Bovey Castle delivers a New Year’s Eve out of your film fantasies

New Year’s Eve often underwhelms. A lifetime of film and television suggests it should romantic and monumental, but too often it’s about overpriced restaurants, uncomfortable jostling with crowds to watch a fireworks display that lasts a tenth of the time you’ve been waiting for it, or simply falling asleep in front of the TV. After a lifetime of experience I’ve decided that the only way to guarantee a New Year’s Eve that lives up to the hype is to check in to a nice hotel that’s laying on a party. Ideally, a country house hotel like Bovey Castle.

I fell in love with this place three years ago when Covid forced the annual Girls Trip to local options. (See my earlier review here for a fuller picture of the hotel itself.) I’ve been hoping to bring my husband back ever since. Their lavish New Year’s package offered the opportunity, while giving both of us the chance to celebrate the conclusion of trying times at work and the transition to new roles for both of us in 2024.

Bovey’s two-night offer includes bed, breakfast, all the hotel’s usual included activities, plus a fantastic party on New Year’s Eve and an almost-constant spread of food that reminds you in quantity of a cruise ship, but in quality is much higher. We added an extra night at the start, arriving at lunch time on the 30th and heading for home late morning on the 2nd. Throughout, Bovey lived up to the country house ideal, offering pampered lounging in beautiful interiors that made you feel like you were more an invitee to a house party than a paying guest. The in-house experience was particularly important since the weather outside was dire.

The party at our escape’s heart lived up to all those New Year expectations. We started with a champagne and canapés reception sprawling across the castle’s impressive suite of drawing rooms. Even at maximum capacity, Bovey is big enough to not feel crowded, so there were plenty of comfortable seats for those who wanted them, space between groups of guests and no waiting for nibbles or top ups. The dress code was black tie and there was plenty of old-style glamour. While all ages were represented, including plenty of mult-generational family groups gathered for the holiday, the look and feel was solidly old school. One assumes the kind of people who like the idea of isolation in a Victorian castle on the edge of Dartmoor are more Downton Abbey than modern bougie bling. Best of all … and solidly Downton style … dogs are allowed in hotel bedrooms and the drawing rooms, so we enjoyed our cocktails with our spaniel at our feet in the soaring “cathedral room” 

before a highlander piped us into dinner.

The six course dinner rolled out in the elegant Great Western dining room (named after the train line that’s been bringing guests here since it became a hotel in the ‘30s). It was transformed for the holiday with lavender and silver balloons, silver party hats and Christmas crackers at each place. Either ice crystals, diamonds, or bits of plastic … depending on your imagination … scattered across the crisp white linens to catch the light.

The festive dinner started with a large shot glass of Cullen skink soup, followed by a ballotine of duck and a fish course of smoked salmon in champagne sauce. The main course was also the highlight of the show, a peppered loin of estate venison in a rich, silky sauce. Unfortunately, despite having two month’s notice of my husband’s tomato allergy, there was no sauce alternative for him. While the atmosphere was elegant and the menu lavish, we were definitely in banqueting territory on service and selection, with no alternatives for his non-standard allergy offered up. More delicate dishes (scallops, eggs) were often slightly overcooked, and many served slightly cooler than the ideal. The food service … particularly at breakfast … was a lot slower than I’d expect from this price point. Aside from the lack of allergy substitutes, there was nothing I’d escalate to a proper complaint, but the food overall didn’t reach the levels I reported when at the hotel over an October weekend.  All kitchens, including this one, struggle in banquet mode, and nobody seems to be able to get holiday staffing to full levels any more.

Dessert was an individual baked Alaska, followed by coffee and petit fours. I’m always a bit sceptical when the latter gets considered a course, but we were stuffed and had lingered at the table until 11:30, so that wasn’t an issue.

 Back in the cathedral room, so called because of its soaring ceiling and majestic proportions, sofas had been moved away from the fireplace to make room for an eight-man band. The three-piece horn section gave them a full, rich Big Band sound but the musical selection was solidly comprised of the kind of pop “floor fillers” that get everyone dancing at big events. The champagne was already being pressed into guests’ hands as we climbed up into the minstrel’s gallery to get an overhead view of the fun.

Just before midnight all the guests poured out onto the terrace behind the house to watch a short but impressive fireworks display set to music. This is the way to do NYE fireworks. No waiting, standing in an Italianate loggia protected from the drizzle, champagne being topped up by the waiters and a pile of hotel blankets on offer to ward off the chill for the 15 minutes you’ve ventured outside. 

The hotel was generous with the included champagne, topping up glasses well after midnight. We were relaxing in front of a roaring fire in the library, near enough to enjoy the band but far enough away for conversation. 

While this was the biggest event, it was far from the only activity included in the package. There were lavish teas laid out on the afternoons of both the 31st and the 1st, with piles of sandwiches, scones, pastries and savoury treats. Sadly the weather was so awful it was hard to do enough activity to work up an appetite, much less to work off your calories. 

I ventured out on New Year’s Eve, when the occasional pocket of sun peaked through scudding clouds and sudden rain bursts, but the wind was so intense that the dog and I only survived about half an hour. we made it to the foot of Hound Tor, a monumental pile of glacial boulders that appears like the ruins of some mythical castle from another age. I’ve taken glorious hikes here with Bruno’s predecessors on more clement days, but going any higher seemed to risk having our skins flayed off by the gale. The spaniel was so traumatised he wasn’t keen on going outside the rest of the break.

Fortunately Bovey boasts an indoor pool, steam room and sauna with glass walls at one end looking over the moors. This was a much a better form of exercise, though one the dog couldn’t participate in. 

You could also attend sessions to meet the estate’s falconer and one of his hawks, investigate the chickens or witness ferret racing. Given years of listening to The Archers I had high hopes for the ferrets. While adorable, they’re not natural racers and needed to be coaxed to meander down a track comprised of cages and tubes to a bowl of food waiting at the end. Not a patch on the piglet races you’ll find at a Midwestern state fair.

Outside there was a boules court, a putting green and rambles around lovely gardens, but only idiots and dog walkers were braving the weather. It had rained so much, in fact, that the boules court looked like a water feature rather than the pristine rectangle of sand it’s meant to be. 

The range of country activities included in the price of the hotel is one of Bovey’s draws, however, and in that way it reminded me of Missouri’s Big Cedar Lodge. And like the lodge, there are additional activities you can layer on for additional fees: archery, air rifle or clay pigeon shooting, an excursion to one of the estate barns to see how they make cider and gin. Having risked the great outdoors the day before, however, I spent New Year’s Day in an enormous wingback with my dog at my feet and my husband on the sofa next to me, alternating between reading a good book 

and drawing the landscape that I wasn’t able to spend long within the day before. 

While a range of activities is great, more important to me on a luxury break … particularly in the winter … is a variety of places to lounge in quiet, cozy, and architecturally impressive comfort. With fires. Bovey has these in abundance.

New Year’s Day brought another lavish banquet preceded by champagne, this time turned into kir royal to mix things up a bit. This time we started with a watercress veloute with a smoked salmon foam on top (I would have happily drunk more than the amuse bouche-sized shot glass), followed by another terrine, this time of chicken, duck liver and pistachio. The fish course brought scallops and young leeks in a vermouth sauce, just a touch overcooked as mentioned above. The cooking of the beef fillet, happily, was spot on, and they managed a sauce without tomato. The chocolate and malt tart that followed was the best of an impressive array of sweets that tempted me across the three days. In flavours and variety the New Year’s Day feast probably had a slight edge over the night before, but as the pinnacle of holiday indulgence it pushed me to that Mister Creosote moment, when a “whaffer thin mint” might have caused me to spontaneously explode. I figure this is exactly what you want out of your Christmas/New Year’s holidays: a climactic finish that makes you push back from the table and believe you are ready and eager to return to the austerity of January. 

The fly in all this lovely ointment, as you might expect, is cost. The two-night New Year’s package at Bovey Castle starts at around £2,000 per couple, with variations in cost depending on the level of room and whether you’re bringing your dog. (Or children!) Additional nights are a snip at £270; you are REALLY paying for the holiday festivity. I made a foolish assumption that for that cost, the wine would be included at the dinners. It was not. Add in a suitably celebratory number of bottles from a wine list where few choices are under £50, a cocktail or two, two meals not included, and a flat £25 fee for charging the car once (far pricier than a home charge), and the incidentals bill was an eye-watering 25%+ addition to what we’d already paid. 

Was the total cost worth it? Given the unique circumstances of our year, we’re glad we did it. We loved every minute and the three days felt more like a week of deep R&R. Would we do it again? Bovey Castle’s kind thank you upon leaving offers you a free additional night’s stay if you book next year’s package before the end of January. I’m not rushing to do it. I can’t help thinking that I’d enjoy the whole Bovey Castle experience more at none-holiday price. I’m certain the food would be even better if it was a la carte rather than part of a massive banquet. I adore the idea of a New Year’s Eve break spent in a luxury hotel with a magnificent party laid on for the guests … but could I find an option that offers something similar for a more reasonable cost? The hunt is on. As is the parallel hunt for new business. Because luxury like that isn’t even a remote possibility unless my new freelancing venture thrives. 

Aamanns 1921, irresponsible fireworks make a memorable New Year's Eve

Visiting Iceland in the depths of winter forever branded that country for me as "the land that health and safety forgot". (Story here.) After New Year's Eve in Copenhagen, I'm wondering if that attitude comes direct from their former colonial masters, the Danes. 

Watching turn-of-the-year fireworks from Copenhagen's Town Hall Square, the Rådhuspladsen, is like getting caught in the heart of a fireworks factory as it burns down around you. Official displays combine with scores of DIY contributions from fellow revellers for utter mayhem. Despite the density of the crowds, people are letting off multi-charge fireworks boxes with no more than a few feet of clear space. Others are holding Roman candles as they spit out their fountains of light. Given the effort it took us to get to anything approximating open space once we decided to head home, the potential for a dangerous stampede should anything go wrong was enormous. I didn't see a single police officer organising things, yet all was well. 

Still, I remember thinking that I was very glad we'd fortified ourselves with a Michelin-rated New Year's Eve meal in one of the world's culinary capitals in advance. Had I died by firework or crush that night, my last meal would have been one to remember.

The standard for New Year's Eve dining out in Copenhagen seems to be chef's menus with wine pairings, all in, paid in advance. Which is a big commitment to make months bfore, at a place you've never tried. Everything at Tivoli had pushed their prices into the stratosphere, so we opted for a well-reviewed spot close to our hotel. 

Aamanns 1921 is a restaurant famous for elevating Danish open sandwiches -- the famous smørrebrød -- to fine dining standards, and appears in many top travel guides as the best in Copenhagen for that style of dining. For dinner they flip to upscale modern Danish, heavy on local, organic sourcing and specialist touches like a variety of snaps flavoured in house. The location mirrors the style of food to come: on a venerable old side street, behind a facade that probably has been there since 1921, beneath rugged old stone arches lies a beautifully designed, modern space of blonde woods, creamy leather banquettes and striking brass chandeliers that could qualify as modern art.  Tradition meets cutting edge. The New Year's menu was 10 glorious courses ... though some came at the same time for practicality's sake ... with matching wines. 

I’m beginning to get a feel for what differentiates Danish haut cuisine, and it was all here: abundant sea food, the ability to get maximum flavour out of root vegetables, pickled fruit and veg often showing up in surprising ways, and a love of fresh herbs … particularly dill. We began the meal with four “starter” courses served at once with a classic dry champagne. Neither one of us is an oyster fan, but things looked up considerably with an oversized baton of toasted brioche saturated with truffle, and beef tartare in a pastry case. The mind-blower, however, was a savoury take on the classic Danish aebleskiver. Normally, these are apple-filled donuts about the size of a golf ball, cooked by flipping them around a special pan with half-circle shaped cups and then dusting them with powdered sugar. Here, the batter was savoury and the balls were billiard ball sized and unstuffed, waiting for you to tear them open and fill with a mix of soured cream, caviar and fresh chives. One of the stars of the meal and the one we're most likely to try at home. (Yes, of course we have an aebleskiver pan.)

Next came some of the best gravlax I’ve ever had; delicate yet packed with flavour, elevated with potent dill oil. Herbal oil also added spark to the next course, beautifully poached cod topped with a rose crafted from slices of poached beetroot. The third fish course was the kind of profligate blockbuster you want to see in the New Year, however. Lobster claws in buttery sauce in one dish, beside it a lobster custard made with the head meat. Both to be consumed with segments from a fresh, pillowy bread roll. It was the richest, most flavour-packed lobster dish imaginable, no doubt in part because of an outrageous fat content.

To be honest, we didn’t really need another savoury course, but sirloin of beef with pomme purée laced with more truffles continued the excessive spirit of the evening. And beef finally made way for a red wine: a debate-provoking Barolo that worked for me but was proclaimed a little thin by Mr. B. (The procession of white wines that had matched all those fish courses took us around Europe with pleasing variety, though offered no surprises.)

Dessert defied fine dining convention with the simplicity of cake and ice cream; multiple layers of chocolate sponge and ganache so dense with cocoa it would have been too much without the complementing cream. The star of the sweets, however, was the petit fours that came after. Chocolate truffles, fruit jellies and caramel are standard fare with the coffee, but it was the kransekage that made for a blockbuster ending. For special occasions, this Danish holiday confection is often made in rings and stacked to form a tree shape. The ingredients are simply almonds, sugar and egg whites, but getting the balance right so that its slightly crunchy on the outside, slightly gooey in the middle and holds the shape you want is fiendishly difficult. (Trust me, I've tried and failed.) These, shaped as quenelles with a zigzag of white icing above and dipped in chocolate on their base, were perfect.

Some other night I would have stayed to linger over one of Aamanns home-made snaps flavours, but the fireworks beckoned. It was a straight, 10-minute stroll down Skindergade from the restaurant, adding to the entertainment of the night as we realised this is clearly a main drag for nightclubs. No doubt just like their counterparts in Manchester, New York and Tokyo, girls more intent on showing off their fit bodies than staying warm cued with boys with excessive hair product and skin tight jeans to get past gruff bouncers. We pulled our coats tighter and gave thanks that we're old enough, and married enough, to prioritise dressing sensibly over being sexy. 

Sensible is, however, a challenge when it's five degrees (41F) and raining steadily. (My husband, who grew up here, kept observing it should be five below, not above.) Rain gear isn't really warm enough, and warm coats are rarely waterproof. I'd packed for warmth and was soaked by the end of the evening. The downpour, however, didn't dampen the fuse on the cacophony of fireworks that was already under way when we reached the Rådhuspladsen at 11:30. At that time you could still make your way through the square to a good viewing position, but within 15 minutes the space was full. We'd already missed the Tivoli fireworks, but the skies above were vivid with other contributions. In puddles of space around the square citizens were igniting their own displays, while others seemed to be coming from building tops and thus, one assumed, were official. 

In London we're used to the countdown, the solemn bongs of Big Ben, then the kisses, good wishes and fireworks. In Copenhagen, just like Reykjavik, it's almost impossible to tell when midnight actually falls. Yes, there's a clock tower on the city hall, but by 10 minutes to midnight the drifting smoke from all those explosives had limited visibility. Individuals rely on their own timekeeping and uncork bottles accordingly while the fireworks build to a crescendo. For about 20 minutes roughly around midnight the level of sound and light is at its peak. There is no one display to look at, the air is simply exploding at every point around you.

There were more fireworks in other squares on our way home, and bangs and sizzles outside our hotel windows until at least 3am. I drifted off to sleep contemplating an irony. Raised in the conservative heartland of the United States, I was taught that any form of socialism yielded control to a nanny state that would strip you of all individual rights. Yet here, in an officially Social Democratic state, I'd just witnessed a totally unregulated, Wild West extravaganza of dangerous firework usage that wouldn't be permitted anywhere beneath the Stars and Stripes. It would be an amusing discussion to have with some Americans over a long, snaps-fuelled lunch at Aamanns 1921.