Dober At 6:15 on a Sunday morning I stepped out of the elevator at The Bloomsbury and did not break stride. Coffee came into my hand. The bags were in the car. The door was open. London is full of beautiful hotels. Most of them you forget by the airport. This one followed me home.
The building is a Lutyens from 1932, on Great Russell Street, the same street as the British Museum. I usually stay a bit further from the monuments, because those streets are built for tourists. This one is different. If you want the lively, restaurant and shop-focused side of London, this is the place to be: a wonderful combination of things easily accessible on foot, three tube lines included. The hotel sits on its own private road, so pickup and drop-off are seamless. Lively at the door, calm behind it.
One thing to say early, because this site is called Dober Stays: the dog policy is dogs and cats up to 10 kilos, £50 a stay, with a bed, bowls and a treat provided. Unfortunate for a person who travels with a Doberman. Ruby stayed home, so this is a review of the hotel for its humans, and the dog metrics are left unscored.
The first room, and the second
I arrived at one, two hours before the published three o'clock check-in, left the bag and went shopping. Reception called at 2:24 to say the room was ready, which is 36 minutes early and worth saying. Then I opened the door. The darkest room I have ever been given. Tiny. The bathroom light went off three times while I was in it. Horrible.
One phone call. They moved me at once, a few doors along, to a Classic Queen that was brighter, bigger and had a tub. The duty manager rang to apologize and offered a bottle of champagne or breakfast.
The second room: 22 square meters, a queen bed, a marble bathroom with a heated floor and a tub. Nespresso, fresh milk, a properly stocked minibar, Frédéric Malle. Turndown while I was at dinner, slippers by the bed, chocolates, total blackout. The view is nothing and it is not a room to work from, but the lounges more than make up for it: I would work in the fireplace room, at the Coral Room bar, or out on the terrace, and the wifi held in all of them. One warning: the American socket by the bed is dead, so bring the adapter.
Four rooms, four moods
What I loved about this hotel is that it is several places. Dalloway Terrace, in the picture above, is the covered garden restaurant, named for Mrs Dalloway, with a canopy of flowers that changes with the season. On a Saturday at 8:30 there was one other couple out there, so it was mine. The beef tartare, egg yolk, capers, garlic emulsion, sourdough, £18: amazing. The crab and prawn linguine, £29: disappointing. Mediocre. I ate about a quarter of it and would not order it again.
The Coral Room is the showpiece, Martin Brudnizki's 2017 room with coral walls, five Murano glass chandeliers and a long marble bar, open until midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, cocktails £18. The Coral Negroni, one big ice cube and a grapefruit slice: forgettable. The Bijou, gin and green Chartreuse and vermouth: quite nice, and the glass it came in was beautiful.
Off the Coral Room there is a lounge with botanical wallpaper, a marble Lutyens fireplace, teal and terracotta chairs and two chandeliers. At eleven on a Saturday night it was empty and completely quiet. Intimate. If you need to think, that is the room.
And then there is downstairs.
The man downstairs
The Bloomsbury Club Bar calls itself Bloomsbury's hidden speakeasy. Leather armchairs, mahogany, a band playing nine to eleven most nights Tuesday to Saturday, a cocktail menu called The Listeners Club that is organized by musical era and printed on seven-inch records. I went down late, sat at the bar, and wow. I loved it.
Mattia Cavola was behind the bar. He asked what I drink, and I told him the truth: Negroni, and the one upstairs had fallen flat. He did not defend it. He just started building. What he put in front of me was his own version, made for the person sitting there and nobody else, and it did exactly what I had asked for: it made me happy. Then the lesson began. Bottle after bottle came down off the back bar, this one, now this, what do you taste, until I had tried everything I pointed at and a few things I had not. When I finally got up to go, he wrote the recipe down so I could make it at home. I have stayed in hotels with bigger names and better views. None of them gave me an hour like that. He was wonderful, and he made the stay. If you go to The Bloomsbury, go downstairs, sit at the bar, and let him decide.
The recipe, as Mattia wrote it on a bar ticket and signed it. Mezcal, Espadín, 25 ml. Mezcal, Salmiana, 10 ml. Sweet vermouth, 25 ml. Campari, 20 ml. Amaro Santoni, 10 ml. Brancamenta, 2.5 ml. Love, 50 ml.
Stir, one big cube. Make it at home and it is good. Sit at his bar and it is better.
The bar's current menu is credited to bar manager Antonio Papariello.
What the front desk does that the inbox does not
Here is the one useful thing to know before you stay. Two days before arrival my team emailed guest services with two requests: the brightest room they had, and sparkling water in the room on arrival. Fenn in guest services replied the same evening, by name, in writing:
“I have added her room preferences and requests. I have added a note for sparkling water to be set up in the room.”Guest Services, The Bloomsbury, 24 September 2026
Neither reached the room. The light was fixed with the move. The water took three asks and arrived after the champagne.
Now the other side. Everything I asked a human being for, standing at the desk, was done to the minute. I booked a taxi at midnight for 6:15. It was outside at 6:15. A porter knocked for the bags at 6:15 exactly. And the man from the night desk, the same man I had spoken to at midnight, was there at dawn and put a takeaway coffee into my hand as I walked out. I had not asked him for it that morning. He remembered. Peter, the bellman who brought the champagne up on Saturday: amazing, the best. So: at The Bloomsbury, talk to people. The people are the system, and they are excellent at it.
Getting to Heathrow at dawn
I booked the taxi for 6:15 for an 8:00 flight from Terminal 2 and made it, just. Do not do that. Leave by 5:15. On a Sunday the Elizabeth line is no help before 7:53. The Piccadilly line from Russell Square, a fifteen minute walk, runs all night on Saturdays and takes 56 minutes to Terminals 2 and 3, with trains at 4:46, 4:56 and 5:06. Heathrow Express from Paddington starts at 4:55. I took a cab: about 45 minutes, and it ran about $159.
The verdict
The Bloomsbury is a beautiful building in the best walking location in London, with four rooms downstairs that each do a different job and a staff that will fix anything you say out loud. Book a room with natural light, and say so again at the desk. Eat the tartare. Skip the Coral Room Negroni. Go downstairs.