This post was originally published on this site.
While the property is self-catered and Penrith’s grocery shops are a 10-minute drive away, the estate’s private chef, Elliot, became our fairy godfather for the weekend. He’s the kind of quiet talent who whips up exactly what you didn’t know you were craving: on the first night, we deemed the lasagna—which we washed down with a bottle of Médoc round the kitchen table in pajamas— the best we’d ever had. (And it was gluten-free!) Come night two, after a day of wandering down the estate’s wildflower-shrouded trails and lounging on our private lake’s dock, we wandered into the dining room, where we were met with filet mignon perfected with a dash of Cointreau, and chocolate mousse for dessert.
Being an extension of a property that operates as a hotel, if you’re more of a hands-off type, you’ll be pleased at the option to take advantage of Edenhall’s services and more widely available amenities, like its courtyard gym or massages. But we were more than happy enough with our on-property sauna and hedge-wrapped hot tub, both positioned for an easy glimpse of Juno, the deer who might be the estate’s unofficial pet and somewhat of a local mascot. “How is dear Juno?” an elderly woman asked Mark Holden-Hindley as he rolled down the car window to greet her on our drive to the house. The half-empty peanut jar in our pantry, it seems, was really there for her afternoon snack, should she wander up to any of the French doors.
Funny as it might sound, a top highlight here is sleep. After so many restless nights in a sweltering London, we were grateful for the calm and cool air of this place, which left us clear-headed and rested. The beds, which range from four-poster beauties to models with antique wicker headboards, are the kind you might find in a friend’s countryhouse guest bedroom, and are comfortable in a way no new hotel could ever replicate.
