Hotel review: Le Bristol, Paris

When revisiting an old, familiar haunt, the place I stay can become the raison d'être for the trip. It's not that I'm tired of the French capital, far from it, merely that it's enough to know I'm there for a few days without feeling compelled to tick all the sightseeing boxes. Wandering the Rue Faubourg Saint-Honore with affected nonchalance, I kid myself that I'm a true citizen of the world. As fantasies go, it's harmless and fulfilling.

When the object is to do nothing at all, your address makes all the difference, and Le Bristol is the last word in understated five-star elegance. It's the sort of hotel favoured by Arabian royalty and showbiz superstars with nothing to prove and no desire to strike a pose for the paparazzi.

It's the sort of place, I am reliably informed, where the staff cheerfully carpet the bathroom whenever one repeat customer comes to town, because he dislikes marble flooring. It's the sort of place that stayed calm when a guest insisted her puppy could only pee on his home turf. Mais oui, madame! They arranged for a square of sod to be flown in from Los Angeles and installed on her room's terrace.

Originally the palace of the Count of Castellane (circa 1829), Le Bristol became a hotel under Hippolyte Jamet in the early 20th century. He couldn't have asked for a better location, near the Champs Elysee and at the western end of one of the city's most dynamic shopping streets, the Faubourg Saint-Honore. These days the hotel is owned by the Oetker family.

Inside there's nothing flashy about the enormous lobby hung with tapestries and dotted with quietly inviting furniture, plus it smells divine, thanks to Jean Michel Duriez, from Jean Patou, who created a unique fragrance for the hotel – fresh, green, woody – which is diffused throughout the public spaces. My white, airy terrace room was spacious, and beautifully accented with blue and white toile. It was too cold to enjoy my terrace, overlooking the hotel's enviable private garden, but it took no imagination at all to envisage leisurely al fresco breakfasts or romantic cocktail hours in the warmer months.

There's a reasonable gym, and a pool set in a rooftop room painted to resemble the inside of an ocean liner. With Parisian blue skies outside, and the expanse of water within, the effect is remarkably convincing.

Those with a sybaritic bent (c'est moi!) will rejoice in the expanded Anne Semonin spa. Semonin specialises in unguents and treatments harnessing the power of trace elements married to essential oils. I had a soothing full body massage and walked out clutching a tub of their new black sand body scrub – ideal for attacking rough skin anywhere on the body (though it does make a mess, so use it in the shower).

The hotel's winter restaurant sits in what was the palace's private theatre. Head chef Eric Frechon recently won his third Michelin star, and every scrumptious mouthful convinced my companions of the judges' wisdom.

We had four courses, punctuated by amuse bouches and crisp, cold quaffs of glorious wines from the hotel's enviable cellar, overseen by chief sommelier Marco Pelletier, a man of infinite charm and infectious enthusiasm for his specialist subject. The meal started with langoustines accompanied by an emulsion of foie gras, progressed to scallops with black truffle potato gnocchi and parsley juices, followed by roasted rack and saddle of lamb with puréed chickpeas and a bit of candied lamb shoulder – sounds peculiar, tastes amazing.

Just when we thought it couldn't get any better, dessert arrived. Even though I'm indifferent to chocolate, I gasped when an enormous Cinderella's coach of a globe arrived on a plate. As a work of art alone, it was noteworthy, with holes, like polka dots, offering tantalising peeks of more treats within – liquid cocoa and tile biscuits. What a shame to break it open, we exclaimed, as we dove in. We began murmuring like satisfied lovers as the rich, delicious sweetness melted on the tongue. Never mind, I made the 20-minute dash to Galleries Lafayette on foot the following morning, to buy scent, so that compensated for the calories.

Paris is the ideal destination for a special occasion, and what better way to unwind properly than by travelling there by train, via Eurostar? None of the argy-bargy of airport insanity.

So, if you fancy pushing the boat out, but are allergic to glitz, head to Le Bristol. The surroundings are serene, the cuisine out of this world, the staff defy description. Indeed, the phrase "understated elegance" might have been invented to describe it.

Factfile

ParisH

HOW TO GET THERE

- Eurostar, St Pancras to Paris, return fares from £59. Tel: [phone], visit www.eurostar.com

WHERE TO STAY

- Le Bristol, 112 Faubourg Saint-Honore, 75008 Paris, tel: [phone], visit www.lebristolparis.com

AND THERE'S MORE

- Scotsman Reader Holidays offers three nights at the Le Bristol from £1,149pp including breakfast and flights from Scotland. Call Cities Direct, tel: [phone] for details and quote The Scotsman.