Review: The Store, Oxford – purveyors of excellence

I am standing in the window of what was, until four years ago, the beloved and historic department store Boswells of Oxford. Behind me, on a sofa, my partner is chatting to her friend on the phone.

Years ago, the friend had briefly taught at the university before moving away and she is happily recalling the times she used to pop into Boswells to buy this and that for her kitchen and living room when she was living in the city.

Naturally, that sets me to imagining all the people, who, since 1912 – when Boswells relocated to its final address on Broad Street – had milled around where I now stand. Am I in the home-furnishings section? The pots and pans aisle? Lingerie? It kindles a slightly strange feeling, because this is, after all, our bedroom. To my right is our bed.

Would I be woken up by somebody asking the way to the loo? “It’s the first on the left.” Not likely, because Boswells closed in 2020. In its place, The Store , a five-star hotel in the city centre, opened in May, with 101 rooms and plenty of playful nods to the building’s colourful history.

We are staying in the Balliol Suite, named after the college opposite. In keeping with the rest of the hotel, the interior design is minimalist with elements of mid-century modern.

On the desk in the corner, by the bed, is a retro-looking portable record player and an LP of 1960s blues hits to set the mood, while helping yourself to the small bottle of The Store’s own-label vodka thoughtfully provided on the table in front of the sofa.

The suite also just happens to be room 101, but I choose not to take that as some sort of warning. The window in which I stand looks out onto the sand-coloured stone of Balliol college as well as the churchyard of Saint Mary Magdalen next door to it.

The loo, you ask? It is indeed on the left, past the minibar, as you make your way along the corridor. Clad in polished stone, it has his and hers sinks, a rain shower and a large, standalone bathtub with a shelf on which to place your drink.

It is a warm Saturday in September when we stay and we have spent the day running around, joining a walking tour, visiting the various colleges and the Sheldonian Theatre. Now, we head up to the hotel’s roof terrace for aperitif cocktails.

The sky turns an orangey pink and a large, silvery moon rises over my shoulder as we admire the city of dreaming spires, sipping our signature cocktails – a French Martini pour moi (the house vodka infused with vanilla butter and mixed with Chambord, rose water and raspberry jam) and a Modern Education for the lady (mezcals mixed with amaro).

There is another, less formal bar on the ground floor, busy with locals, which, to my mind, is always a reassuring sign that a hotel has a pulse.

Dinner is at Treadwell, The Store’s “untraditionally British” restaurant, which has an entrance on the street. I order the light and airy nduja and spring onion croquettes, followed by a perfectly cooked dry aged pork tomahawk; and the lady opts for the tender chargrilled octopus, and the rich and moreish braised ossobuco with garlic mash (starters £12, mains £28).

Treadwell also puts on a full Sunday lunch spread every week, with roast chicken served with another roast meat on rotation (it is lamb when we visit) and all the trimmings imaginable. It really is a sumptuous affair, but take my advice – go easy on breakfast beforehand (£38 for two courses, £45 for three).

The next morning, we visit The Store’s subterranean spa for an indulgent couple’s massage. While we wait, it seems to us there is an almost imperceptible buzz about the place – the kind you get when someone very famous is close by.

We enjoy our massages with oils by top cosmetics brand Oskia and afterwards potter into the relaxation area, where there is a sauna, steam room and “experience” shower – and a glamorous young woman with, as my partner later remarks, “lovely hair” occupying one of the beds.

“You know that lady who was lying next to me?”, my partner says to me in the lift going back up. She ignores my professions of ignorance and pushes on. “Wasn’t that…? No, it couldn’t have been,” she says. “Could it?”

Chris was a guest of The Store. Rooms start from £285 per night including breakfast, visit thestoreoxford.com