Page 100 - Architectural Digest - USA (March 2020)

LEFT MCNALLY.
MY
house in the Cotswolds is the first house I’ve owned but never
had sex in.
In 2011 my wife, Alina, and I decided to leave New York City, an adjective, the word reflected their character. They worked
where I owned and operated several well-known restaurants,
and move to London. Like many affluent families living in a city, subdued. Luckily, they quickly accepted my idiosyncratic way
the moment we settled into our new house we began rapa-
ciously searching for another one. This time for the weekends.
After two years of looking we bought Great Brockhampton
Farm. There was nothing Great about Brockhampton Farm.
It wasn’t even a farm. Just an ungainly 1919 stone house that
had been “modernized” in the 1950s into something genteel
and suburban. The formality of its dining room expressed
a sad, aspirational quality that made me wonder which of the
changes I was about to make would have me looking equally
RIGHT IN THE MASTER
BEDROOM, A C. 1924
RUPERT LEE PAINTING
RESTS ATOP THE
DRESSER. BED FROM
BEDSTEADS;
VINTAGE SCONCES.
sad to the next owner. But one terrific feature redeemed the
dreariness of this middle-class house: It sat amid 15 acres of
The remarkable project manager we hired, Rachel Sadler,
came with a crew of four jacks-of-all-trades who each had the
charming surname of Little. Of course, the Littles were related
dreamy, undulating farmland.
to one another, and as with many people whose last name is
as discreetly as dormice, and even their hammering appeared
of working. Over the previous 30-odd years, I had renovated
four houses in New York, Martha’s Vineyard, and London, plus
a dozen Manhattan restaurants, including Balthazar and Pastis.
Due to a couple of restaurant failures, my finances had
recently become wobbly, but I was hoping to rectify this in my
next one, Augustine, the success of which I was counting on
to pay for the renovation of Great Brockhampton Farm (G.B.F.).
To romanticize going colossally over budget, some people have
the gall to call themselves perfectionists. I’m one of those people.