Nordelaia

There’s nothing quite like the excitement in the build-up to a special hotel stay. The area-researching, outfit-choosing, menu-checking, poolside-reading preparation and afternoon-nap planning: a really great hotel experience starts in the pre-production for Mr Smith and I. It also results, we’re unashamed to say, in ridiculous levels of hysteria akin to a five-year-old on a sugar high. Our stay at Nordelaia also coincided with a rather grown-up wedding anniversary to celebrate, so by the time we pulled into its cypress-lined driveway on a windy June evening, we were as whipped up as the breeze.
 
Nestled in the luscious hills of the Montferrat area of the Piedmont region, Nordelaia is not your average hilltop hotel. My pre-production notes told me that there are three things this place is most revered for: its views, its spa, but most of all its restaurant, Lorto. Since the way to both of our hearts is through our stomachs, it seemed to be a perfect location to stop the clock for a while together.  
 
Within minutes of arriving, I had a good feeling about all the above. The views (gorgeous rolling green hills); the spa (a purifying facial and a lymphatic massage booked in for the following morning); the restaurant (reservations made for aperitivo later that day and dinner the following night). All was arranged by the lovely Razmik and Ilenia, who had also somehow managed to get a chilled glass of local bubbles into our hands in the process. 'Gosh,' I smiled at Mr Smith, 'they know how to nail a welcome.'
 
Before showing us to our suite, Razmik gave us brief tour of the grounds and two outdoor pools with a level of discretion that speaks volumes about the approach here (I always feel a bit like a goldfish when I’m lounging in front of new arrivals being paraded around — no chance of that at Nordelaia). A short intro to the non-obvious gadgets in our room later, he disappeared, reminding us to use WhatsApp for any request, however little or large.
 
And just like that, we were checked in and all alone with zero fuss. We must have been there all of 15 minutes before feeling delightfully, comfortably at home. As with most sugar highs, after the peak, comes the crash, and so as I ran a bath, Mr Smith had a little doze (we’re rock ’n’ roll like that) and we both started the slow unwind that Nordelaia had promised.
 
It was already early evening by this point and, having stopped off for lunch en route, we decided to go for a few pieces from the starter menu at Lorto and save the big feast for the following night. Predictably, as our lovely waiter, Matea, started to explain the menu, we took little convincing to order one of each of the starters. From the parmesan gougères to the lentil curry doughnut with plum ketchup, everything was a delight. As I cut into the honey-glazed milk bun and spread a generous layer of Marmite butter across the fluffy dough, I noticed Mr Smith having a moment with a plate of soy- and ginger-glazed pork short ribs. 'All okay?' I smiled. 'Can’t talk,' came his reply (when the competition is a plate of ribs, I let that kind of thing slide). The menu here is the work of British chef Charles Pearce, who, it has to be said, is nothing short of a genius for conjuring the gems on this menu. 
 
Afterwards, feeling full and happy, we took in the breeze on the terrace as the lights from hilltop neighbours twinkled across the valley, before dissolving into bed. The following day, while I woke up dreaming of the spa time ahead, Mr Smith roused having dreamt of those ribs. ‘Do you think they’ll have them at breakfast?’ he laughed, as we made our way across the courtyard.
 
While my impression was that no request would have been too big, we decided to go for actual breakfast. A plate of fresh cherries and some orange and ginger juice were followed up with feta and spinach pastries served with walnut ketchup, a bowl of local yoghurt and granola crumble, and scrambled eggs, as slices of lemon cake and cherry tart magically appeared on the side. As Mr Smith grabbed his book and headed out onto our beautifully private terrace, I made my way down to the spa to meet my therapist, Tiziana, who over the course of the following two hours worked a kind of magic that every lymph node needs to be introduced to.
 
I could have happily lounged around smelling of the essential-oil blends by Italian brand Comfort Zone all day. And were it not for our anniversary date at Lorto, I would have gladly stayed wrapped in my fluffy robe all evening, but a promise of more of the night before had us both ready in our finest at 7.30pm on the dot.
 
Nordelaia’s wonderful general manager, Giovanna, made the evening extra special, teaching us all about the local truffle specialities, grape varieties and local terrain. As a glass of local dolcetto was recommended for me, the bar knocked up the most delicious and undetectably non-alcoholic cocktails for Mr Smith, who was abstaining for the evening. He was not, however, holding back on another round of ribs. They came alongside barbecued asparagus with pickled walnuts and parmesan, beef tartare with tonnata sauce, mussel risotto, garden-herb pasta and, to finish, a burnt meringue with citrus curd and butter biscuit. Any further praise would be hyperbole at this point, reader, but aside from our sincerest compliments to the chef, my comment to Mr Smith says it all: 'See, only good things happen on this date, darling.'
 
It was the perfect way to mark a special moment in time, especially given that Nordelaia not only understands that time is precious, but somehow manages to stop the clock. As we checked out the following morning (armed with some sausage rolls for the journey as a parting gift from the kitchen — thank you, Valentina), I noticed the team setting up for a wedding that afternoon. Lucky them, I thought, contemplating the magic that awaited them. ‘This would make a great place for a wedding,’ said Mr Smith, as we reminisced on our own. ‘Shame we’ve already done it,' I replied, imagining how happy I would be to tie the knot here. But also, how lucky we got to honour our own marriage somewhere that ensures its guests’ leave with their hearts, and stomachs, full.