Como Le Montrachet

The first thing that hits you when arriving at Como Le Montrachet is the scent. The hotel faces an idyllic village square framed by chestnut trees. There is no breeze on this sun-baked day, just the smell of the century-old trees and lavender bushes outside. Beyond the hotel are rolling fields of vineyards, among the best in the world. The only sound is a water fountain. It is incredibly peaceful, and couldn’t feel more different to the fraying, five-hour car journey Mr Smith and I have just endured with our three-year-old. The village of Puligny-Montrachet is a calming exhale of a place; it couldn’t be anywhere other than rural France. 

Como Le Montrachet has the same tranquil qualities and a similarly strong sense of self. The 19th-century property is the pristine version of every Gallic retreat you ever dreamed of, with an immaculate limestone façade, ivory-coloured shutters and lanterns that hang from the walls. We head into the reception, an open-plan, sage-toned space with toile de jouy fabric and a tiled floor. The staff offer us a welcome glass of crémant to have on the terrace (and a jus de pomme for Little Smith), and we sit outside next to a few well-heeled American couples enjoying an early evening apéritif. The garden is one of the hotel’s jewels — a vast, green lawn littered with rose bushes that leads to a 25-metre heated pool surrounded by sunloungers. A bar at the end prevents guests from having to move too far to order a glass of the village’s legendary chardonnay. 

We are shown to our room, which involves a brief walk across the street to La Résidence — one of three parts of the hotel, which also includes Villa Christine, a private, five-bedroom property perfect for larger groups. Each room is slightly different, but all with a uniting elegant aesthetic. The palette of muted grey, blue and green is soothing to the eye, and there's plenty more of that toile de jouy fabric. Our room features a spacious balcony that borders one half of the room. Luscious greenery creeps over the side and a small table and set of chairs provides the perfect spot for us to have alfresco room service. First, having been cooped up in the car for the best part of a day, we decide to explore the village and find somewhere for a pre-dinner drink.

Puligny-Montrachet looks like a Disney version of a French village. It is so perfect, it’s hard to believe it isn’t imaginary. It's sleepy and serene, even on a Friday night. I don’t know if the colour scheme is mandatory, but the houses are all in cohesive shades of honey, apricot and ivory. The window shutters are all in equally complementary tones. Even the odd door that looks run-down appears idyllic, not shabby. People scoot about on bikes and gather outside the handful of places to eat and drink. We stop for a glass of wine outside a charming bistro overlooking the village square called L'Estaminet des Meix, full of locals feasting on bread and Époisses cheese (a creamy, potent speciality of the region).

As the sun begins to set, we head back to our room and order the hotel’s cheese and charcuterie board. I taste the village’s world-famous Puligny-Montrachet wine, widely regarded as the global benchmark for dry, mineral chardonnay, and it doesn’t disappoint. The three of us sit on our balcony and watch as the sky turns black and the stars appear so bright that we can see Jupiter and Venus.

The next morning we tested out the pool, before driving 15 minutes to the nearest town, Beaune, which is one of those places that once you visit you can’t understand why it isn’t on everyone’s bucket list. It's almost supernaturally pretty, with a history goes back to mediaeval times, and boasts some of the most impressive architecture in France. It is bustling, but not crowded. We visited the Hospices de Beaune, a beautiful 15th-century building formerly used as a hospital for the impoverished. As hospitals go, this is a particularly good-looking one — the roof is covered with glittering glazed tiles that create colourful geometric patterns, and gothic turrets and elegant gables rise from the façade. Even Little Smith — not usually one to comment on architecture — is suitably impressed. Afterwards, we milled around the cobbled streets with an ice-cream, and earmarked chic-looking wine bars that we’d like to return to, including a relaxed spot called La Dilettante where thirtysomethings sip vin naturel and nibble cuts of French sausage and ham. For now, we had to get back for dinner at Como Le Montrachet’s fine-dining restaurant. 

As a journalist, I have been lucky enough to eat in some very nice places, but this was among the best hotel meals I have ever had. The cavernously high room is adorned with illuminated spheres, suspended from wooden beams. The doors open to a busy terrace overlooking the garden, which is populated with both guests and other visitors staying nearby who have heard rumours of the hotel’s exceptional food. We sit down for a five-course menu, starting with juicy asparagus and quail eggs, decorated with edible flowers. Slowly but very surely, we move through each dish — the Arctic char is so delicately flavoured that even Mr Smith, who doesn’t like fish, hoovers it down, and the subtle veal loin has a perfect melt-in-your-mouth texture. The pièce de résistance is the cheese board, and what a majestic sight it is — a uniformed member of staff, who appears to have a PHD in fromage, presents a cart bearing no fewer than 14 different varieties to choose from. I select four and mentally accept that it’ll be worth any prospective later-age gout. By the time dessert (strawberries with brioche and brown-butter ice-cream) comes, I am ready to roll to our room. And yet, we gallantly eat the lot as the sunroof is rolled back to reveal those glittering stars again. 

The next morning, we hit the road, embarking on the next part of our journey south to Provence. We left Como Le Montrachet fresh and recharged. It turns out that few things are as restorative as French fine wine, abundant cheese and excellent hospitality.