Want to ruin a perfectly good hotel? Give it a makeover

Here we go, crew. Here’s an easy one. You might have even heard this question posed in the Monocle orbit before. What is the worst thing a GM at a favourite hotel can say to you? As it’s early on a Sunday morning and all, let’s make this multiple choice. 

a)
“So good seeing you again. I know you’ve flown in long haul and as your room is not quite ready we’ve made arrangements for you to freshen up in our gym.”

b)
“What a delight to have you back with us. As you’ll see across the lobby, we’ve really been listening to our guests and decided to get rid of the bar to open the whole space up so that people can hang out more and treat this as their living room.”

c)
“Very nice to be welcoming you back. I am thrilled to say that not only is your room ready but you’re going to be the first to stay in one of our newly renovated suites. It’s the exact same room size as you’re used to but we’ve made a range of fresh enhancements and technology upgrades. We look forward to hearing your thoughts.”

While none of these are great welcomes, you can imagine that I’m not a fan of option c. When a hotel renovates, why do they not reserve 10 rooms or a floor for guests who like things just the way they are? Are they not aware that many people don’t need a bathroom with a porthole window into the bedroom to allow in daylight, or a lighting system that has three mood settings that never correspond with how you’re feeling after a conference call at 23.00 with a bunch of muppets, or the absence of a TV because “Everyone travels with their own screens these days.” On a recent trip to HK, I stayed at one of the city’s more famous landmark properties and was offered a new room that was a cross between a franchise branch of Ladurée, an upmarket Geneva dental clinic (famous for fleecing unsuspecting clients from Riyadh) and the opening title sequence of The White Lotus. Thankfully, I could check out without having to exchange niceties with management. But had the staffer on duty asked me about my stay, I would have said: “Until you realise that 97.5 per cent of your guests are not 27-year-old influencers from Shanghai or San Francisco, and redeploy some dark woods and a more mature colour palette, I’ll be staying elsewhere.”

The urge to innovate is a curious thing. In some sectors, it’s essential. Technology, ambitious competitors and a stable yet stale product demand investment to vault forward, stay relevant. But what if your business thrives because it’s simply solid and draws a crowd because it doesn’t surprise but comforts? Is it okay to stick with the lighting fixtures that the founders hung 100 years ago? Should the linen sheets be replaced with polycotton because easy-care bedding will trim €11,000 from the laundry bill?

On Friday, we set off from Zürich for St Moritz. The afternoon was devoted to family dental appointments and a little bit of advance party prep (we hosted our summer soiree at our Alpine shop and café last night). On the way up the mountain, with time on our side, I decided a sunny lunch at a favourite restaurant would be a perfect tone-setter for the weekend. I called the hotel and had them reserve a table. Some 90 minutes later, we pulled up, took the lift down a few levels and walked to the small woody restaurant that we’ve been going to for nearly three decades. Water and champagne were poured, menus distributed and we took in the view. Who on earth thought a bouncy castle, inflated to look like a bloated version of the hotel, was a good idea?

I had already decided I was going to have the steak tartare (medium spice) and a simple salad with French dressing. I didn’t really need the menu at this point but I thought that I’d look anyway. Hmmmm? There must be some pages missing, I thought. I didn’t recognise any of the dishes. Where was mom’s rösti with salmon? Was the potato waffel supposed to be the stand-in? Where were the classics? Had the same five-star consultants who told the Hong Kong management that “cirrus pistachio” was a colour for the future also sold this hotel on beef carpaccio with raspberry as a winning replacement for Swiss beef tartare? We managed to find our way but the manager could tell that it was a struggle to order and there was definitely a degree of embarrassment when chopsticks were lined up alongside the soup. 

At this point I surveyed the crowd, there were four to five people around 39 but everyone else was north of 75. This being the land of clinics, the real numbers were likely closer to 90. Were they enjoying seeing classics turned on their heads? From the murmurs at other tables, the innovation in the kitchen is no easy sell. It might well be that they know their current crowd won’t be with them much longer, so why not move with the times and bring in a new crowd?  Then again, why have a menu in the high Swiss Alps that could also be found in a nice lobby restaurant in Jakarta or Boston? Is it not better to stick with a taste of place rather than a set of dishes that kill off a once-loved favourite?

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