. The Cocochine doesn’t just serve food, it stages edible brilliance.

COUTURE, CHAOS AND COMEDY

There’s something distinctly comforting about the mid-2000s. It’s nostalgia dipped in Diet Coke and served with a side of flip phones, low-rise jeans, and the unapologetically indulgent world of ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. The movie is iconic, of course, the holy grail for anyone caught between aspirational ambition and the reality of a boss who might actually be Satan. So, when I discovered that this beloved 2006 classic was reborn on stage as a musical, my inner Miranda Priestly enthusiast had only one thought, ‘ground-breaking’. Emerging from Tottenham Court Road station, I spotted it immediately, a massive red stiletto, impaled by the devil’s trident, looming over the Dominion Theatre like a gaudy beacon. Subtle? Definitely not. But maybe subtlety’s overrated when Elton John is penning the score, Shaina Taub is spinning lyrics, and feathers, sequins, and high-fashion drama take centre stage. The evening kicked off with Amy Di Bartolomeo, playing Emily, the blunt, brash, and blessed with bone structure Brit who feels like an Emily Blunt doppelganger. In one fell swoop, she silenced the audience with some choice barbs about knockoff designer totes, possibly aimed directly at my bag and had us howling. From that moment, the theatre wasn’t just a stage; it was a playground. Better yet, it was couture chaos.

FLAVOURS THAT DA ZZLE

When I set out on this gustatory odyssey, I didn’t expect to be floored at every stop, but that’s exactly what happened. ‘Brooklands by Claude Bosi’ at The Peninsula mirrors the adrenaline of a high-speed lap, with Concorde nostalgia and dazzling views. Chef Bosi’s British produce races ahead on the palate, elevated, precise, exhilarating. Then came ‘Pavyllon’ at The Four Seasons Park Lane, where Yannick Alléno puts butter and sous vide brilliance on a pedestal. From my teal velvet perch, I watched magic unfold, Monet meets mad scientist in every plate. ‘Tendril’, however, proved that vegetables can swagger through steak-loving Mayfair. Chef Rishim Sachdeva turns nature’s bounty into couture, smoky beetroot whispering steak secrets. And then, ‘A Wong’, Andrew Wong’s Avant Garde take on Cantonese staples, juggles dim sum and 2,000 years in style, daring, bold, unforgettable.

FLYING HIGH WITH FLAIR

As my London adventure drew to a close, a palpable excitement began to bubble; returning home felt like a reunion worth celebrating. My expedited research for the perfect long-haul seat led me to Virgin Atlantic’s Premium Economy, yes, Premium, as it’s now fashionably called. For the uninitiated, Virgin Atlantic isn’t just an airline; it’s Richard Branson’s cheeky rebellion against convention, born in 1984. There is an indisputable spirit that demands notice, from scarlet uniforms created by Vivienne Westwood to aircraft named Miss Moneypenny. I also hopped onto the Airline’s Club House at Heathrow for a bit and was super impressed with the space, food and hospitality. And on board my London to Delhi flight, It seemed like I was in the Goldilocks zone when I settled into my Premium seat. With the desired extra inch of breadth, greater recline, and a footrest that I eagerly used, the leather chairs felt opulent yet functional. Without the great hoopla of Upper Class, Premium quietly murmurs, ‘You’re special.’ The 13-inch Vera entertainment screen glowed with new releases and classics, while an AC port kept my devices humming, a modern travel essential. A highlight? Nabbing snacks at the Wander Wall, a chic self-service pantry and grinning over quirky plane-shaped salt and pepper shakers while enjoying delicious onboard meals. Virgin Atlantic enhances your travel experience in addition to providing transportation. My upgrade, which wrapped my two-week vacation in a ribbon of comfort and style, felt like the perfect farewell gift from London.

• 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.