Some destination hotels find certain parts of the year are quite tricky to attract people to cross their doors. If you are lucky or search hard you can get into several quite swanky places with rather good deals. Charlton House was such a place for a Monday night after a long weekend for me and a companion.

In fact we were already in the area of Wells, that smallish city just south of Bath which had, that weekend, been host to a choir we wanted to hear. The idea of extending our stay in one of those most British (and expensive) Institutions, the 'Country House Hotel' was nearly irresistible. In the past we have managed to resist simply by not having nearly enough money to succumb to the temptation. However, a Monday night at the end of a long weekend in winter provided us with enough cumulative discounts from their webpage offerings that we counted our pennies, made our decision and confirmed our booking (non-refundable, cash in advance etc).

We arrived in the early afternoon in a taxi (we do occasionally travel in style) overcoming our normal instincts to walk the 7km from Wells across country. Our stay promised champagne, a luxury afternoon tea, a massage with hot stones (like you see in the brochures), a play in the pool, then dinner before heading up to our room. We were very keen to get in and get started.

Since this is about eating out and not about hot stone massages, I won't bore you with the details but unlike the photos, you don't lie mostly naked on an sunny bench with a row of stones resting on your spine with the blue ocean in the background. In Shepton Mallet in winter, at least, you are in a small room with no ocean or sunshine for miles. The pool though was wonderful and you could swim out under the glass wall to sit in the bubbling heated water whilst it snowed on you. I won't hazard a guess at their energy bill.

After all of these relaxing activities for mind and body (there were copies of such high-flying magazines as Wallpaper* in our room and New Scientist and, of all things, the British Medical Journal by the pool) we decided to head to afternoon tea. The first job was to start to organise drinks. The website had suggested a half bottle of bubbles for the two in our room on arrival but since we had arrived a bit early to fit in our hot rocks, it hadn't been sent up. So in the comfy lounge area with its open fires and floppy chairs, we arranged for afternoon tea and then our belated champagne.

Firstly, the afternoon tea. This is the crown of England's culinary contribution to the world. Its simplicity makes it impossible to stuff up the food and, with some elegant china, it should be a civilisation on a plate. For those who have not eaten many afternoon teas, the key is the three tiered serving plates. The bottom contains a range of simple sandwiches cut into small shapes (triangles and rectangles being traditional). The second, middle tier, has warm scones to be eaten with jam and thick cream. The top tier has tiny, fun cakes and, maybe, biscuits. A pot of tea is provided on the side.

There were two major flaws with this afternoon tea. The sandwiches were missing and the cakes and biscuits were too sweet and too plentiful. The offering moved the meal from adult delight into children's party. There was an option to pay another £10 for sandwiches but the cost seemed a bit steep and I really hadn't considered that sandwiches were ever optional in a proper tea. However, even in the face of this adversity we worked our way through the platters while drinking our tea.

Several hours into the process it was time to move onto a lighter shade of pale beverage and we asked one of the passing boys (who were always passing at handy intervals) for our bottle of bubbly. In no time at all the detritus of our previous meal was gone and two clean glasses and an ice bucket were in front of us. Horror of horrors though, the bottle was a 750ml one and our package included only a 375ml bottle. I drew the attention of the lad to the mistake and his manager (who just happened to pass by) essentially said we could have a full bottle of decent house champagne or a half bottle of second tier brand-name champagne (since they had run out of halves of house fizz) and quite frankly if we were happy to have the full bottle he was happy not have to go back the bar and change things around. It seemed like a good deal to us.

Within what seemed like minutes of turning to the Japanese interior house decorating section of my copy Wallpaper* (between the section of fluorescent cuboid footstools from up-and-coming Brazilian design students and 19 types of German artisan cutlery priced at over 200 Euros per fork) another nice lad brought across menus for the evening meal.

Given we still had a large amount of bubbles to get through, we were still quite full with ultra-sweet bits, and we had three courses in front of us, we intrepidly regarded the menu. If a moderately good house champers was to be the beverage what food, we questioned, should we have to accompany it? Fish obviously, soup also (many soups go fabulously with champagne), bird and maybe a decent variety of veggies.

So with our overfull, over-sweet bellies, one of us ordered the smoked salmon with capers and the other asparagus. While the food was nice enough, the eating space was one of the cavernous conservatories bolted to the side of the old main house. No amount of white floaty drapery was ever going to make the space seem intimate. It was a wedding banqueting space and vast quantities of candle light was not really going to transform it. However as we worked out way through the food and the rest of the bottle, it mattered less to us.

The main course was more fish for me–I like to keep my long chain Omega-3s coursing through my blood stream, and it was chicken with bits and bobs for my, by now, very glamorous companion. Again all was competent but it wasn't delivering the quality of food that one could have hoped for. I suspect the kitchen could have been ramped up to 50 plates an hour for both of our meals without sacrificing their scant individuality. Vegetables were charged separately but, in all fairness, they never appeared on our bill.

We did our usual trick of one of us having the cheese for dessert and having it delivered before the other's dessert. The cheeses were amazing, the areas around about Wells producing some top quality items.

All in all, it was a good dining experience. But right from the start of the afternoon tea, it never actually managed to hit the spot. The overall vision was right but the details never quite managed. My guess is there had been a large staff turnover previously when the ownership switched from the people who own the luxury Mulberry leather goods manufacturers to Bannatyne, the health club chain. It isn't that the new staff are poor, but the new management direction hadn't created the focus that every staff member needs to share that gives a place kapow.

However, the other guests can't have been too put off. My companion for the evening swears blind that Alexa Chung was at the next table. I can't say, because my back was to her and I am far too well bred to turn and look over my shoulder to stare properly. However, my recollection of her face did bear a distinct resemble the visage on the front cover of Vogue that sat beside my bed a few months later.

Getting There: Find Wells, Bath, Castle Carey and triangulate.

Who should eat there: Those in search of serious relaxation.

Dining Style Think wedding venue without a bride.

Price: £40 with wine.

Quality: Food was surprisingly wedding venue-ish.

Would I go Back: Nah.

Phoenician Trader

04.07.11 Front Page

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