Why Diners—and Chefs—Are Turning Away From the Michelin Guide
BEFORE A RECENT TRIP TO Hong Kong, I did what many travellers do: I googled the local Michelin Guide ratings and booked a three-star table. The menu proclaimed exceptional Cantonese, but what I got left me unimpressed. The right dishes were there, but the quality and service I expected were not. The food was curiously bland, oily, rote—and the waitstaff were so indifferent that I had to beg for my wine glass to be refilled. I’ve had better meals in linoleum-floor joints in Chinatown.
So, how had this place managed to earn one of fine dining’s top designations? When I quizzed colleagues in the city, they admitted that the restaurant’s decline was an open secret. Its recurring stars were a subject of industry speculation.
But my disappointment in Hong Kong isn’t an isolated case. The Michelin Guide’s lauding of lacklustre restaurants has become so prevalent that experienced diners, bewildered to see stellar performers lose ratings or get excluded altogether—the gradual demotion of Daniel Boulud’s eponymous New York restaurant from three stars to one is a particular scene bugbear—have begun to turn elsewhere for solid suggestions.
The food was bland and oily—I had to beg for my wineglass to be refilled.
For a certain class of foodie, the Guide no longer has “the influence, power or cachet that it used to,” says Michael Lawrence, the former director of operations for Boulud’s Dinex Group, who is now lifestyle manager at Harry Macklowe’s luxury condo tower One Wall Street.
Day in and day out, he books tables for residents in the canteens of the crème de la crème—Le Bilboquet, The Polo Bar or Cipriani—restaurants that don’t have stars and never courted the Guide to begin with. But when diners do want to give their taste buds a thrill, they consult their friends, another trusted concierge or their favourite mâitre d’—not Michelin.
“If you are a regular in one of the high-end restaurants, you learn about new restaurants from the staff. And that includes general managers and chefs. It’s word of mouth,” Lawrence says. “That’s really how it works.”
But if diners are disappointed with the Guide’s misfires, the cooks themselves are furious.
In January, French chef Marc Veyrat announced that Michelin inspectors will be prohibited from entering his new eponymous eatery in the alpine village of Megève, where you can dine for the equivalent of around $740 a head. “I don’t want to be in [the Michelin Guide], and I am prepared to put up a sign outside [saying]: ‘Michelin Guide banned’,” he told Le Parisien.
At least some portion of that disdain stems from the harsh reality that inclusion in the Guide no longer assures the spoils the honour once conferred.
“I’ve been on both sides,” says a prominent chef and restaurateur who requested anonymity for fear of retaliation. “I have retained a star and gone through that pressure. I’ve gone through not having a star and not having that pressure. To be honest with you, it made zero difference to my business.”
The benefit of this shift away from the Guide’s mercurial standards is that it separates the wheat from the chaff. If diners need the imprimatur of a star rating to inspire curiosity about a restaurant, it might be a signal that they don’t know their asparagus tongs from their marrow scoops.
“There’s two audiences [for fine dining]: finance bros who follow where their peers go—and certainly they don’t care about Michelin stars,” says author and wine columnist Jay McInerney. And then, he adds, “there are people who genuinely care about the food and who debate each other about whether the last meal was as good as the one before it.”
For real connoisseurs, such good taste is its own reward. As the Guide continues to overload its award-winning restaurants with a glut of booking requests, less-formal networks are promoting truly great dining rooms for those in the know.
And while buying hard-to-get reservations is prevalent in hubs such as Paris, Singapore and London—as well as some Sydney and Melbourne venues—the practice marks the diners who pay for access as outsiders.
As Lawrence puts it, “It’s people who don’t know anybody and are trying to impress a client.”
BEFORE A RECENT TRIP TO Hong Kong, I did what many travellers do: I googled the local Michelin Guide ratings and booked a three-star table. The menu proclaimed exceptional Cantonese, but what I got left me unimpressed. The right dishes were there, but the quality and service I expected were not. The food was curiously bland, oily, rote—and the waitstaff were so indifferent that I had to beg for my wine glass to be refilled. I’ve had better meals in linoleum-floor joints in Chinatown.
So, how had this place managed to earn one of fine dining’s top designations? When I quizzed colleagues in the city, they admitted that the restaurant’s decline was an open secret. Its recurring stars were a subject of industry speculation.
But my disappointment in Hong Kong isn’t an isolated case. The Michelin Guide’s lauding of lacklustre restaurants has become so prevalent that experienced diners, bewildered to see stellar performers lose ratings or get excluded altogether—the gradual demotion of Daniel Boulud’s eponymous New York restaurant from three stars to one is a particular scene bugbear—have begun to turn elsewhere for solid suggestions.
The food was bland and oily—I had to beg for my wineglass to be refilled.
For a certain class of foodie, the Guide no longer has “the influence, power or cachet that it used to,” says Michael Lawrence, the former director of operations for Boulud’s Dinex Group, who is now lifestyle manager at Harry Macklowe’s luxury condo tower One Wall Street.
Day in and day out, he books tables for residents in the canteens of the crème de la crème—Le Bilboquet, The Polo Bar or Cipriani—restaurants that don’t have stars and never courted the Guide to begin with. But when diners do want to give their taste buds a thrill, they consult their friends, another trusted concierge or their favourite mâitre d’—not Michelin.
“If you are a regular in one of the high-end restaurants, you learn about new restaurants from the staff. And that includes general managers and chefs. It’s word of mouth,” Lawrence says. “That’s really how it works.”
But if diners are disappointed with the Guide’s misfires, the cooks themselves are furious.
In January, French chef Marc Veyrat announced that Michelin inspectors will be prohibited from entering his new eponymous eatery in the alpine village of Megève, where you can dine for the equivalent of around $740 a head. “I don’t want to be in [the Michelin Guide], and I am prepared to put up a sign outside [saying]: ‘Michelin Guide banned’,” he told Le Parisien.
At least some portion of that disdain stems from the harsh reality that inclusion in the Guide no longer assures the spoils the honour once conferred.
“I’ve been on both sides,” says a prominent chef and restaurateur who requested anonymity for fear of retaliation. “I have retained a star and gone through that pressure. I’ve gone through not having a star and not having that pressure. To be honest with you, it made zero difference to my business.”
The benefit of this shift away from the Guide’s mercurial standards is that it separates the wheat from the chaff. If diners need the imprimatur of a star rating to inspire curiosity about a restaurant, it might be a signal that they don’t know their asparagus tongs from their marrow scoops.
“There’s two audiences [for fine dining]: finance bros who follow where their peers go—and certainly they don’t care about Michelin stars,” says author and wine columnist Jay McInerney. And then, he adds, “there are people who genuinely care about the food and who debate each other about whether the last meal was as good as the one before it.”
For real connoisseurs, such good taste is its own reward. As the Guide continues to overload its award-winning restaurants with a glut of booking requests, less-formal networks are promoting truly great dining rooms for those in the know.
And while buying hard-to-get reservations is prevalent in hubs such as Paris, Singapore and London—as well as some Sydney and Melbourne venues—the practice marks the diners who pay for access as outsiders.
As Lawrence puts it, “It’s people who don’t know anybody and are trying to impress a client.”
SARA MAESTRELLI HAD passed the building regularly since she was a child. It was right next door to Tennis Roma, a racquet club in the charming Tuscan beach resort of Forte dei Marmi, where she has played every summer since she was old enough to swing. For decades, her family has owned and operated one of this town’s finest five-star hotels, the Villa Roma Imperiale.
By contrast, the structure near the courts had, over time, become decidedly run-down. Previously a lively hotel, it was now nearly abandoned. Pigeons had taken up residence on the crumbling walls, and there was a rusty car sitting in the overgrown garden. But Maestrelli couldn’t shake her fascination with the place and, after several attempts, reached an agreement with the owners, who lived on the first floor, to buy it in May 2021.
The hotel’s four-year renovation revived its midcentury glamour.
Following four years of thoughtful upgrades, she is now welcoming guests back to her 18-key adults-only reimagining of Pensione America.
The hotel got its start in 1899, when a Roman artist commissioned the building as his home. When he sold it around 1920, its new owners transformed the property into a pensione, or boarding house, thanks to its grand size and ideal location. The Apuan Alps shelter this part of the Tuscan coast, known as Versilia, from harsh weather, and wealthy Italian families flocked here as much for its balmy climate as for its sandy shores and high-end beach clubs. At its height in the 1960s, the resort town was a magnet for bold-faced names: the Agnellis owned a waterfront mansion here, and Sophia Loren was a summer fixture. And while it has consistently attracted a bustling clientele, Forte dei Marmi’s mojo has recently kicked into overdrive, primed for travellers seeking out resorts with a heritage of glamour rather than a spiffy new sheen.
It’s appropriate, then, that Maestrelli pursued what she calls a restorative renovation rather than a sleek modernisation. For example, she took fragments of the existing railings to a local metalworker so he could reproduce them, and she hired an artist from Carrara to hand-paint the wallpaper. Even the pinkish-orange exterior is a nod to the past. “We were standing there on a rainy day with the architect,” Maestrelli says. “She started scratching at the outside walls, and in the end, she found it—the original colour—and that’s what we repainted it in.”
Many of the new furnishings, from bamboo sink pedestals to exterior railings, were made in Italy.
The retro vibe extends beyond decor. Maestrelli will offer rates for overnights or solely lodging and breakfast, as well as half- and full-board (meaning two or three meals a day, respectively), much as the property’s earliest guests would have enjoyed. “It’s the idea of ‘villeggiatura’, moving the family to the beach for the summer. It was like being at home in the pensione,” Maestrelli says.
The pricing will include meals at Villa Roma Imperiale and the beach club she also owns, Bagno Assunta. Pensione America’s chef Sabrina Pucci is a Forte native and will dole out a homey, not highfalutin, menu, which includes arselle (baby clams) that are a particular tradition here, plus focaccine—round, pillowy sandwiches filled with caramelised onion or green peas and cream cheese.
But the pensione won’t offer just local fare and relaxing rooms. Remember the tennis club? Maestrelli recently wrangled ownership of that, too. The plan is to incorporate its courts into the hotel, maintaining its landmarked aesthetic while improving the facilities. We’d consider that a grand slam.
WHAT DO CRISTIANO RONALDO, Glenn Close and ex-Dire Straits front man Mark Knopfler have in common? They all belong to Membresía la Tenada by Valduero, a single-winery club in Ribera del Duero, Spain, that bills itself as the world’s most exclusive.
If you haven’t heard of it, you likely know one or two of its membership roster, which includes a veritable who’s who of acclaimed chefs, as well as Oscar-winning director Asghar Farhadi and novelist Ken Follett.
The club has grown slowly, by word of mouth, from 10 members at its founding in 2004 to about 300 today. But it’s no secret why such a vaunted group would want to join.
While many top-tier American wineries are known for offering astounding VIP perks, Bodegas Valduero is among only a handful of European operations playing in the same space.
The plush benefits include 20 complimentary dinners for up to 20 people at Valduero’s private restaurant, tours for you and your guests, and tastings with the proprietors.
To gain entry, all you have to do is buy a barrel of one of Valduero’s finest wines—lush red blends and tempranillos that spend from two-and-a-half to nearly eight years ageing.
Prices start at around $11,300 and run to about $31,500. When the liquid is ready, you can have it poured into 300 standard bottles—or parcel it into larger-format vessels—before they’re custom-labelled and shipped to your cellar.
Such personal touches are a big part of what helps this small boutique business punch above its weight.
“Our goal is to provide a personalised service for each of our members,” says Carolina García Viadero, who co-owns the winery with her sister Yolanda, Valduero’s winemaker and technical director. “Our focus is not on exclusivity through wealth, but rather on delivering excellence.”
That attention to detail is seen in every element of the experience. When members come to visit their barrels, the sisters will lead them through a 1,700-m-long network of underground tunnels and caves, home to 3,500 oak vessels Valduero has in storage at any given time.
At the end of the passages, a long, sloping hallway leads to the hilltop restaurant. Tradition dictates that each new member signs a barrel top—affixed with a brass plaque bearing their name—before it’s hung on the wall here.
Beyond this space lies La Tenada, the rustic private eatery the club is named after. It’s the Spanish word for “sheepcote”—a nod to the area’s agricultural history—but the purpose-built wood-and-stone structure has a welcoming and elegant interior.
Inside, the menu devised by Yolanda includes the region’s beloved free-range lamb (cordero lechal) and other dishes that pair well with Valduero’s award-winning tempranillo and albillo mayor.
For those who may not be able to round up 20 friends for a wine-country repast, Valduero will host dinner for up to five guests in one of Madrid’s top restaurants, such as Charrúa, Tatel or Ten con Ten.
But these services aren’t as beguiling as the wine itself. Glenn Close met the proprietors through a mutual friend and became an instant fan. She tells Robb Report, “As I said to the sisters: ‘May my art age and endure as elegantly as your wines.’”
Another member, Peruvian writer and Nobel Prize winner Mario Vargas Llosa, was more effusive. “It is an honour to be an associate member of this winery,” he says. “It keeps alive the grand tradition of wine—a fundamental pillar of Western culture.”
On paper, there’s no second act for Ferrari’s unexpected 2+2 grand tourer, the Roma. Introduced in 2020 as a competitor to the Porsche 911 Turbo and/or Aston Martin Vantage, the Roma lasted only five years. Critically, it was a smash, with this publication asserting, “Marques from Supercar Valley, southern Germany, and the U.K. are always jockeying for position as purveyors of the latest and the greatest but, for now, it’s this driver’s opinion that the new Ferrari Roma is the best V-8-powered GT car on the road, anywhere.”
That said, the Roma wasn’t without its detractors; the car’s polarising perforated front grille drew as much criticism as it did praise. One aspect of the Roma that the car world agreed on was that the haptic controls—especially the digital start button—all sucked.
The 2027 Ferrari Amalfi grand tourer. Ferrari S.p.A.
Meet the Amalfi, the successor to the Roma. Why Amalfi? According to Ferrari, the Roma was all about la dolce vita, “the sweet life” as exemplified by the Italian capital in the 1950s and ‘60s. (Yes, like the Fellini film of the same name.) In fact, the Roma was marketed as la nuova dolce vita, as in the new sweet life, and you can think of the Amalfi as la nuova nuova dolce vita. The main thrust of the Amalfi is that everything unloved about the Roma has been addressed, along with the usual betterments that denote—despite Ferrari’s best marketing efforts—what amounts to a standard mid-cycle refresh.
The interior features a new centre piece made from milled and anodised aluminium, a steering wheel that eschews haptic controls for physical buttons, and a landscape-configured display. Ferrari S.p.A.
Starting with the sheet metal, gone is the controversial grille. In its place is a metal-mesh lower grating and the automaker’s now-standard black mask spanning the headlights. Here, though, instead of a thick stripe, as found on Ferrari’s 12Cilindri or upcoming F80, the Amalfi features a thin “bar,” as chief design officer Flavio Manzoni calls it, a bar with smaller headlights hung on either end. The bar theme is duplicated at the rear of the Amalfi, this time with Ferrari’s four signature taillamps flanking it. Manzoni claims that every body panel is different when compared to the Roma, though, if you look, you’ll notice some are more different than others.
With a 631 hp, 3.9-litre twin-turbo V-8, the Amalfi is claimed to cover zero to 62 mph in 3.3 seconds. Ferrari S.p.A.
Inside the cabin, all of the haptic buttons on the steering wheel—including the all-important start button—have been replaced by real, tactile, honest-to-goodness physical buttons. Score one for the Luddites. However, the overly fussy haptic mirror controls remain. Pity. As to why haptic controls were included in the first place, a Ferrari spokesperson stated that it was to be as cutting edge as possible, but the team failed to account for the fact that touch controls don’t work well while driving. With the Amalfi, consider the problem (mostly) solved.
As for the rest of the interior, there’s a new centre piece made from milled and anodised aluminium, the primary purpose of which, beyond aesthetics, is to make the cockpit feel roomier. Also, the centre screen has been reoriented from portrait to landscape view and is much better integrated.
When fully deployed, the three-position rear spoiler creates 242 pounds of downforce at 155 mph. Ferrari S.p.A.
Elsewhere, the 3.9-litre twin-turbo V-8 now makes 631 hp, up from 611 hp. The torque remains the same at 561 ft lbs. Improved breathing, faster spinning turbos, new cams, the ECU from the Ferrari 296, and a reworked crankshaft are said to result in a quicker-revving engine, one that gets the Amalfi from zero to 62 mph in 3.3 seconds and 124 mph in 9.0 seconds.
The eight-speed dual-clutch transaxle remains, though third and further gears are “improved.” Speaking of improvements, the Amalfi gets several aerodynamic enhancements, from functional headlight ducts that not only reduce drag but also cool the engine to an active, three-position rear spoiler. When fully deployed, it creates 242 pounds of downforce at 155 mph. Not bad for a GT car, eh? Additionally, a new brake-by-wire system is said to improve stopping prowess by nearly 10 percent.
Gone is the Roma’s controversial grille. In its place is a metal-mesh lower grating and the automaker’s now-standard black mask spanning the headlights. Ferrari S.p.A.
As hesitant as Ferrari is to call the Amalfi a grand tourer, like the Roma before it, that particular shoe fits like a Ferragamo. For example, it’s not a 2+2 to take the kids anywhere, though in an emergency, we suppose you could. No, the rear seats are there for extra luggage. As it should be.
Looking at the Amalfi, it becomes pretty apparent that the sharp new looks will attract even more first-time buyers to the brand, and the righting of the interior wrongs will satisfy, if not pacify, long-term Ferraristi. All in all, the Amalfi, which goes on sale next year with an estimated starting price of around (USD) $275,000, feels like a worthy successor to an unsung hero. Seems like Ferrari’s got this whole sports car thing figured out.
Luxury scotch brand The Dalmore just unveiled two new whiskies as part of its ongoing Luminary Series. One is an ultra-aged 52-year-old single malt, a bottle of which will be available for purchase only at auction. The good news is that the other whisky is a 17-year-old single malt that is being released in a limited run of 20,000 bottles globally.
The Dalmore is a Highland distillery that was founded in 1839 and is currently owned by Whyte & Mackay, a Scottish company that also owns Jura, Tamnavulin, and Fettercairn. The distillery, led by master distiller Richard Paterson OBE (nicknamed the Nose), is known for its portfolio of high-end single malts that are often finished in sherry, port, and other fortified wine casks. This is the third edition of the Luminary Series, which launched in 2023 as a collaboration with V&A Dundee, the well-known design museum in Scotland. Each edition has become progressively older—the first consisted of whiskies aged for 48 and 15 years, the second of whiskies aged 49 and 16 years, and No. 3, as mentioned before, is a pair of whiskies aged for 52 and 17 years.
The Dalmore Luminary 2025 Edition—The Rare is the name of the 52-year-old, and it was aged in a wide variety of casks before bottling. The whisky was initially matured in an ex-bourbon barrel before being transferred to a vintage 1980 calvados cask (a type of French apple brandy). This was something of a risk, because according to the distillery, that type of cask was approved by the Scotch Whisky Association in 2019 (they likely had a clue this change was coming). After that it went into the following casks for finishing before bottling—1940 Colheita port, tawny port, 40-year-old Pedro Ximénez sherry, and Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine. We were lucky enough to sample this rare whisky, and notes of ripe tropical fruit lead the way, followed by vanilla, maple, dark chocolate, and brown sugar flavours.
The second whisky is called the Dalmore Luminary No.3–2025 Edition – The Collectible. It’s a 17-year-old single malt that was initially aged in ex-bourbon barrels before being finished in a slightly different assemblage of casks—calvados, vintage calvados (1989 and 1999), Matusalem sherry, Apostoles sherry, red wine from Bordeaux and Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and ex-bourbon. This is a superb whisky and a peak expression of Dalmore, arguably the superior whisky of the two, with notes of cotton candy, cherry, grape, butterscotch, and a variety of baking spices. This whisky, as mentioned earlier, is much more widely available, with 20,000 bottles being released in key markets worldwide. The Luminary No.3 ($550) is available in Australia at the Whisky Club.
A Lamborghini, a Ferrari Maranello, and a Rolls-Royce Spectre sit casually parked in the heart of Antwerp’s Botanic Garden. A tall valet wrestles into an Aston Martin as a Ferrari Berlinetta rumbles impatiently behind. They are checking into the Botanic Sanctuary. The occasion? The hotel’s inaugural Gourmet Festival: an indulgent week of lunches and dinners with resident and guest chefs, wine pairings, workshops and master classes.
For its size, Belgium punches above its weight in fine dining, with Antwerp alone holding the fourth-highest Michelin star density per capita. (Four of those stars are in the Sanctuary.) As in the rest of the post-pandemic world, the vagaries of luxury in Belgium have shifted. Experience now trumps extravagance, and the Sanctuary has leaned into that by celebrating provenance, personality and authenticity, highlighting its produce and the work of some of Belgium’s most respected culinary masters.
Opened in 2022, the Botanic Sanctuary occupies the historical site of a 13th-century monastery and former hospital. Its five buildings house 108 rooms and suites, oak-beamed halls, softly lit ballrooms, restaurants, spa facilities and gardens. The refined experience guests have come to expect from the Sanctuary stretches from the extensive breakfast buffet served in its majestic hall to the gorgeous spa facilities, which include massage rooms, a 24/7 gym, and infrared and Himalayan salt stone saunas. Art from the owners’ private collection and local galleries accents the interiors. Staff are sharp, and the welcome begins with champagne in the greenhouse-style atrium. “You can take those with you,” the host added.
Arrangements for the Gala dinner in the grand ballroom.
Some lucky guests are led through discreet, hand-painted passageways connecting the buildings. “Now you know how Jason Statham and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley got around last week,” offered a guide about the celebrity couple’s recent stay. “Most VIPs take the tunnels—they like to move undisturbed.” There’s a private Whisky Investors Club in this underbelly, and the Vinarium hosted a series of masterclasses, including one with Ruinart and Remy Martin Cognac. In the stacked cellar next door, an Everest of rare Rieslings and bottles of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. “You can’t take those,” the guide added.
At the heart of the festival was a culinary constellation of 22 Michelin stars under one roof: seven Belgian chefs (Ruben Christiaens, Gert De Mangeleer, Jacob Jan Boerma, Thomas Diepersloot, Roger van Damme, Koen Gussenhoven, Viki Geunes) were joined by seven international guest chefs, including Daniel Gottschlich (from Cologne’s two-starred Ox & Klee), Dieter Koschina (from two-starred Vila Joya, Portugal), and Alexandre Gauthier (from two-starred La Grenouillère in Northern France).
The hotel focused on Belgium’s evolving gastronomic scene, spotlighting Antwerp as an urban culinary destination with an unpretentious and refreshingly relaxed atmosphere. At the festival kickoff on Monday, one of Belgium’s most celebrated chefs, Viki Geunes (of triple-Michelin-starred Zilte), stood in his whites, busy plating; Gert De Mangeleer (from two-starred Hertog Jan) had his hair back, and one guest stood in shorts and sandals, grazing on tables festooned with oysters.
Marinated salmon, cucumber, herring caviar and dill oil with a Champagne jus.
It’s hard not to quote the Queen lyric—”I want it all”—when there are five restaurants on site and a flurry of renowned chefs collaborating on lunches and dinners throughout the week.
Bar Bulot served a daily four-course Best of Belgium menu that included a well-textured wagyu and smoked eel terrine (paired with a local Pinot Rosé), as well as a pie of Bresse chicken with sweetbreads and Zeebrugge shrimp, encased in puff pastry, and a velvety Pinot Noir from Aldeneyck.
Tuesday’s lunch featured Christian Kuchler (from two-starred Taverne zum Schaefli) and Daniel Gottschlich, while dinner brought Gert de Mangeleer and Alexandre Gauthier into collaboration. On Wednesday, there was an intimate Dom Pérignon experience at Hertog Jan, and the Krug dinner proceeded on Thursday (with the favourite dish being Quail and celeriac with a Vintage 2000) in the altarpiece-filled, 15th-century chapel.
On Friday, High Tea was served in the monastery’s old kitchens. Blue Delft tiles lined the walls while faux tomatoes with foie gras, green bisques and crab tartlets perched on gold-plated tea trees. Pastry Chef Roger Van Damme, who was named the world’s best in 2017, appeared tableside. “Hope you’re enjoying everything?” he asked, to which everyone nodded through mouthfuls of jam-filled scones.
Gold-plated tea trees by pastry chef Roger Van Damme.
Between events, hotel guests drifted to the spa or swam laps in a pool longer than at Sydney’s Park Hyatt. Handed a thick salmon (Financial Times) en route to the sauna, it was hard not to feel like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman—minus the drama, plus the caviar.
Laughter came from the wine-painted walls of the Burgundy room on Saturday night, where bottles of Telmont Rosé popped open and Mezcal Negronis clinked in cheers. “Ah, I love mezcal,” said Christian Hirt, the hotel’s managing director, sipping a glass of Jacquesson 745. “It’s been nonstop this week. One day, lunch with a tea sommelier, the next—House of Caviar. It’s all happening.”
It was. Outside, Ruben Christiaens and Alberto Landgraf (whose restaurant in Rio, Oteque, just landed on the World’s Best list) hosted dinner in the monastery garden. Seven courses—langoustines with peas, Balfegó tuna with radish, delicate quail with celeriac—were paired with Sicilian wines from Planeta under the night sky.
Sunday brought Bloody Marys and a walking brunch: Royal Belgian caviar, tiger prawns on the barbeque, rotisserie chickens, and truffle pasta stirred in a Parmesan wheel by Rikkels, a toque-clad chef. “I worked every day this week,” he said. “But I love it. Nice to feed people amazing food they can trust.”
Rain arrived. Some ran for cover. One guest lingered, wiping his plate clean with a final bite of rib-eye and morel. He lifted his hotel umbrella. Printed on the canopy: It’s a good day to have a good day.
More images from the event:
Private dining area at Hertog Jan.
Hertog Jan owners Gert De Mangeleer and Joachim Boudens.
The PAPRIKA 53 Model 25 GT has landed in Australia, bringing breakthrough engineering and big performance to the gravel scene. Built for fire trails, scenic routes or just commuting through the city, this DJI-powered e-bike blends speed, control and versatility in one seriously sharp package.
At its core is DJI’s Avinox drive system, currently the most powerful e-bike motor on the market. It delivers up to 1000w of peak output and 120Nm of torque, making steep climbs feel light and flat roads a personal time trial. Assistance levels are fully adjustable via the Avinox app, giving riders the choice between cruise control or a real workout.
Observatory Hill. Photo credits: Felix Yim
The setup is purpose-built for rugged Australian terrain. Gravel tyres provide confident grip off-road, while the road-inspired riding position keeps the bike fast and fluid. Up front, a RockShox Rudy Ultimate XPLR fork offers 40mm of suspension travel, absorbing bumps and adding welcome comfort over both gravel and road surfaces.
Oaks Fire Trail and North Sydney. Photo credits: Felix Yim
The frame geometry leans toward a gravel-mountain hybrid, featuring Super Boost spacing at the rear and an SRAM Eagle 11–50T cassette paired with a 38T e-mountain chainring for smooth and efficient power delivery. A dropper post adds agility on uneven trails, while a flared carbon handlebar ensures better control at speed.
With a 600Wh battery delivering around 130km of range and a rapid 0 to 75% charge in just 90 minutes, the Model 25 GT is built for long, dynamic days in the saddle.
You’ve got to hand it to Porsche. It can’t have been an easy decision to completely do away with petrol in favour of electrification on its most popular model. Alas, that’s what the Stuttgart-based sports car marque did with the new generation Macan, the first Porsche model to be transitioned into fully (and only) electric power.
To put the gamble into perspective, Macan accounts for around 50 percent of all Porsche sales in Australia and almost a third worldwide. Since its launch ten years ago, the mid-sized SUV has offered a range of inline-four and V6 engines, garnered a reputation as the driver’s SUV for its sports car-like dynamics, and has set the benchmark for nearly every similarly sized, high-performance SUV launched this decade. To say there’s a lot riding on this new all-electric generation is putting it lightly. The luxury EV market is in a precarious position right now, with demand waning and China breathing down the neck of legacy carmakers. However, Porsche, it would seem, isn’t worried. And by all accounts, neither should be future Macan owners, as this second generation is not just sleeker, smarter and quieter, but it’s faster and roomier. And at the top-end Turbo spec, a surprisingly good time.
When Porsche launched Taycan, it set the benchmark for how complete, soulful and driver-centric an electric GT could be, particularly when the competition at the time consisted of glorified smartphones on wheels, designed by Silicon Valley tech bros, who seemed to despise everything that was deemed sacred by car enthusiasts. Taycan, alongside its cousin vehicle, the Audi e-Tron GT proved that one can have zero tailpipe emissions and get their thrill-of-driving kicks too. As Porsche is wont to do, it’s this very same ethos that has been applied to the new Macan. It may have the body of a more rotund (and slightly eggy) SUV and the powertrain of an EV, but it very much still has the soul of a Porsche.
By the time you read this, orders for the existing ICE-powered Macan will have closed, leaving four electric Macan variants on the table for anyone wanting to purchase this mid-sized SUV new. The Macan, Macan 4, Macan 4S, and Macan Turbo range from $128,000 to $184,400 (plus on-road costs) and are powered by a 100kWh (96kWh usable) battery, which sends power to two motors at each axle (except for the single-motor, rear-wheel-drive base-level Macan). On the three all-wheel-drive variants, the dual electric motors are controlled by Porsche’s Traction Management system (ePTM), which operates in real-time and, according to Porsche, close to five times faster than the competing all-wheel drive systems. At the pointy end is the Macan Turbo, which takes this up a notch via its Porsche Torque Vectoring Plus (PTV Plus) program, an electronically controlled differential lock on the rear axle that helps with stability, lateral roll, and traction. The Macan Turbo is a laugh-out-loud joy to drive, with a total output of 470kW (with overboost and launch control), a very meaty 1,130 Nm of torque, top speed of 260km/h and a 0 to 100km/h sprint of just 3.3 seconds. It’s quick, planted and has plenty of driving feel, from your right foot to both your hands —especially when it comes to braking—which isn’t something many EVs can claim.
Macan is one of the most aerodynamic SUVs on the road, with a drag coefficient of 0.25. This explains the eggier shape and new active and passive aerodynamic elements that appear all over the car, as part of Porsche’s Active Aerodynamics system (PAA). These new elements include an adaptive rear spoiler, active cooling flaps on the front air intakes, flexible covers hidden on the underbody, lateral tear-off edges, and a louvred diffuser on the rear. Additionally, the vehicle features freshly designed headlights and a lower-slung front end. Depending on which variant you choose, higher-performance variants have slightly less range, just like a high-performance ICE car— all this equates to between 654km and 616km of (claimed) electric driving range.
Macan’s 800-volt architecture also allows DC charging of up to 270 kW, but on the more common 150kW DC chargers found throughout Australian cities, you can expect a 10 per cent to 80 per cent charge to be replenished in around half an hour. On the connectivity front, there are several new features, including new navigation elements to aid in route planning and realistic range or charging expectations. Additionally, an optional passenger infotainment system is available, which, when paired with the 12.6-inch curved instrument cluster and 10.9-inch central display, adds an extra 10.9-inch display across the passenger dash. The latter is a first for Macan and gives your co-driver the ability to control features such as music, maps, phone connectivity, and even stream video content, without distracting the driver.
Porsche’s approach to this new all-electric SUV is not that dissimilar from the original strategy that put Macan on the map and bolstered its decade-long reputation as the anti-SUV SUV. It’s also the same strategy that made Taycan a success: replicate a classic Porsche sports car feel in a spacious package, throw in a low-slung seating position, low-centre of gravity, weighty and precise steering, well-balanced degree of feedback and plenty of grunt when called upon; and you’ll convert the masses. While critics may say the trickiest part is convincing would-be Macan buyers they want an EV in the first place, one might also argue that, as we all inevitably move towards electrification, in the same way we moved towards mass SUV adoption, new Macan makes the argument it’s always made: but don’t you also want it to feel like a sports car?
THERE’S A COMMON misconception, even among seasoned collectors, that Chopard is a fancy jewellery house that, on occasion, makes watches. We implore you to direct those people to the Quattro Mark IV, a fantastic interpretation of the classic time-and-dater, and one customers actually stand a chance of buying at retail.
Playing in a similar sort of sandbox to Patek Philippe’s new platinum Calatrava, in price point and in size, the Quattro Mark IV surges ahead when it comes to matters of performance. The watch derives its name from the four sequenced barrels powering the Quattro’s movement: a fiendishly clever bit of engineering that translates into a whopping nine-day-long power reserve.
Good luck keeping it off your wrist for more than 24 hours at a time, though. The fourth generation of the eponymous lineage (first released in 2015) is the most complete by far, doing away with Roman numerals, power reserves and other superfluous elements which could potentially break the spell of its frosty blue dial.
Inarguably one of the year’s quiet achievers, and one we can’t wait to see again in the metal.
THE JAPANESE CONCEPT of ikigai has in recent years been co-opted by pop culture, owing to a collective desire to find balance in a changing world. This ancient ideology presents a reason for being, and encompasses passion, pleasure, purpose and fulfilment, both within the self and society.
Last year—a time of turbulence, uncertainty and unrest—challenged ikigai for many people, myself included. So when an invitation landed on my desk to join Ferrari on one of its legendary Grand Tours across the lesser-travelled regions of Japan in the Purosangue super GT, I considered it a sign. What else could restore equilibrium, at least momentarily, than some pure on-road pleasure-seeking, bolstered by an automotive brand that seems to inspire ikigai in everything it touches.
For three decades Grand Tours—exclusive driving events arranged for Ferrari owners—have been a tradition at the Italian marque, held across some of the world’s most challenging and spectacular tarmac. For non-participating mortals, these experiences are still a thrilling event to follow from afar, and consistently provide bucket-list routes to replicate.
Indeed, the expression “grand tour” came from a 17th-century Italian guidebook and grew to become synonymous with a pilgrimage of spirituality, creativity or a coming of age. You could say we’re just modernising Italian tradition on this jaunt.
Photography: Courtesy of Ferrari. Above left: The Purosangue in the shadow of Mt. Fuji. Above right: On the road in rural Japan, where few travellers ever venture.
Our trip takes us to the Venus Line, a stretch of driving nirvana that hugs woodlands and wildflower-studded rolling hills, offering expansive mountain views.
Our inaugural Purosangue Japanese odyssey begins in the verdant forests of Matsumoto in Nagano Prefecture, four hours’ drive from Tokyo, where we arrive at the Tobira Onsen Myojinkan, a sublimely secluded spa hotel surrounded by babbling brooks, hot springs and lush flora.
Opened in 1931, it’s maintained its Shōwa-era aesthetic; the zen interior of my room, where a traditional bento banquet of textures and flavours await my arrival, is a sensory exhale of the finest expression.
The first leg of our 500 km, two-day trip from the Japanese Alps to the sea takes us to the Venus Line in Nagano, a 76 km stretch of driving nirvana that hugs woodlands and wildflower-studded rolling hills, offering expansive mountain views.
We’re off to a slow and careful start, traversing tight, twisty forest roads. But at least it gives us time to get to know the car and its features.
Production on the 6.5-litre, V12 Purosangue is limited, bucking the trend of other supercar and GT manufacturers like Aston Martin, Maserati and Lamborghini, who all leaned on the SUV as a sales-volume play.
Ferrari has decided to keep it exclusive to existing customers, which the Prancing Horse is wont to do; its purchase-ladder strategy is a hallmark of ownership.
The high-riding Purosangue is certainly not a small car, especially for a Ferrari, but it’s smoothly sculpted to hide its size, in both looks, aero slipperiness and manoeuvrability—meaning that on these constricted roads it’s dreamy and rarely anxiety-inducing.
It’s also the first Ferrari designed to comfortably fit four adults front and back—thanks to reverse-opening “comfort” (or suicide) doors in the rear.
Curiously, the cars in our press fleet are left-hand-drive, perhaps a curious choice given that Japan, like Australia, drives on the left. But I’m told Japanese customers can choose either configuration, as having the wheel on the left is considered a cultural sign of affluence.
On the road in rural Japan, where few travellers ever venture.
We make our way through the Venus Line, along long meandering turns, eventually stopping at the Kirigamine Venus Line Muryo Parking Lot, where a quaint cash-only shop selling souvenirs and soft-serve matcha looks over the alpine scenery.
It’s on this road section that we get our first proper taste of the Purosangue’s razor-sharp steering and sonorous V12, capable of 533 kW at 7,750rpm, and 715 Nm.
As we descend towards Lake Suwa, we encounter Suwa Taisha Kamisha Honmiya, one of the oldest and most prominent shrines in the region, dating back to at least the 7th century.
Here, our cars will be blessed for “safety”, “traffic forgiveness” and “good driving” by Shinto priests (Shinto being Japan’s most observed religion), known as kannushi or shinshoku—a common practice performed via donation.
The fleet of press cars is blessed for good luck by Shinto priests.
We line up our Ferraris near the shrine’s gate and open the doors, bonnet and boot before three kannushi in traditional dress make their way around each car, bowing and shaking a mop-like object to the pounding of a drum. It’s a moving ritual, drawing a crowd.
After more snake-like roads, passing tiny villages and even tinier Japanese cars, we spend the night at the serene, modernist Retreat Fore, another onsen hotel, nestled in the forests of Mt. Hakone.
The following morning, we start early with a packed breakfast as we have at least 210 km of road to devour in our Purosangue—including the legendary Hakone Skyline, one of the most famous driving roads on the planet.
This 5 km ribbon, with 58 turns and an elevation of 169 m, is iconic not only because it’s been etched into motorsport history and pop culture (including the epic Japanese street racing anime series Initial D), but it also presents a breathtaking panorama of Mt. Fuji, which has graced us with a rare, cloud-free presence.
The locals tell me another well-known element of this fabled toll road is that it’s rarely patrolled by police. I can feel the horns in my forehead grow.
Hakone Skyline doesn’t disappoint. The smooth tarmac is lined with flowering blossoms and, most pertinently, traffic-free—and a few runs up and down start to reveal the Purosangue’s technical wizardry.
Outside the Shichiken brewery in Hokuto Yamanashi.
Aside from that glorious V12—a dying breed of engine, sadly—its suspension dynamics are a game-changer.
Usually, a high-riding car at speed will start to roll and pitch naturally. Too much sideways lean and forward and rear pitch can make a performance machine feel imprecise, less planted, and well, less supercar-y.
To fix this, Ferrari sought to challenge the laws of physics by putting sensors and little motors on each axle to control the angle at which the car yaws, affording it added grip.
Out here, at speed on those 58 turns, the Purosangue glues to the road like a much lower car, and never loses feel, as it snarls its way between the road’s toll booths at each end.
It’s a laugh-out-loud joy, and as my emotional cup runs over, I mentally tip my hat to Ferrari—the Prancing Horse’s passion for engineering detail is unmatched.
Taking in fleeting Mt. Fuji cameos along various stops, we head east via Kanazawa to Yoshihama Beach, where the road follows the coastline around Sagami Bay, until we hit Odawara, home to Enoura Observatory and the Odawara Art Foundation—designed by lauded contemporary artist and architect Hiroshi Sugimoto (who held his biggest exhibition to date at the MCA in Sydney last year).
It’s an arresting gallery that extends towards the water, granting unbroken sight lines to the Boso Peninsula and Oshima Island.
Sugimoto’s placid, contemplative works hang in an exquisite minimal architectural space designed to align with the solstices and the horizon, mirroring the practice of ikigai in its own unique way; optical glass reflects the sky above, while patinated metal speaks to the slow process of the natural world.
It’s a meditative spot designed for exhaling, reminding visitors of the power of place, nature and the impact of our presence.
I find myself caught in a moment of gratitude, thinking about the influence that artists like Sugimoto wield and their ability to elicit emotion—a talent, you could argue, echoed by those auto artisans at Maranello.
En route to Tokyo, sea to our right, sun high in the sky, my co-driver adds to the vibes by cranking the epic 21-speaker, 1,420-watt Burmester sound system.
We land on a digital station playing ’90s dance classics; even on the radio, Japan knows how to niche down with perfection.
Ferrari has an audio and acoustic engineering department in-house, and the system is cabin-tuned to meticulous clarity, and acts as a much-needed energy injection as we spear towards the Daikoku PA car park, in Yokohama—a must-visit for any enthusiast of so-called JDM (Japanese Domestic Market) cars.
Via a bird’s nest of highway bridges, we descend into the nondescript expanse of concrete to see what awaits. Despite the prosaic backdrop, Daikoku PA is considered the beating heart of car-spotter culture in Japan, famous for its meets on Sunday mornings and Friday nights.
You’ll often be greeted with supercars, modified JDM dream machines and other two- and four-wheeled oddities.
Midweek, our convoy of Purosangues becomes the main event but, still, we spy a handful of exciting machines, such as a Honda NSX, a few Subaru WRXs and some adorable, minuscule Japanese-spec Toyotas.
Perhaps it was too much to ask for onsens and a cloud-free view of Mt. Fuji. At least the Shinto traffic blessing seems to have worked well.
On the way into Tokyo, I mentally recap the journey, trying to pinpoint where, in the practice of ikigai, the Purosangue ends and Japan begins.
The concept itself doesn’t have hard-set waypoints, and it cannot be found in a single trip, no matter how many roads we traverse.
Like the Purosangue, ikigai is more about adaptability and the passion found in the way we experience things, and a lesson that every path moves you towards purpose.
After all, reaching ikigai itself is a lifelong practice.
Which hopefully means I can look forward to joining another Ferrari Grand Tour or two on the journey towards equilibrium.
THE GORGE IS a narrow sliver of lost time, tucked away in the ancient landscape of Australia’s remote East Kimberley ranges. My personal Uber today is a gnat-like Robinson R44 helicopter flown by guide Ethan, who collects me from a hilltop picnic overlooking the wetlands of Bullo River Station and zooms me across vast red plains to the rocky ravine, where he expertly lands on a pocket of hillocky grass.
Apart from the Indigenous Miriuwung-Gajerrong people, few individuals have been here, Ethan tells me. Access is only possible by chopper, and from the air the gorge is only one fissure in thousands that scar a region twice as big as the state of Victoria.
Following Ethan on foot along a narrow path through the chasm, it becomes obvious this is more than an interesting pit stop on a scenic flight. The jagged, 400-million-year-old red sandstone walls of the gorge are a vibrant gallery of rock art, from simple chalky prints of hands to fantastical ochre Dreamtime creatures, including sea animals like anemones and a long, snail-like snake. It’s an extraordinary privilege to be here and, what’s more, the traditional owners have given us permission to photograph the art, which is rarely granted.
We lift off again, and Ethan buzzes me to the top of Champagne Falls, a wedding cake-like, vertiginous tier of rock pools, where we land on a white sand beach. I swim in the warm waters before I’m once again in the helicopter, zipping back to the cattle station, a 10-minute flight away. Below, pale roads slice through the terrain. The size of major highways, some of these are “lanes” for cattle mustering. The winding, 600-km-long Bullo River begins and ends on the property—an indication of the station’s size.
The helicopter lands on the airstrip running along the fence of the homestead, a verandah-style building that faces a verdant lawn dotted with bulbous boab trees, old palms and cerise-pink frangipani. Although there are farm hands and hospitality workers living on the 400,000-acre site, I’ve arrived at a moment, just before the wet season, when I’m the only guest. That’s because Bullo River Station, a member of Luxury Lodges of Australia, limits guests to three groups at a time, sharing access to the two on-property helicopters and three guides. A “group” might be a family, or it might consist of only one person. That’s me.
I don’t really have the station to myself, as it turns out. I share it with the flocks of white corellas that shriek unmusically from the branches of trees around the pool and the dozens of wallabies that appear at dusk and dawn to nibble the lawn. Then there are the hand-reared poddy calves at the homestead and the well-fed cattle that engage me curiously whenever I visit their paddocks.
Oh, and there are crocodiles. Not on the station itself but lurking in its distant waters. During a gentle glide down the tranquil Bullo River on an expedition with guide Ben, past mangrove and pandanus groves, with dragonflies buzzing all around us and falcons nesting in the gorges, it’s easy to forget what lurks beneath, specifically a 3-m-long croc known as George. “Never put your hand in the water,” Ben warns. Mine are firmly clasped in my lap for the trip.
Bullo is a working cattle farm, and my inner cowgirl is triggered by all the saddles and bleached cow skulls. If there is ever an opportunity to learn about ranch life, this is it. The station managers, married couple Catherine and Joe Atkins, are happy to take guests on tours through the property. At certain times in the dry season, visitors can also attend the yards and watch the rowdy muster.
I go with Catherine on a morning-long drive through the paddocks. This involves a lot of stopping to open and close multiple gates. (There are six between the highway and the homestead.) Far from being the dusty gulch I imagined, the land is laced with waterholes, reclaimed grasslands and billabongs teeming with birdlife, including graceful brolgas doing their one-legged dances. The cattle roam freely, in small herds, drinking from solar-run bores.
The station’s pool area is among a raft of luxury touches.
On Saturday night, the “ringers”, or farm hands, take pity on my solo status and invite me to the regular weekly barbecue in the staff quarters, where I’m embraced like a member of the family, even though my experience with cattle and musters is virtually zero. The farm hands stay on through the wet season, when the property is cut off from civilisation for four months. Made up of many different nationalities, it is a warm and close-knit group.
Over decades, this outback realm had been poorly managed. Famously, it is the subject of a series of best-selling memoirs by pastoralist Sara Henderson, who moved to the station in 1963 with her husband Charles. When Charles died in 1986, leaving Sara heavily indebted, she struggled to raise three daughters on the failing station. One of her daughters took over in 2001, but the pastoral lease changed hands a couple of times after that.
Enter BRW Rich Listers Julian and Alexandra Burt, a prominent Western Australian couple who are owners of the Voyager Estate winery in Margaret River, and who bought Bullo in 2017. Keen environmentalists, the Burts entered a partnership with the Australian Wildlife Conservancy (AWC) to assist with managing Bullo River’s natural resources and put in place innovative sustainable management practices. They reduced the head of cattle—which was once 22,000—to around 2,000, and introduced a premium breed, a Brahman-Wagyu cross. (There is no live export from here.)
The team at Bullo is reshaping ideas about how a cattle station can operate in a low-impact way and inspiring conversations with other ranches in the region. Catherine’s husband Joe is cultivating organic gardens that supply the station’s kitchen. There’s a gleaming, state-of-the-art solar energy system that has been recently installed and supplies 80 percent of the property’s electricity. The station shuns single-use plastic and harvests its precious rainwater, as there’s no precipitation for seven or eight months.
The traveller-focused part of the station is closing temporarily for refurbishments at the end of October until May 2027—catch it while you can—but high-end tourism is firmly part of the sustainability plan. Sibella Court, a globetrotter known for her eclectic boho style, has created interiors that perfectly blend cowboy style with the traditional Australian outback house. It’s pleasingly unpretentious, and the staff clothesline with flapping linens is as much part of the scenery as the meticulously landscaped rainwater swimming pool.
The 12 rooms are arranged on the ground floor of one wing, motel-style, each with a shaded verandah and front doors off a long communal area that contains a full kitchen, well-stocked Smeg fridge (Voyager Estate wines are plentiful) and rustic details such as leather chairs, cowhide rugs and an antique cabinet of curiosities found on the property—bones, feathers, rocks and Indigenous artefacts. Guests are welcome to add their own discoveries.
Sunrise fishing on the Bullo River
I’m in room number one, facing the pool. The king rooms feature simple iron beds with firm mattresses, slate floors, timber-lined walls and witty details such as bolts serving as pegs for hanging clothes. The retro-style bathroom is stocked with ethical and sustainable botanicals handmade by locals. It’s the kind of space that demands a pair of R.M. Williams boots under the bed.
The main homestead building is a vast shed containing various indoor and outdoor areas for relaxation, dining and play. Court has scavenged the surroundings for foundational materials like leather, salvaged wood, blackened steel, stone and cane, and filled the residence with saddlery, leatherwork and contemporary art. Chunks of red sandstone form tiles that cover the floors and walls, and tables are rough-hewn from beautiful pieces of timber, including a long communal dining table on the terrace.
Outdoors, there are various places to lounge, all facing the lawn, which is often decorated with fingers of fog in the mornings. There’s a trellised area with daybeds and a firepit. For children or playful adults, there are leather swings made from saddles. Sundowners are a real highlight here—the long sunsets are psychedelic.
Chef David Rayner, formerly of Thomas Corner Eatery in Noosa, presides over the open kitchen. There’s a sense that he’s having a good time adapting the station’s homegrown produce for guests—the juiciest pawpaws and salads from the organic veggie patch, the tastiest Wagyu beef from the herd, and fresh Bullo eggs (chickens dash about underfoot). It’s truly paddock to plate.
Rayner makes everything from scratch, including sourdough breads and fruit loaves, and the best granola I’ve ever eaten. (He gifts me a pack of it to take on my travels home.) Breakfast at the long table is a daily highlight, but meals can be taken anywhere. There’s always an excuse for a picnic.
Bullo is all about simple country pleasures—swimming in waterholes, picnicking by billabongs, fishing and stargazing. Like the rock art, it’s a time capsule of something rarely experienced, but worth preserving.
Bullo River Station is 200 km east of Kununurra, WA. It can be reached by road (three-hours’ drive) or air transfer. Meals, drinks and signature activities are included, plus a complementary short helicopter ride for each guest.
Rooms $1,450 per person per night, minimum three-nights’ stay; bulloriver.com.au
FOR THE WORLD’S mocha-mousse-clothed one-percenters, possession alone is not merely sufficient; luxury must now be imbued with meaning. The epitome of acquisition, it appears, lies in the realm of the bespoke.
Opened late last year, the Asia-Pacific outpost of Rolls-Royce Private Offices in Seoul is the company’s fifth such offering after setting up stall in Dubai, Shanghai, New York and its spiritual home Goodwood. Unlike your typical car showroom or even Rolls-Royce’s own ateliers around the world, these spots offer an unparalleled level of customisation above and beyond the seemingly endless array of personalisation options the British marque already avails its discerning customers.
“Our clients aren’t looking for a car; they’re looking for an experience, and something which is particularly emotionally resonant for them,” says Rolls-Royce CEO Chris Brownridge.
Located in the city’s vibrant Jamsil district, the Rolls-Royce Private Office Seoul is situated inside the 123-storey Lotte World Tower, South Korea’s tallest skyscraper. This is where the most prestigious names in luxury, fashion, business and finance come together in a mixed-use premium complex housing a swanky hotel, shopping mall and Grade A office space.
Fittingly, Rolls-Royce has chosen the metropolis’s iconic building as the lodestar to host ultra-high-net-worth clients who wish to commission a vehicle that tells a story—a story of individuality, of love, of family, or simply of taste.
Discretion is the name of the game. We can’t even tell you the floor on which the Office sits.
The customisation hub is located in the landmark 123-storey Lotte World Tower.
Discretion is the name of the game. We can’t even tell you the floor on which the Rolls-Royce Private Office sits. Nor would you find it published anywhere online.
The entrance is so nondescript that you half expect to be led through a secret door where Ethan Hunt is waiting for you in a hermetically sealed vault, ready to undertake some impossible mission.
The space is sophisticated yet warm and inviting, infused with motifs from Korea’s rich culture, including elements from traditional hanok house architecture expressed through geometric changho frames and hanji paper tastefully blended into the modern aesthetic.
Customers can choose from a huge range of colours, textures and materials in which to wrap their Rolls-Royce.
Here, customers will journey through the creative process, working hand-in-hand with a dedicated designer from Goodwood and selecting from an exquisite palette of colours, textures and materials to swathe their one-off Rolls in. No detail, embroidery design or intricate marquetry work is too complex or untenable.
The only limit, it seems, is a client’s imagination, and it’s certainly hard to comprehend a refusal of requests featuring in the Rolls-Royce playbook—save for those that fall outside safety and legal regulations, of course.
As demand for these ambitious commissions grows, so has the company’s investments in expansion. Specifically, they’ve set aside £300 million (around $630 million) to extend on-site facilities at Goodwood and further build on its bespoke and coachbuild capabilities following a record year in sales for this particular department in 2024.
“Scarcity is our number one rule of thumb so it’s not about creating capacity for more volume,” Brownridge explains. “More of our clients want more personalised and meaningful commissions, which take more time to design and produce. So the purpose of the investment is to give us space for these more complicated projects. That’s what we’re gearing up for.”
Start planning those mocha-mousse cabins.
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Good luck keeping it off your wrist for more than 24 hours at a time, though. The fourth generation of the eponymous lineage (first released in 2015) is the most complete by far, doing away with Roman numerals, power reserves and other superfluous elements which could potentially break the spell of its frosty blue dial.
