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“I feel very at peace,” my sister sighed as we departed Ballymaloe House Hotel – a fitting summary of what had been the most restful weekend I’d had all year. “In another life, we would have been very good posh people,” she mused, clearly a fan of being waited on hand and foot. I fear our stay may have ruined all other hotels for us.
Arriving in Shanagarry on a sun-drenched Friday afternoon, we weren’t quite sure what to expect. That said, as longtime admirers of the Allen family—my dad and sister were devoted viewers of Rachel Allen’s cooking show—we suspected we were in for a treat. Turns out, even that was an understatement.
First impressions aren’t everything but they certainly work in Ballymaloe’s favour. A winding (albeit slightly potholed) drive leads up to the front of the property which, cloaked in ivy and dappled with the last of the evening light, elicited audible ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from my sister and me. We may not be the toughest crowd but I suspect even those immune to rural Irish charm would find themselves disarmed by the peaceful setting.
Impressive as the exterior is, the inside is even more so. Immediately inviting, the decor is traditional yet modern, perfecting the balance between new and old while staying true to the property’s storied past. To the left-hand side, is the drawing room; a space in which guests congregate for tea and cake between 3 to 5pm or pre-dinner cocktails once night falls. Originally a castle of the Imokilly Geraldines, the property was bought by Myrtle and Ivan Allen in 1948, and though it’s gone through many iterations since then, it still maintains that same sense of otherworldly magic – if you think I’m being hyperbolic, a man (one of the Allen brothers, I later learned) sat in the foyer, gently strumming a mandolin as we checked in. The whole thing felt straight out of a fairytale.
When it comes to hotel rooms, I’ve become picky in my old age. Pet peeves include (but are not limited to): a lack of easily reachable plugs, no bathroom real estate (by which I mean shelving on which to arrange skincare, makeup and other such products), an abundance of cushions, high-tech domotics which make it impossible to regulate the temperature or figure out the lighting system (how is it that, come bedtime, the switches only seem to turn more lights on?), byzantine shower knobs, and no dedicated place to hang wet towels. Ballymaloe gracefully sidestepped each bugaboo, and our room—The Ivy Suite—featured a conservatory with seating area, a private dressing room with vanity, a king-sized bed (a highlight), and a bathroom with a bath, shower and heated drying rack (not to mention two sinks and ample counter space).
