Side by side The Chancery Rosewood London vs The Thief

A suite here starts north of £1,000 a night, and most of what arrives for that money is genuinely special: Joseph Dirand's interiors turned a brutalist former US Embassy into something warm, with walnut, suede, and rare green marble in bathrooms big enough to actually use. The all-suite layout means even the entry-level Grosvenor junior suites run 570-plus square feet, which is enormous by London standards, and the building itself, with its rescued rooftop eagle and carved-out 18-metre basement spa, is worth the visit on its own.

Where it gets shakier is the follow-through. One couple ordered specific teas for afternoon tea and never got them, waiting through a flower tea substitute instead. Another guest watched the AC cycle on and off all night for no reason, with pipes banging every time a tap ran. A five-night stay saw the same pattern repeat daily until checkout, offset mostly by one standout staffer doing more than his job required. The individual service can be exceptional (a butler giving an unscripted private tour, a reception manager remembered by name weeks later) but the hotel doesn't yet run at that level consistently across every shift and outlet.

None of this should talk you out of booking, but go in clear-eyed: this suits someone who wants a striking, modern room and top-tier design over old-world formality, and who can shrug off the odd service stumble at a hotel still finding its rhythm a year after opening. If you want London's old guard doing everything by muscle memory, Claridge's or The Connaught will feel more polished on any given night. For the building, the suites, and Mayfair's best new rooftop bar, book the Chancery.

The Thief sits on its own spit of land in Tjuvholmen, and what you're paying for first is that setting: floor-to-ceiling windows, mirrors angled to pull in the fjord, art on every wall that more than one guest has compared to a small gallery. The breakfast is the other reason to book – several people who've stayed all over Oslo call it the best in the city, and the rooftop kitchen's Camembert starter and peach-and-chocolate dessert get named by guests who never even booked a room. Front-desk staff who go out of their way show up often enough to matter: one guest got upgraded to a higher floor after a rough travel day, another had the same breakfast table held for her all week by a waiter named Sylvester.

The rooms don't all deliver the marketing shot. Ask for a higher floor and you might still land facing the alley behind the museum, where garbage trucks and late-night chatter run past the window several times a night, and one guest counted being woken six to eight times over two stays. Base rooms run small, the gym is showing its age, and the spa – lovely as it is – won't blow away anyone who's been to a proper wellness hotel. A few stays have gone properly wrong too: a broken door lock patched with duct tape, a turndown team that walked in on a Do Not Disturb sign, a kitchen a guest watched cooking without gloves. None of it is the norm, but it happens often enough that you shouldn't assume five-star polish at every turn.

Book it if what you want is the location, the breakfast, and a design hotel with real character rather than a chain gloss – ask for a room away from the alley side and you'll dodge the worst of it. Skip it if you need flawless, hands-on service every time; that's inconsistent here. For the setting and the food alone, it's worth the rate.