Villa Dahlia

It’s easy to miss Villa Dahlia. The hotel occupies a prime corner overlooking the Tegnérlunden park in Stockholm’s well-heeled Vasastan district. But the eyes slide from its slimline 1960s Brutalist exterior to the grand neighbouring turn-of-the-century buildings. 

It’s a different story inside. The lobby is as sumptuous (walnut, velvet, Murano glass) as its exterior is sleek. A calm air of Swedish efficiency reigns. Within two minutes Mr Smith and I are checked in, encouraged to visit the basement spa and led up to our suite on the seventh floor. 

We spill through the door with a baby, a pram, several suitcases and a boisterously large Svenskt Tenn shopping bag (every trip to Stockholm must begin at the design haven). The first thing to note is: silence. No clanking lift shafts, no droning traffic, no overheard conversations. In the interests of sustainability, Villa Dahlia, which is owned by the family-run Diplomat Collection of hotels, has triple-glazing and automatic sun shades. It also boasts the most effective yet inaudible air-conditioning system I’ve encountered. 

It’s cocktail hour, which in parent-land means bath time. Baby Smith is delighted with the spacious marble bathroom and splashes around happily in her Swedish stoneware bath until she’s docked in a white linen-clad Bugaboo cot provided by the hotel. Then it’s time to sink into a Hay armchair and raid the fruit platter that’s been generously laid out, while firing up an episode of The Sopranos and perusing the room-service menu. 

If that sounds dull, you’ve underestimated Villa Dahlia (not to mention David Chase) again: there’s no sad Greek salad in sight. We opt for spicy vodka rigatoni and a charred peach, pistachio and stracciatella plate courtesy of Gastro Bar, the downstairs restaurant overseen by Chef Daniel Jogmar. Over the next three nights we’ll sample the bleak-roe-speckled pizzetta, the tempura fried artichoke with salsa verde and a salad Niçoise. There’s not a dud among them. 

After a delicious night’s sleep — no mean feat with a newborn, but a super comfortable bed combined with that air-con and noise insulation cannot be beaten — we head down to breakfast. And what a breakfast. The spread extends from fennel-flecked salami to eggs five ways, buckwheat porridge to French toast, homemade granola with sweet Swedish strawberries and platters of springy cardamom buns. Handwritten labels and pretty china make the guest experience feel akin to staying at a family-owned guesthouse rather than a corporate outpost. Service, too, treads the fine line between friendly and fawning. You could follow up your feasting with a game of boules: the terrace has its own gravel court.

We head out. Stockholm is enjoying a heatwave, but rather than the torrid temperatures of western Europe, it’s a pleasant 26 degrees Celsius. Mr Smith is determined to purchase a cast-iron pepper grinder from Skeppshult, a Swedish company that’s been operating since 1906 and apparently holds cult status in culinary circles. We head to its store only to find a scrawled note on the door saying the owners are on holiday. Several department and specialist kitchen stores later, the pepper grinder has been secured. We celebrate with lunch at Sturehof, an old-school seafood restaurant with an excellent mosaic floor decorated with brass fish. We order the Toast Skagen (fried bread topped with shrimp salad) and a Martini — bliss. 

After a beer on the airy roof terrace at the hotel (great views, slightly incongruous Balearic beats) and another night of high-quality sleep, day two sees us tackle the National Museum. It’s showing a ceramics exhibition combining pottery by Swedish artist Wilhelm Kåge, best known for his work at the Gustavsberg porcelain factory, and the Japanese ceramicist Shoji Hamada. Then it’s back to Svenskt Tenn to mull over fabric samples while Mr Smith wheels the baby up and down the promenade of Strandvägen. 

I finally decide on an elephant-print cushion and several metres of a jolly curtain fabric titled ‘Chianti’, then placate Mr Smith with lunch at the store’s café. After more strolling and shushing, we round off the day with a glass of orange wine at Savant, a bar just around the corner from the hotel. Then it’s back to the sanctity of our calm, quiet Scandi suite. The final surprise? A mercifully generous check-out time of noon. If you’re seeking a family-friendly city location that embraces the charms of Stockholm without being bound to its more austere impulses, don’t hesitate to book a stay at Villa Dahlia.