Nobu Hotel London Portman Square

London at Christmas. There’s not many places that conjure up the Christmas spirit like London. Well, maybe New York, the European markets, the Swiss mountains. Ok, a few, but London must be in the top ten?

I’m now an ex-Londoner after leaving for Margate (I know, yawn) six years ago but my love affair with the city has never dwindled and I’m full of giddiness to be locked into a weekend in the heart of festive London over the festive season. If I’m being very open… oh go on, then… I’m even more thrilled about a stay in my favourite city because it’s my first time away with Mr Smith, a very unexpected Dutch souvenir from a recent two-month Amsterdam stint. Although I’m hoping it’s not just the lure of a stay at Nobu that made him book his Eurostar ever so swiftly.

I jump off the tube at Bond Street and enter full whack into the dizzying heights of (consumer) Christmas. I saunter past all the happy shoppers on Oxford Street, stopping to take in the twinkling festive lights (and a picture or two), and then, after some jostling, breathe a sigh of relief as I turn away, into the quainter streets, where independent boutiques, cute restaurants and quietness ensues. Phew.

And within just a few minutes’ walk – in all its glossy glory – is Nobu. With its high, black-framed windows and revolving door, it’s like entering a notable museum, or a fancy car showroom. I’m greeted by a serene lobby sporting the brand’s famed Japanese influence: simple, muted and pared-back, but also a knockout shining silver artwork hanging from the (very high) ceiling. And, appropriately, Nobu is indulging in Christmas with a standout Christmas tree, sprinkled with a fine white dusting, fitting in with the aesthetics. At reception one of the chaps wants to almost turn me away for not bringing any photo ID but suffice to say a couple of bank cards win them over (I refrain from waving my Boots Advantage Card) and I’m shown to the 11th floor. 

There’s no maximalist style awaiting in the junior suite. Instead, Japanese-inspired minimalism and a feeling of zen continues throughout, with wood panelling, traditional tea sets, a sliding door dividing the rooms, and two bathrooms – one with a whopping walk-in shower. Plus it’s paired its modern style with high-end tech (although I’ll admit those modern light switches later turn out to be frustrating), stylish robes and Grown Alchemist toiletries. We’re also blessed with a balcony where you can be bowled over by the city’s skyline (there’s the London Eye twinkling in the background), and a bottle of sparkling wine on ice. I promise to wait for Mr Smith’s Eurostar to ride in before I crack that open…

I treat myself to an afternoon soak before Mr Smith arrives, the wine is promptly popped and we toast our rendezvous on the balcony for all of two minutes before the rain starts pelting down – this being London and all. Nobu is famous for its food (and the many celebs papped outside its restaurants) and I’ve been hankering for an excuse to dine at one of its restaurants for many years. The space is huge – and not surprisingly, busy – and I’m a little envious of the kids dining at Nobu when it has taken me to the ripe age of 40 to dine here. Different lives. 

I’d describe myself as a mindful drinker but tonight I want to play, and already a little tipsy, we’re ready to dive into the cocktail menu, even ordering one called Bondage which, not teetering on discreet, comes with red ties around the drink which provides a few giggles. Well, we did ask for it. Hands up, I’m 98% plant-based (allowing for the odd mess up) so you might think booking to eat at a notable sushi restaurant might be somewhat limited for me. Hell, no.

Nobu understands there’s a world of veganism out there to cater for and not only has plant-based dishes dotted around its menu but a dedicated vegan menu. Big hand clap. I go for the former while Mr Smith plumps for the latter, and between us, we knock back a seemingly never-ending string of delicious dishes starting with spicy edamame with a kick, mushroom soup, avocado rolls and tofu steak. It is an experience in itself (as is the bill) and we roll up to bed stuffed, and drunk, and ready to hit the snooze-worthy bed.

Then, a twist in the tale: I start to feel quite unwell in the middle of the night. I won’t reveal too much of the salty details here but it’s far too early in the dating game for Mr Smith to see me run through 300+ tissues and my temperature rocket. For the next day I’m consigned to bed while the Dutchman kindly looks after me, and takes a break to hit Nobu’s impressive gym. Thankfully, Nobu ain’t such a bad place to be ill in, what with its luxe bed, elegant pots of green tea, in-room service of orange juice, edamame beans and carrot soup to keep up the energy levels, and – while I’m not usually one for TV – I’m grateful for the huge screen in the bedroom. Rather than being dressed up and experiencing London town, it’s a more low-key night with dressing gowns and Netflix. 

Thankfully, the next morning there’s a sea of change and I can actually eat breakfast, with the chef knocking me up an off-menu tofu scramble of deliciousness, before I jump in that power shower. Fresh air and London beckons, and luckilyy for us, the rain has subsided and we have a bright and crisp December day. Staff are kind enough to extend check-out to 2pm and, given Nobu’s prime position, we’re fortunate to have places to visit on our doorstep without taking the tube.

In which direction shall we go? Arms interlocked, we opt for a stroll around Hyde Park, walking past the Serpentine Lake with tourists feeding the ducks (please don’t), and making a slight detour to the gallery to discover the first UK solo exhibition of artists Barbara Chase-Riboud who combines aluminium and bronze sculptures with braided and woven wool and silk. We decide not to plump for the popular Winter Wonderland, instead checking out one of my favourite stores in the whole world – Liberty – with its creaky wooden floors and its Christmas shop, and Selfridges, especially its foodhall, where I decide add being locked in overnight to my list for Santa. 

Afterwards we grab our bags and make our way to King’s Cross, where we make our way across the canal and to Caravan, one of my old-time favourite restaurants, and then a wander around Coal’s Yard. Fortunately our next travel destination is the same – St Pancras International (although it’s more to the Kent coast for me rather than waving my passport to the EU) and with an almighty Eurostar queue for him, we hatch plans for our next adventure. Luckily, it seems, my poor night’s escapades weren’t enough to put him off.