“Maybe the Hamptons isn’t so ghastly after all,” exhaled Piers, finally out of the suite and extended on one of Topping Rose’s soft towels on a nearby beach. Ghastly? Honestly, I have no idea what that man is on about half the time.  The pool area at Topping Rose House  He says The Hamptons are usually filled with what I hoped to leave behind in New York City,” opined arguably America’s greatest chef, Mario Batali. And that’s always been my experience. In the height of summer, Manhattan’s wealthiest, most elite lemmings spend five hours trekking up there by car, a day and a half socialising with everyone they work with, for or against, then another five hours trekking back to the city. But there is, I have discovered, a way to actually enjoy this hellish ordeal. First, don’t go in midsummer. Go, like we did, in autumn, or spring, when the weather is still gorgeous, and the traffic much easier (two hours). And stay at Topping Rose House.  I knew I’d like this place when I entered our gleamingly clean, expansively chic, minimalist suite to find an Arsenal shirt emblazoned with “Piers” on the back. Hideously, there was also a framed photograph of Robin van Persie, the Dutch striker who broke my heart by defecting to Manchester United last year, with the word: “Welcome!” Turns out the otherwise splendidly solicitous general manager is a United fan. Ho flaming ho. But the brazen cheek made me laugh, and how many hotels do that in these politically correct days?  Celia brought enough suitcases to make even J-Lo look travel-light, and seemed worryingly intent on treating the whole weekend as some kind of ghastly “getting to know the locals” extravaganza. I, conversely, knew exactly where my priorities lay. The same as they do with any holiday, however brief: a) sleep b) watch Arsenal on television c) lie by the pool, and d) drink and eat everything my personal trainer views as “undesirable” for my well-being.  The food at Topping Rose is sublimely fresh (they have their own large vegetable garden, though I left the tour to my wife), simple and consistently delicious. Breakfast was good, lunch better, and dinner quite spectacular: a “tasting menu” feast of Henry VIII-like proportions featuring foie gras, lobster, truffle, seared tuna, rabbit, wagyu beef and a chocolate pumpkin tart. All washed away with Puligny-Montrachet and a brave 2005 Pomerol.  Celia always feels guilty after such blow-outs, and raced to the gym the next morning. I have no such dietary concerns, and loped to the pool, where I lay in the sun, reading the papers and soaking in the genteel tranquillity of this rather heavenly oasis. Topping Rose House nestles on the corner of Bridgehampton, a quaint little town in the middle of the Hamptons, about a mile from an even quainter little beach (the hotel thoughtfully supplies bikes or a car shuttle service to get around). It looks and feels like an old colonial white-wood private home. Which is exactly what it used to be.  As I sat on the terrace, drinking chilled Brother Thelonius beer while my two-year-old daughter entertained me with her absurdly over-the-top “old man” walks (I fear they are based on her father…), strains of John Coltrane filling the air, I was already planning a return visit.  Celia Walden and Piers Morgan stayed at Topping Rose House, Bridgehampton, New York. Suite 5 starts at $1,250 (about £924) per night, including breakfast.  Celia Walden and Piers Morgan. Image: Jane Mingay
Piers Morgan and Celia Walden find a home away from home at Topping Rose House   in the Hamptons