25 - The Importance of a Morning Suit

THE RITZ HOTEL, Paris

The Ritz' Espadon restaurant, summer terrace  (2010)

Years ago, long before I made my life with Brenda, I discovered the Ritz Hotel’s wonderful business luncheon.  The chef proposed everything that was the best of the day:  tasters, starter, main course, cheese, dessert, coffee and more sweets.  And all this for about 50 dollars (this is going back a few years). 

I became quite a regular client, often lunching solo.

Luigi, the host-maître d’hôtel, always seemed delighted to see me.  On this particular day some twenty years ago I vaguely sensed something changed.

Star chef Michel Roth in Ritz kitchen

 I was attuned to the fact that a new gentleman in morning suit was participating in the service.  I knew that each level of command in the French hotel hierarchy carried with it a precise category of clothing, and as I understood that the morning suit indicated top man, I was surprised to see that Luigi –surely the chief maitre d’hotel—was dressed in a simple, dark suit.

I was just making idle conversation and had no inkling of reopening a dramatic wound.  When I clumsily asked why he wasn’t wearing his morning suit, I thought he was going to burst into tears.

« You have noticed, of course, that I am no longer … », he seemed unable to finish, and injected a brave smile.  « Yes, the man you saw earlier is the chief, the new director. »

« But surely you are the head of the waiters, » I ventured, not knowing how to back up, having uncovered this indelicate can of worms.

Classic morning suit in 1898 watercolor

 « You see, during two years, there was no director, » he said, as though delighted in the complicity of a client who had finally noticed. «So I was like the acting head.  And now with the appointment of this man, I am no longer anything.  And to make sure that I understand perfectly what has happened to me, I have been instructed to return my morning suit. »

I sincerely commiserated and said how unjust this all seemed.

Towards the end of the meal, Luigi returned to say how much my comments had meant to him, how rare it was to hear when people were happy with the restaurant.  He said it was disheartening how many people wrote to say bad things.  Just that week someone had written about a lunch months earlier, criticizing the service as well as the food.    I asked how much weight this kind of condemnation held, and he said it could be enormous.

L'Espadon (watercolor by B.Redmond)

 When I said that my tendency was simply not to return to a hotel or restaurant when unhappy, but that I loved to write when the experience was outstanding, his eyes lit up.   He didn’t quite dare say anything immediately, but before I left, he managed to convey in the most discreet and delicate manner how much a complimentary letter sent to the right person could mean in his precarious situation.

I was more than happy to oblige.  Even though it didn’t get his morning suit back, my letter apparently did give a certain boost to Luigi’s professional self esteem and cemented an enduring complicity between us until his retirement several years ago.

L'Espadon Restaurant in 1955, unidentified gentleman in foreground  (Google photo)

SIDEBAR:  The last Night at the Ritz ... out with a bang!

Brenda and daughter Fiona in main lobby last July,  Ritz' last Sunday

It was a full house for the Ritz’ closing night. 

Boarding-up its ornate 18^th century doors last July, the granddaddy of Parisian luxury hotels began a major overhaul expected to last at least another two years.

The hotel was booked solid that last Monday night, and at prices way out of the realm of most of us ordinary mortals (reportedly 14,000-dollars for the Coco Chanel suite, named after one of the hotel's most prestigious residents).

Portion of bedroom in Coco Chanel Suite (Associated Press photo)

Star chef Michel Roth proposed a special 300-dollar menu for his “au revoir dinner” (foie gras, lobster and caviar, pigeon and cherries, ending with a peach Melba, the most famous creation of the hotel’s first chef Auguste Escoffier).  Wine and coffee were not included, but the restaurant still sold out. 

Well-heeled regulars came from around the globe for the final days.  Rarely have so many flags been raised at the same time to announce guests’ nationalities:  clients from Hong Kong, Japan, U.S.A., Singapore, Russia --not to mention France and the rest of Europe-- filled the iconic old palace one last time.

Despite promises to uphold tradition, some conservative regulars feared an overly modern transformation.  “We wanted to spend one more night here before it was too late,” an elderly German gentlemen said.  “You never know what it’s going to be like in two years time.”

“It’s so sad.  We’ve been coming here for over 20 years,” said a teary-eyed Hong Kong matron.  “Some of the plumbing may need changing, but we love it.  It’s historical, and it’s home.”  As reported by the French press agency, she embraced all staff she encountered in the lobby before heading out onto the Place Vendome.

The 200-million dollar facelift, in addition to all of the obvious heating-airconditioning-electricity refittings, will equip the Ritz with a state-of-the-art spa and spectacular new garden restaurant with a retractable glass ceiling.

Putting on the Ritz (Google)

 At its opening in 1898, the Ritz was the first in the world to have electricity in every room and en-suite bathrooms in most.   

 It inspired Irving Berlin's 1929 song “Putting On The Ritz” and the novella “The Diamond As Big As The Ritz” by Scott Fitzgerald, once a reguzlar guest with his wife Zelda.

Owned since 1979 by Egyptian tycoon Mohamed Al Fayed, it was here that Princess Diana had her last meal with Al Fayed’s son Dodi in 1997.

All bedrooms will be completely redecorated, but a Ritz spokeswoman said they would stay traditional in style, in the hotel’s trademark tones of pink and blue.  A public letter from the hotel's managing director promised to ensure that the “charm and personality of the Ritz is kept alive.”

“The Ritz will remain the Ritz,” pledged a hotel spokesman recently in its newsletter.  “Its DNA will remain intact.”

Vintage Ritz dinner, probably the 1930's (photo Ritz Hotel archives)

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  "Babe Ruth's 60th Home Run, back to the Aberdeen Hotel"

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Ritz Hotel was also featured in sidebar for blog No. 18, "Cesar Ritz" Dec. 28, 2012  (to access, click on above title).

24 - Living it up on a budget

HOTEL BRISTOL, Paris

Sunday afternoon at the Bristol

Times are kind of hard, and some days we just have to face facts.    As I tell the grandchildren (which for some reason sends them into great gales of laughter):  “Money does not grow on trees!”

There haven’t been enough earnings lately finding their way into the coffers to justify much of a splurge.  Consequently, I figure I can count my blessings, savor  past memories (that’s what I’ve been doing these last months on “Hotel Musings”), and enjoy some of the cheaper deals out there.

Tea time

As high living goes, coffee at the Bristol must be the best value for money that Paris has to offer these days.  It is (relatively) cheap AND about as luxurious an afternoon’s outing as you could imagine.

  

Here’s the deal:  For just a tad over a ten-dollar bill (nine euros, to be exact), I invite you to enter the exquisite world of the rich and sometimes famous.

Fiona "at home" in lobby

Lorna on recent coffee tasting  expedition

The Bristol is arguably Paris' chic-est hotel address.  It reeks of understated elegance at its best, and is the home away from home of Robert de Niro, Angelina and Brad, Paul McCartney, to name but a few.  


A number of scenes from Woody Allen's popular "Midnight in Paris" were filmed here.

Originally a private mansion, it was already almost 200 years old when transformed into a luxury hotel in 1925.  It was named after the 4th Earl of Bristol, an Englishman  noted for his travels around Europe in the 18th century.

Brenda, a little touch-up

Former president Nicolas Sarkozy (as well as quite a few presidents before him) made the hotel's Epicure restaurant his canteen, stopping by regularly from his presidential offices across the street.

Nowadays, socialist president François Hollande would sooner be caught dead than publicly associated with such luxury, so there is little chance of running into him or any of his cabinet members.  It is said that key government members have been discouraged from patronizing the Bristol, and certainly are NEVER to be photographed there.

Coffee is served in the grand foyer-tea room-bar area, which is an extension of the main lobby.  If you wish to stay on budget, then it is mandatory to rigorously follow my instructions. 
 

The high-life version of a cup of coffee

Do not bother with the menu.  There is an abundance of tempting snacks, all sorts of mouth-watering desserts and an assortment of teas from the far corners of the globe.    Ignore all of the preceding. 

When the waiter arrives, just say:  “un café, s’il vous plait.”  [euuh  KAH-faye, SEEL voo play].  Naturally, you can say it in English, if you wish; but in that case, it is best to specify “an espresso coffee.”

In addition to a pretty heady environment of grand hotel aesthetics and celebrity comings and goings, here’s what you get:  one perfect Parisian espresso; one pretty little bottle of designer water; dainty old-fashioned, embroidered linen cocktail napkins; and --last but so not least--  an assortment of three, four or even six (depending on the mood of the day) delicious homemade chocolate candies.  All this to the accompaniment of discreet rippling chords from the resident harpist.

A tip is definitely not mandatory, as it is ostensibly always included in France.  However, you are not forbidden to leave the remaining one euro on the little silver dish.

Not bad as hotel lobbies go!

Follow-up on Fa-raon  

A recent coffee visit to the Bristol allowed us to check up on Fa-raon, the feline celebrity about whom I reported in a previous posting (see Nov. 23, 2012).  

Fa-raon, who has become an increasingly well known mascot at the Parisian palace,  appears to be doing better than ever.  He is seen here taking his afternoon snooze on the concièrge's desk.

Oblivious to his extraordinary good fortune and unimpressed by the hotel's roster of international movers and shakers, Fa-raon continues to take his lazy, pampered existence in his stride. 

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  "The importance of a morning suit ... putting on the Ritz"

  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Hotel Bristol and Fa-raon were also featured in:  blog No. 13, "Those silver-spooned children living the palace life" Nov. 23, 2012 (to access, click on above title).

23 - Mrs. X at the Gritti

The Gritti Palace, Venice

Room with a view  (From the balcony of N° 215)

Some hobbies, like my hotel passion, can get kind of lonely.  Unlike stamp collectors and film buffs and dog breeders, it’s unusual to meet anyone else with a very similar hobby.  Not only would most people never dream of going to some of “my” hotels, they would often find my extravagances peculiar if not objectionable.

So you can imagine that I was excited to receive a rather special email a number of years ago.  It was from Miranda, a lady from Beverly Hills, a part-time travel agent, no less, asking my hotel advice.   

I had posted a complimentary review on the Fodor’s travel site of my favorite Venetian hotel, the Gritti Palace.  

Breakfast for two on the Gritti's Grand Canal Terrace

Miranda was looking into the better Venice hotels in view of an upcoming trip, but had found the Gritti prices far steeper than any of the others.  “We read your posting, and found your critique most persuasive," she said. “Is it really worth the difference?  We cannot make up our minds, but would be extremely interested in anything you might have to say.  You seem so knowledgeable and enthusiastic."  
 

I don’t think anyone --certainly no one outside my circle of acquaintances-- had ever sought out to such an extent my hotel expertise. 

So I was thrilled with the potential assignment from the other side of the world from this woman whom I would undoubtedly never have the occasion to meet in person.  Ultimately I was able to help considerably.  

Miranda explained that my arguments had convinced her, if only they could somehow find a more appealing price.  After several emails --by which time I was thinking of her as pretty much an old friend-- I proposed telephoning, myself, to the Gritti’s then-reservations manager, Signor Mora, who had always been helpful in securing the best prices. 

 To make a long story shorter, Miranda gave every appearance of being just about blown away when I ultimately was able to report that Signor Mora had agreed to a price close to half of that originally mentioned.  He  had also noted “VIP treatment” on the internal reservations record, assuring an unexpected bonus, and he further promised  they would give the best accommodations possible to Mrs. X. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she wrote  “to think that we as travel agents couldn’t do better, and all you have done is just too marvelous.  I only hope to one day be able to return the favor for you.”  Her enthusiasm was already a sufficient reward, and I reveled in her satisfaction and vicariously savored her upcoming week at the Gritti.     

I explained that it would be in both our interests for her to ask to see Signor Mora and to express a special  thank-you to him upon arrival.  I also recommended she tell Gianni, the  head concierge, that I had urged her to avail herself of his talented services.

I was looking forward to a full report on the Venice trip, and she even promised to send photos of  her room upon  return to California.  I waited several weeks, then I couldn’t restrain myself from sending another email, asking how everything had gone, and to please send all the details!

Ultimately I felt quite foolish, because  I never, ever heard from her again.

Some months later, I had occasion to talk again with Signor Mora at the Gritti.  I was enquiring about room rates, both for me and for friends from North Carolina.  Suddenly, out of the blue, Signor Mora asked, “Will Mrs. X  be coming this time?”  His tone alarmed me. 

Gritti facade seen from the canal

 Mora was a warm and gentle person, but this time he persevered with a certain tense fervor.  “Because I believe Mrs. X was not entirely happy with us, I don’t expect that she would wish to return to the Gritti.   No, I’m quite sure that would not be a very good idea.”

I was appalled that everything had somehow gone so badly.  Mora had always bent over backwards to help, and I had been so pleased that he would be looking after my new internet friend.   I made a stab at finding out what exactly had transpired, but clearly Mora had said all he intended to.

 I would never know what had happened.  I do feel certain of one thing: that whatever problems or dramas may have occurred were of neither Signor Mora nor the Gritti’s doings.

Evening snack in room 313

-o-

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  "Living it up on a budget"

  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Gritti Palace was also featured in:  blog No. 10, "Danny Night Concièrge" Nov. 2, 2012; No. 13, "Those Silver Spooned Children" Nov. 23, 2012; and No. 19, "Hotel Staff's Best and Worst List" Dec. 19, 2012 (to access, go to "blog archives" on upper right hand side of this page).