Checking in at Dormy House is like visiting an old friend. It just feels homely and welcoming.
We have stayed a couple of times in the past, and it looked and felt the same—except the reception desk was gone.
Now the staff are here and there, often with a laptop in one of the rooms. The trouble is, so are some of the guests—easy to mistake one for the other and try checking in with the wrong person.
The design oozes Cotswolds charm—super cosy and relaxed. The perfect place to recharge.
Hats off to Mr Clarkson for what he has done for the agricultural community in the Cotswolds. These days, Hawkstone seems to be in every pub and tucked into every minibar we came across.
The Shed is their bar, which also serves lunch, and the service was excellent compared to last time. The menu had changed since our last visit, and not for the better in our view.
We really enjoyed it, now even with a card-operated wine dispensing system.
Pour a glass and sit wherever you want, read a book. We tried some of the wines—“fox poison,” undrinkable. I think the sommelier needs to step it up a bit.
If anyone is going to Dormy House, send us an email and we will post you our card. I think it still has around £30 left on it. It would come to better use than sitting in our drawer. Hopefully with better wines this time.
Breakfast is fine—no more, no less. Standard, but it is always nice to see a Bloody Mary station when entering a breakfast room.
This is their main restaurant for dinner. Same as last time. Not worse, not better. Just a little uninspired.
The promised rosemary fries with my rib-eye steak? Not a hint of rosemary, just overly salted fries à la McDonald’s.
The courgette and basil risotto? Perhaps a drizzle of basil olive oil, but that was it. The dish sounded promising, but it did not deliver.
Overall, the menu felt tired… well, perhaps the head chef was on holiday?
Confit Egg Yolk – Parmesan Custard – White Balsamic – Black Olive
It is a nice concept—intimate, tasting menu, and it only seats twelve guests. We had not visited MO before.
First, we gathered in the main room to the left as you enter the hotel.
Some socialising, some drinks and a snack—but this was painfully slow, and it took a long time before we could enter the small kitchen room, where you sit in bar chairs in a horseshoe shape with the chefs in the middle.
Scallop – Squid – Lemongrass Sauce
Everything started out well. Perhaps the food was not our style, but still enjoyable.
And then they carried in a barbecue. A Hibachi grill. They started grilling, and the whole room instantly filled with smoke.
The ladies, all dressed up, some started to smell their hair. My wife could not take it—she just left. She tried to come back, but it was still too smelly.
Me, with my asthma, made a brave attempt, but I had to throw in the towel before the last dishes. I went to have a shower and change clothes.
Parsley Panna Cotta – Celeriac Consommé – Dulse Seaweed – Dashi Vinegar
The next day, having dinner at the Back Garden, we saw the guests going into MO—ladies in beautiful dresses. I thought they had probably learnt from yesterday’s mistakes.
Later, up in our room, the fire alarm went off in the hotel. Yes, the Hibachi had set it off.
Whose idea was it to bring a Hibachi grill into a small dining room and go all in? Not exactly Nobel Prize material in the brain category.
The next day was check-out day. Surely they would mention it? No. I brought it up. She could not see any note of it.
I asked to speak to the manager. He knew about the problem. That was it.
I suggested they bring the grill just outside the dining room, take the guests out for a bit, do a thing of it—maybe offer some grill tips, let them stretch their legs.
“Oh, that is a very good idea,” he said.
All I could think was: amateur hour. Hopefully, they will get it when the dry-cleaning bills start to pile up.
In the end, you do not come here for gourmet food. You come for the hotel and the friendly service. But mostly, you come to unwind.
A really super-cool room, the kind that makes you smile.
It had a drum set, a vinyl player with a great selection of records, and mood lighting you could change. Of course, we changed it to pink. And if you want it to go full disco with the music changes the light to the sound, just press a button.
Next to the living room was a more traditional bedroom.
But this was a suite to remember.
The bookshelf had 12 full bottles of gin, which I thought was a bit over the top. Turned out they were empty!
Like a student’s corridor room at university—where someone thought a row of empty gin bottles would look cool. Here it just looked out of place and slightly awkward.
The spa is excellent—clearly one of Dormy House’s main attractions.
They have everything from a lavender sauna and salt steam room to a 16-metre indoor infinity pool, and even a snow shower, where actual snow falls from the ceiling. For those who think a spa is not complete without mild hypothermia.
There is also something called a “wave massage” bed—hands-free, futuristic, and still not something I understand.
I kept it simple and booked a traditional back massage, mostly to recover from the sport seats in our rental Volvo, which were just hideous.
Dormy House is like visiting an old friend—familiar, always welcoming, and hard to leave. But after two nights we moved to Foxhill Manor and, well… we found a better friend.
Six times before
2
The Studio
None
OK and very loud in the living room. Bedroom normal.
85%
Ok, menu and a small health station in the middle.
OK
No, not because it is bad — it isn’t. But there is something better around the corner.
Yes, but with a question for the meals.
