Alnwick's Cookie Jar should banish pining for foreign destinations

If the historic sites and natural wonders aren't enough to lure you to linger in Northumbria, this luxury boutique hotel might do the trick. The Cookie Jar is exemplary in its class: high-end design, extreme comfort, fantastic food and a management team that makes you feel like honoured guests in their home rather than paying hotel clients.

It came as no surprise that one of the owners was a former chief executive of both Malmaison and Hotel du Vin; you'll find all the things here that make those chains great but on a more intimate scale, a more personal touch and a lower price point. Robert and Debbie Cook are regularly present to cater to guests and ensure the attention to detail that extends to everything, from the in-the-moment, personal-sized bottles of hand sanitizer near the door to take with you on outings to the Hypnos beds to the jar of fresh chocolate chip cookies you'll find in your room when you return from your day's adventures.

The Cookie Jar's location is ideal: throwing distance to Alnwick Castle's main (pre-pandemic) entrance, within easy walking distance of the town centre, but on the very edge where building gives way to countryside. A five-minute walk takes you over Alnwick's famous Lion Bridge and into the pastures along the river Aln below the castle, a landscape so beautiful it's as if you're strolling through a painting. The edge-of-town location means it's also remarkably quiet; we were on the front of the building but slept peacefully with windows wide open.

This is one of those boutique hotels that looks like it’s fallen out of the pages of a high-end house and garden magazine. It's likely to give you decor envy and design ideas in equal measure. The colour scheme is a bold blue and white, flying in the face of the received design wisdom that blue is a “cold” colour inappropriate for interiors. (I had a bit of a battle over this idea with my mother-in-law, a respected interior decorator, when I insisted on a blue, grey and white sitting room. The Cookie Jar not only validated my decision but has me thinking I could be bolder with the blue.) Whether in the rooms, the cozy library lounge or the bistro-style dining room, it’s the interplay of fabrics and decorative items in the highlight colours that bring the scheme to life. 

Strikingly different patterns work together because of their shared colours. Blue and white plates in a range of modern designs, both abstract and figurative, ring the upper walls of the dining room. Rather than a single chandelier in the gracious staircase hall there are three enormous bird cages at different levels enclosing the lights. Tripod lamps look like they’ve been converted from arcane surveying equipment. Our otherwise traditionally-appointed bedroom had an alcove in one corner transformed into a glass-walled shower room, made even more delightful by the Penhaligon toiletries provided.

Each of the 11 rooms is distinctively decorated, all within the blue and white theme but each very different in size and shape. (And cost) And just as if you were staying in some peer's ancestral pile, each has a name rather than a number. We stayed in Bamburgh, a generously-sized room on the first floor with three towering sash windows across its length. (£253 per night.) We took a sneaky peak into The Chapel, the room that confirmed my suspicions that the building had once been a convent. This enormous room ... a family of four was just moving out ... was indeed built into an old chapel, complete with an arched roof and stained glass windows. But a super king bed now occupied the nave and a free standing bathtub, with glass shower room behind it, had replaced the altar. The website reveals that the other rooms are equally distinctive, if not quite so dramatic. 

I found The Cookie Jar while searching "dog friendly boutique hotel" and was delighted to be able to sink into this level of luxury with pets at my side. The reason for the policy becomes clear when you realise there's a gun room on the first floor and kennels at the bottom of the garden. Though all canines are welcome, the prime motivation for their inclusion is the gun dogs who come with guests on the Duke of Northumberland's shoots. The staff, kitted out in matching tartan waistcoats, are all dog people and make a suitable fuss over your furry friends. They also, of course, take fine care of you, from suggesting the best dog walks to secret local beaches and the lesser-known sightseeing gems.

Alnwick, however, doesn't give them much scope to recommend restaurants. A foodie town, this is not. Fortunately the kitchen at the Cookie Jar is just as good as the decor and service, meaning we were perfectly happy to settle into dinner, B&B for the entirety of our stay. The menu has a set price for two or three courses (£34.50 and £42.50), changes subtly every day and completely every three or four. Seasonal variety drives what's on offer, especially on the fish front where options depend on what was in port that morning. Thus we ate here for six nights but never repeated ourselves. Unsurprisingly, the seafood stood out, particularly local lobster and scallops in a lobster bisque. But duck breast in a luscious sauce was another winner, and the best desserts made the most of late summer berries. My only culinary disappointment was the cheeseboard, which seemed a bit generic in its brie-cheddar-blue range. I'd hoped for some local revelations, but it could be there aren't many options in the county. (We're spoiled by local cheesemakers at home in Hampshire, so I can be a bit picky.)

As you might expect, breakfast went beyond the standard "Full English". Though that was very good, distinguished this far North with exceptional black pudding, it was the range and quality of the other options that stood out. I ran through the whole menu. I'd never had kippers before and fresh-smoked options from nearby Craster are, I'm informed, about as good as they get. They are pungent, firm and imbued with so much smoke you'd think you'd swallowed a Weber kettle. I couldn't eat them every day, but grilled in butter and served with brown buttered bread they were a treat that fuelled you all the way to dinner. Scrambled eggs and avocado on thick slices of sourdough were delicious, and their attempt at American-style pancakes was pretty good ... though as a Midwesterner I can never really get on board with the fussy "dollar size" variety generally thought of as American throughout the UK. Yogurt pots with fruit compote and home made granola were a treat. 

Many Brits have felt deprived of a proper holiday this year, "trapped" in the UK and pining for the glories of a foreign escape. If you want proof that a staycation can be just as special as anything on the end of a plane journey, do give the Cookie Jar a try.

Boutique hotels and historic restaurants crown this Southern Belle

Savannah is awash with gorgeous hotels and tasty, atmospheric dining opportunities.  Your greatest difficulty will be making a choice.

Types of accommodation fall roughly into one of three categories:  chain hotels ... from luxury down to budget ... boutiques and B&Bs.  The B&Bs in restored homes in the historic district look amazing, but getting in to them requires planning far in advance, and they're all geared to doubles (where our annual girls' trip needs a triple).  We went the boutique route with The Brice, a Kimpton Hotel on the Northeast corner of the historic district.  This is a pricey option, but is about as perfect an example of "boutique" as I've seen anywhere.

This old cotton warehouse turned Coca-Cola bottling plant has been wonderfully converted; simple touches like long sailcloth drapes to mimic pillars and wrought iron set into balconies manage to keep the industrial modernity of the place while also evoking plantations of the Deep South.  The grey and white colour scheme, with the odd pop of bright colour, extends through the hotel and is very much the feel of old Savannah, as are the staff uniforms of linen, seersucker and the occasional madras plaid bow tie.  Homey small touches abound:  signs point to the "living room" rather than the lobby; dogs are welcome and a big water bowl and jar of biscuits greets them inside the front door; bikes are available on loan; free coffee is laid out at breakfast time and the management pours free wine at happy hour.  The laid-back atmosphere means you're likely to meet and mingle with other guests as you're relaxing on the comfy, all-weather sofas in the courtyard.  It all felt more like a trendy house party than a hotel.

The historic district is small enough to be easily walkable; we reached all of the dining options discussed below on foot.

For Sunday breakfast, we discovered the Goose Feathers Cafe.  We'd had visions of a long, lingering brunch accompanied by the enticing bacon bloody Marys we'd heard tell of at the Andaz hotel.  Sadly, upon arrival there we thought the breakfast options looked poor, we discovered the drink was simply a regular bloody Mary with a strip of de-hydrated maple bacon added as garnish and, worst of all, that Sunday laws prohibited any alcohol being served before 1pm.  Locals directed us to the nearby Goose Feathers, where a queue out the door and beautiful options on current diner's plates told us we were on to something.  The breakfast menu includes expected items like pastries, breakfast "sandwiches" combining eggs, sausage, bacon, etc, omelettes and daily specials.  I went for the special shrimp and grits, which fulfilled the desire for local comfort food, yet kick-started the day with a well-judged lacing of jalepeno.

Elegant lunch options are The Collins Quarter Cafe and The Gryphon Cafe.  They're both just off

historic residential squares, well away from the main strip of bars and restaurants in the market district, so manage to have a quieter, less touristy feel about them.  Collins is a relatively new place, and one of the tourism office people told me she'd been wanting to go since it was getting great reviews.  It's a clean, airy dining room with friendly staff dishing up simple food that celebrates its farm-to-table heritage, but mixes up the local sourcing with exotic elements.  I had, for example, a Moroccan scramble with house-made merguez sausage, and ras al hanout scrambled eggs over chickpeas.  It was just a pinch of chili and a few shakes of salt away from perfection.  Tastes of the local catch (cubes of fried fish mixed with Mexican elements and served on a tortilla) and the smashed avocado on toast were equally impressive.  In retrospect, our quick Saturday lunch should have been at Goose Feathers, and our lingering Sunday brunch (sans bloody Marys) would have been better here.

We only stopped for drinks at The Gryphon, but the lunch menu looked good and the atmosphere is exceptional.  It's set in an opulent, late-19th century pharmacy, with dark wood shelves and service counters intact and an ornate stained glass dome overhead.  A player piano pumps out classics from one corner, and there's a raised area where you can sink into wingback chairs.  It's very much a ladies' lunch/tea shop sort of place. It's owned and run by the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD), which owns buildings throughout town, and staffed by students.  Note: because of the student involvement there's no alcohol license.  After eating, you can nip across the street to the SCAD shop, an art gallery where students and alumni sell their work in a variety of media.

For our main meals we opted for two of Savannah's most classic, established restaurants:  Garibaldi's Cafe and The Old Pink House.  (We didn't realise until after we'd dined at the first that they're sister restaurants.)

As its name implies, Garibaldi's menu has a slight Italian skew, but I'd call it a classic fish and steak restaurant with influences from around the world.  It's signature dish, for example, would be at home in an upscale Thai restaurant.  Evidently people drive for miles for this crispy flounder with its sweet, sour and spicy sauce spiked with coriander.  I made that lucky menu choice and understand why the dish is famous.  It was the best of all the fine things I consumed in Savannah.  Elsewhere on the table, Denver ribs and Savannah shrimp and lobster were good, but not as good as my flounder.

The restaurant itself, like The Gryphon, is a sight to behold.

This time you're in an old firehouse, converted to an elegant dining room with a pressed tin ceiling, columns, mirrors and an ornate late 19th century bar.  It's black and gold and elegant while also being a bit louche, as if courtesans were waiting to entertain the great and the good upstairs.  It also features some of the finest service we've ever had on any of our trips, with the team giving us great advice on menu choices, working to get us out in time for our 8pm ghost tour, and sending us off with our excess wine safely transferred to go cups.  There's a lot of drinking while walking in Savannah, but I doubt many plastic cups hold a pouilly fuisse of that quality.  You'd expect no less from these girls' trips, right?

We had far more time to linger at the Pink House since that was the only event on the agenda for the evening, and was a belated celebration of my birthday.  (The last, I trust, of a jubilee year that's now stretched to 16 months!)  Even in Europe, there aren't many restaurants that allow you to dine in such historic surroundings.  This is one of the oldest buildings in town, little changed from its original
form as an elegant Georgian town house of 1789.  Indeed, having considerably more buildings of that provenance in London, I was surprised to see that the Georgia colonists certainly didn't seem to be behind the times.  The architecture and amenities included by the builder, James Habersham Jr., weren't that different from its contemporaries in the mother country.  The only obvious difference I noted was the treacherously shallow tread on the stairs, which almost sent me flying headlong into the entrance hall at the end of the meal.  I somehow managed to regain my balance at the last minute; I like to think it was Habersham's ghost, who's supposed to turn up frequently and who loved to entertain, who extended his hospitality to not letting me break my neck.

The current owners have added a large garden room onto the back which extends the possible covers, and they've done a good job retaining the Georgian feel.  But if you're going to dine here, make an effort to plan far enough in advance to be in the main house.  Tables are generously spaced, lights are low, there's plenty of candlelight and 18th century portraits stare down benignly.  It's tremendously atmospheric.  There's an equally characterful bar in the cellar, all rough stone, dark wood, stained glass and more candlelight.  It's an English West Country pub as we all fantasise them to be, rather than any actually are.  They feature a live pianist, and the same menu as upstairs with no reservations, so if you haven't planned ahead and want to try the place, this is a good option.

We started out downstairs for drinks; their signature Pink Ladies make a grand start to the evening.  (And, admittedly, might have contributed to the danger of the stairs.)  In what was once a grand bedroom on the top floor, we settled around a table overlooking Reynolds Square and launched into a feast of Southern cuisine.

Even though I lived in Texas for three years and was an avid subscriber to Southern Living magazine, it didn't occur to me that "Southern" was a distinct and potentially gourmet cuisine until I went to Washington D.C.'s Vidalia (reviewed here).  I loved it, and haven't had anything like it since, so was delighted to find the same spirit in the Pink House menu.  Our starters included more of that ubiquitous and tasty Southern shrimp (here in a classic cocktail), a salad with goat's cheese and candied Georgia pecans and some exceedingly wicked balls of deep fried jalepeno macaroni and cheese.  Once again I felt that I made the winning menu choice with a pork tenderloin, beautifully complemented by collard greens that had simmered for a good, long time with bacon, and sweet potato, all robed in a maple pecan sauce that was both sweet and a bit spicy.  Hillary's fried chicken tasted exactly as my grandmother's used to.  Indeed, the staff reported that the chef soaks the chicken overnight in buttermilk, just as Nana did. Mahi mahi stuffed with crab was an elegant lighter choice.

We split a couple of desserts, both of which celebrated the native pecan.  The pecan pie was the best I've ever had, and the praline pecan basket with vanilla ice cream was a gourmet take on simple ingredients.  All this fine food came with a great wine list and a serving team as good as the impressive one the night before.  We had a marvellous time, and found ourselves chatting to the staff for so long we were one of the last parties out the door.

At which point, I'll stick to my story and say that Mr. Habersham helped me down the stairs and into the night.  Thereby preserving me to want to come back to dine and explore this gorgeous city again.