49 - Thanksgiving: Ruth and Dickie... and more about Mother

THE MILLENNIUM BILTMORE, Los Angeles

Ruth, circa 1932

    The longer I live away from the States, the less resonance I feel with Thanksgiving.  It is such a particularly American holiday, with all of its food and family implications, that when you are out of the context as I have been, living abroad these past 45 years, it is easy to get out of the habit, if not entirely out of the spirit.

Still, I do retain an early lifetime of memories associated with Thanksgiving family meals.   My Aunt Ruth could often be counted on to join us for the holiday spread, particularly after her own children had left home.   I remember how supportive she was of Dickie when he started shining as a cook.

Chef Dickie, starting out at a hash house

  Mother had a real knack for baking cakes, but for much of the rest, she was just so-so.   We liked her food just fine, that is after all what comfort food is all about; but when Dickie came along, that was something else!   

By the time Dickie reached twelve, he was already showing signs of a special talent.  Mother welcomed his enthusiastic participation in the preparation of holiday meals, to the point of gradually pretty well turning the kitchen over to him.  She sometimes had difficulty, however, in totally conceding the credit.

Ruth, Mother’s aunt, had reared her during most of her high school years and afterwards.  She was only ten years older, and although somewhere between sister and mother for her, was still a respected figure of authority.   A career school teacher and known as a stern disciplinarian, she was for years tagged by students as "The Blade."  To describe her as outspoken would be an understatement; she had exceedingly strong viewpoints on most matters.

Mother and her aunt Ruth(r) in the late 1930's

To my brothers and me, Ruth was another grandmother and a special Auntie Mame.  We welcomed her non-conformist ways, compared with the more traditional Pleasants side of the family.  I spent many weekends with her in Southern Pines, and opening tins of pork and beans at any hour of the day or eating breakfast in mid-afternoon was then a special treat.

She knew Mother better than most, and she wasn’t apt to let her get away with too much.  I remember one Thanksgiving when Dickie was just coming into his own, and he outdid himself with a feast of traditional plates to which he added his personal touch to make each dish special –sweet potato “soufflé” (at least that is what we called it in Aberdeen), asparagus casserole, creamed carrots, wonderful coconut cake (though in that department, Mother’s was just as good), and of course the pièce de résistance, butterball turkey with good old Southern-style sage and cornbread stuffing.  

Ruth with the ubiquitous Camel cigarette

 Mother was in a bad humor that year, I certainly don’t remember why, and Ruth’s repeated compliments to Dickie were not easing the atmosphere. 

“This is absolutely the best Thanksgiving turkey I have EVER tasted,” said Ruth to Dickie.  “Where in the WORLD did you learn to cook like that?  Why, you could open your own restaurant.” 



Dickie about that time ...

Mother tried to intercept in order to minimize.  In her very Southern manner, she said:  “Yes, he has certainly been a big little helper.” 


I remember Ruth’s reply, because she had this larger-than-life way of punctuating her ideas, of which I have a clear mental video, even today.   

She could be very argumentative, and had a tendency to take over conversations and get really passionate about whatever she was talking about, frequently jabbing her cigarette in the direction of her interlocutor for emphasis.  She was a perpetual crusader against whatever she saw as injustice, and on this Thanksgiving she definitely saw that my brother was not getting his rightful share of the credit: 

Mother a few years later

“Help?  What ARE you talking about?  Did you say Help?  Why, it looks to me like Dickie has done every single thing!"  I can still hear her throaty, gravelly cigarette voice.  "Every single, solitary thing, and it is DE-LI-CIOUS!  All I can say is, bravo, Dickie!”  

Mother would rarely declare defeat, but with Ruth, she sometimes realized that to declench further argument would be counterproductive, and I recall her ultimately shaking her head in resignation, in much the way today one might say, “Whatever!” 

Ruth with Mickie (left) and Dickie, Aberdeen 1957

The Biltmore Hotel ... back to Hollywood's Golden Age

1937 Academy Awards ceremony in the Biltmore's Crystal Ballroom 

     Brenda and I found ourselves in Los Angeles a few years ago on Thanksgiving.  We were taking a boat from San Diego which took us around part of Mexico and Guatemala, through the Panama Canal, a bit of Colombia, and on to the East Coast.

We spent a couple of days beforehand at the old Biltmore (now The Millennium Biltmore) in downtown L.A.   No longer quite the exquisite hotel of the stars it may have once been, it has nevertheless been remarkably well kept up, and in recent years increasingly dusted off and uplifted.  



Our spacious room at the Millenium Biltmore, November 2010

The largest hotel west of Chicago when it opened in 1923, there are still an awful lot of rooms to fill; and that means some tempting prices, particularly at off-season moments.

Contrary to what some might think, Thanksgiving and Christmas can be very off-seasonal.  In America there are probably no days in the year when more people go back home, wherever that might be, and that leaves plenty of hotel rooms vacant.

A typically art-déco nook in the Biltmore's bar

  So the Millennium Biltmore had too good a price to pass up, and we decided to stay there before embarking on the Holland America cruise.  Also, they advertised an enticing Thanksgiving meal which was billed as “the famous L.A. bountiful buffet brunch not to be missed!”     

For an old time movie buff like myself, the primary appeal of the Biltmore was its historic connection with the Academy Awards.  It was here in the hotel’s Crystal Ballroom that some of the iconic moments of the the Oscar’s history occurred in the late 1930’s and 1940’s.

The banquet hall where the event took place is still there, intact and in excellent condition.  It wasn’t open for visiting the week we were there (as it was being prepared for some event, probably a wedding reception), but we sneaked in without difficulty.

The Film Academy was in fact founded in 1927 at a luncheon in the Biltmore’s ballroom.  All the heads of studio were represented, and it is said that MGM art director Cedric Gibbons scribbled his design for the Oscar statuette on a linen hotel napkin.

The ornate ballroom is constructed a little like an opera house, with grand, carved columns and Austrian-crystal chandeliers.  The second-story balconies which surround the circular room offer the best viewing point, and the room still boasts a hand-painted 30-foot ceiling. 

As for the Thanksgiving feast, this was our only disappointment.  The food was about as uninspired as you could ever imagine, though the restaurant was packed with enthusiastic looking diners, both tourists and Angelinos.   We didn’t really care; there would be other, better Thanksgiving meals.  

Who knows?  Maybe even one of these days another prepared by Dickie.

Quite a bit of its past grandeur still on show (note ceiling)

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

"Mother" is also featured in blog No. 46, "Grandmother Vivian, Doc and the Others" and No. 51, "A Christmas Gift ... the little red lamp"; Aunt Ruth was mentioned in the sidebar to blog No. 4, "Miss VFW 1951 at the Stork Club"   (to access, click on highlighted titles).

48 - Back to Venice and The Gritti!

THE GRITTI PALACE, Venice 

A super-luxurious room 210 of the Punta della Dogana suite with its original 16th Century floor and ceiling

 

     After all these years, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see Venice or The Gritti again.

Closed since 2011, this grandest of all Venetian hotels (though the word "hotel" is no longer officially used, it is just “Gritti Palace”) reopened last February after a 35-million dollar facelift.

The result is nothing short of stupendous, as the 16^th century home of the 77^th Venetian Doge, Andrea Gritti, has been meticulously renovated and revived.  The aim was never to change, but to restore and preserve.

“It was an investment that the Gritti deserved!” said Managing Director Paolo Lorenzoni in a recent chat in the hotel’s elegant Longhi Bar.

 

Il Diretorre Lorenzoni

  Lorenzoni directed the renovations, and he takes understandable pride in his “new” finely polished jewel on the Grand Canal.

“I sometimes think of us like a Patek Philippe watch.   It is a jewel of distinction which is often handed down through the generations.   We have returning clients who are the children and now the grandchildren of our loyal guests who began when we first opened in 1948.”

Most suites are named after former guests, such as Peggy Guggenheim who celebrated her 80^th birthday at the Gritti and whose museum lies across the Grand Canal in front of her suite.  The Hemingway Suite is a homage to the celebrated writer who spent several months here between 1948 and 1953.  In fact, he wrote much of “Across the River and Into the Woods” while at the Gritti, and he mentions the hotel at least 15 times in his novel.   Not to forget the Somerset Maugham Suite, named after the British novelist who would set up residence, for several weeks most years, between 1948 and 1976. 

It had been well over ten years since I was last in Venice, and when the opportunity arose to take a look at the restored Gritti, we decided to replicate, as much as feasible, my early trips to Italy in the 1970’s.

The old, comfortable night trains are increasingly a thing of the past, but an Italian company has recently begun a service of sleeping cars on the Paris-Venice run, and we decided to give it a try.   In addition to giving you time to enjoy the landscape, it allows for a full day in Venice upon arrival and another before departing.

Early morning, first glimpse of Venice from our train compartment

And nothing beats the traditional early morning arrival by train into Venice.   A few minutes before reaching our destination, the train is suddenly surrounded by water, the Venice Lagoon, as we make our way into the City of Doges on a kind of causeway to the Santa Lucia Station which sits smack in front of the Grand Canal.

 

Knock-out view from our balcony

  Our stay at the Gritti was like a dream.  Though apparently fully booked, the personnel always gave the impression of offering  exclusive attention to each guest.  And what a wonderful surprise:  Thanks to the kind help of Sr. Lorenzoni, we had the great fortune of finding ourselves in the prized Punta della Dogana suite.

Nowhere is service more refined, more attentive, more personalized than in the Venetian hotel world, of which The Gritti Palace surely reigns supreme.

“At the Gritti you are not a guest, you are a friend,” Somerset Maugham once said.

“We try to treat the Gritti like a private home, not a hotel,” said Lorenzoni.   “Many of our guests feel the same way.”

Speaking for myself, I couldn’t agree more. 

 

SIDEBAR:  The People who make it work

A glimpse into the Club del Doge Restaurant with a few chandelier

baubles of Murano crystal in the foreground

No matter how beautiful or how comfortable a hotel may be, it is inevitably the personnel who make or break its reputation.

Italy is universally known for its impeccable training throughout the service industry, and the Gritti's staff is a fine example.  I think I can safely say that the team there today is the best I have ever encountered.

 The « performance » of a hotel's personnel is much like the ensemble playing in a chamber orchestra, one false note can ruin the whole.   Fortunately there were no false notes discernible.

Romina

  Starting with our reception by Romina, who checked us in with such a personable welcome, by the time she had introduced us to our rooms, we felt like old friends.   It seemed that everyone we encountered, like Romina, had a true passion for what they were doing.  You quickly get the feeling that the staff is fiercely proud of this unique palace and of their part in its running.

Valentina

A prime example was Valentina, who began her career as assistant at the switchboard last February when the Gritti reopened.  This has been her first job after receiving  a Milan University degree in modern languages (she speaks beautiful English and French, and though I am in no position to judge, also masters Russian). 

  Like many employees over the years who have started in modest posts, Valentina would like to branch out one of these days, hopefully using her people skills in management.

Then there was Antonella (above), who efficiently and with a real panache coordinated our breakfast on the del Doge terrace, filled to capacity the day we were there –taking orders, laughing and conversing with guests, while simultaneously dispatching waiters and monitoring orders with the kitchen.

   The most special hotel profession of all is bound to be that of concierge.   He is the member of staff who undoubtedly has the most interaction, can make things happen or not, and ultimately can be responsible for the overall success or failure of a guest's holiday.  

Umberto, 25 years later

I was delighted to reacquaint myself with Umberto, the « Good Samaritan » of 25 years ago of whom I spoke in musing No. 17 (click here to see).   When I first met him in the 1980's, he had taken my luggage and shown me to my room.  He is now first assistant to the head concierge. 

Giuliano has been working at the Gritti for over 40 years, and has in recent years attained the important post of head concierge.  We chatted several times, and like Umberto, he gave all appearances of still enjoying his job tremendously.  Despite what he described as the « dangerously high stress level » which goes with the territory. 

Giuliano, 40 years on the job, now head concierge

I was flattered when he took me into an ante room off the concierge's counter (for me, like going backstage at a Broadway hit !), where he pointed out, not without emotion, framed photos of some of his former colleagues on the concierge team who have died.   I was particularly saddened to learn of the recent death of Franco, who had been head concierge on my first visit to the Gritti in 1980.
 
 As Managing Director Lorenzoni says, "It is the client who is the most important.   But very close after comes our employees, they are after all what creates the personality and assures the efficiency of our palace.   We respect our employees, and it shows." 

The Concierge Station

 

 A FEW SNAPSHOTS:  Three memorable days at the Gritti

Feeling almost "at home" in our exceedingly grand living room, with priceless corner view on the Grand Canal, it is surprising how quickly you can get accustomed to such luxury!  

 

The bedroom was not bad either!

 

It is often the details that count, as attests this perfectly presented orchid on the side of our marble bathtub.

A first peek of the Gritti upon entering from the street, with view onto the concierges' counter (above).  Below, two snapshots of the newly refurbished public lounge areas.

 

 

The Longhi Bar, aptly named after the 18th century Venetian master whose paintings adorn its walls

Last but not least, the unforgettable view from the terrace of the Longhi Bar at twilight

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

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Gritti Palace was also featured in blog No. 10 "Danny, the Night Porter", No. 23 "Mrs. X at The Gritti", No. 31 "Fire, Water and a Bloody Fall" No. 17 "Celebrating the Holidays Away From Home" and "Looking Back To Venice ... and Paul Newman"  (to access, click on title).

 

47 - Monaco, Mirage and Reality ... and Grace Kelly

THE METROPOLE,  THE HOTEL DE PARIS  and THE HERMITAGE: Monte Carlo

Lobby of the Hotel Metropole, September 2013

     I have never been a big fan of the Principality of Monaco, that little kingdom just a few miles from Nice which was put on the map for most Americans by the actress Grace Kelly almost 60 years ago.

Monaco is to my eyes one of the great myths.   I think to most Americans it is perceived as a rather undefined, romantic, glittering jewel somewhere in the Mediterranean.  In reality, it is a bit of all the aforementioned, but also an inordinate amount of high rise buildings squeezed into less than one square mile.  Everything seems unreasonably expensive, and nothing any prettier than the rest of the French Riviera.  Its charm depends pretty much on exactly where you find yourself and how much money you wish to spend for the privilege of being there.

Vintage photo of overgrown Monaco (Google)

Still, for a hotel buff like myself, Monte Carlo (Monaco's only city) does have some world renowned luxury hostelries.   I've never stayed at any, but I have done my share of strolling through the lobbies of the Hotel de Paris (generally thought to be the snazziest, though the day I last walked through, it had the ambiance of a crowded train station), the Hermitage and the Metropole.   Each of these top three have award-winning restaurants.

Plenty of Ferrari at Hotel de Paris

  The Louis XIV restaurant at the Hotel de Paris is the most famous and has garnered the top accolade of three stars from the French bible of gastronomy, the Michelin Guide.   It is also the most expensive, and is in fact so far out of the ballpark by my standards that I have never been tempted to make the sacrifice.

We intended to celebrate at the Hermitage's restaurant, Le Vistamar, on my last birthday, and  had reserved a beautiful table on their terrace overlooking the port.   When time came to order, however, we were peremptorily informed that due to some unconvincing circumstances, the prix-fixe menu had been canceled.   So exit the Pleasants-Paladinis.   We will never know what we missed.

A stroll through the Hermitage

We did lunch recently at the Metropole's starred restaurant; it was delicious as well as elegant, and the special midday menu was, in fact, wonderful value for money.

  A tuna and eggplant terrine to start a memorable lunch

 at Joel Robuchon's restaurant in the Metropole Hotel

Whenever I partake of an exquisite meal, it inevitably puts me into a kind of glowing mood.  In the case of Monaco, it allows me a certain indulgence.  Let's just say that after a supremely satisfying gastronomic tour de force at the Metropole, with its perfect service, refined decor and view of the Mediterranean Sea, I tend to recognize a bit more charm in this tiniest of all countries.

* * * * * *

When the late Prince Rainier announced his intention to wed Grace Kelly in 1955, most Americans had never heard of Monaco.   I once read a survey in, I think, Time Magazine in which over 50 percent of those questioned thought Rainier was the king of Morocco, and few of the remaining polled actually knew on which continent Monaco was located. 

The wedding 1956 (photo AP)

I remember the year of the royal wedding (which created probably the first international press frenzy of the TV age) as television and written press from all over the world pushed and shoved their way into the miniature kingdom to record the event.   Make no mistake about it, they were not so very interested in Prince Rainier or his stern-looking family.  The excitement was all about the arrival of Grace Kelly, who was already internationally known as Hollywood's most beautiful, most talented, most regal.

As she began to find her footing within the complex world of the palace and establish herself in Monaco, some of the American press tended to make fun of what it perceived as the parvenu  princess' increasingly British accent and  grand manners.

For the French press, however, she could do no wrong.  They pretty much gave her credit for putting the class back into the Grimaldi royal family.  At the time of her arrival, Monte Carlo was very much on the skids.   Unsavory international elements had increasing control of the city-nation's financial institutions and tourism was in a downhill spiral.  French President Charles de Gaulle was growing impatient with the country's lax immigration controls and money laundering scandals.  He was seriously threatening to revoke the country's independence, and there were even hints of deploying the army.

It was a surprise my first trip to the south of France to discover that Monaco was not an island, but just a natural extension of the French hexagon in every way other than its charter of independence.

Its sovereignty has depended for the last hundred years or so on relatively short-term agreements with France allowing it certain advantages (such as the all important no-taxation treaty), while assuring various privileges including French military protection.

De Galle had a conflictual relationship with the personality-challenged Rainier.  Many historians feel that the French president's contact with the personable Grace was fundamental in defrosting tensions between  the two governments.  The former actress's arrival, because of her international popularity and her talent as a good-will ambassador, coincided with an important increase in American and British tourism which helped save her adopted country from bankruptcy.

Revered by her Mediterranean countrymen, both in Monaco and France, for her beauty and her charm, as well as some legendary kindnesses, Grace's 1982 death following an automobile accident at the relatively young age of 52 assured her enduring legend and guaranteed her popularity in Monaco for generations to follow.

Mystery lady checking out the Hotel de Paris, Monte Carlo

SIDEBAR:  More about Grace

Pre-Monaco Grace (photo Life Magazine)

I had a client-friend in the 1970's, whom I originally knew in North Carolina, and after retirement he was appointed director of the American School in Paris.  Princess Grace was on the school's board and she had been instrumental in raising considerable funds.

Bill swore by her, and he said everyone on the board had pretty much fallen in love with her.  He said she repeatedly reminded board members to call her by her first name, and took obvious pleasure in going around the corner to the neighborhood cafe on Avenue Bosquet with the others after each meeting.

* * * * * *

Vintage Baker poster

  When Josephine Baker (the black singer originally from St. Louis who became a music hall superstar in France) fell on hard times in her declining years, she turned to her friend Grace who installed her and her large family of adopted children in a comfortable property in the South of France.

The day of Baker's death, the week of a triumphant comeback on the Paris stage, Grace had spent most of the afternoon visiting with her compatriot in her dressing room at the Bobino Music-hall. 

 * * * * * *

Beseeched by Alfred Hitchcock to star in the film "Marnie" in the early 1960's, Grace first thought it possible.  Rainier was not in agreement,  but she stood her ground and officially announced her desire to return to Hollywood for one film, adding that all compensation would be donated to Monegasque charities.

Alas, there was a loud public outcry in the tiny constitutional monarchy.  An official survey revealed an overwhelming majority of Monaco citizens were vehemently against her return to acting, however briefly.

It was reported to have broken her heart, but Grace accepted the inevitable and renounced a screen comeback.  For the rest of her life, the popular princess confined her artistic endeavors to poetry readings and pressed flower arranging.  

With Hitchcock on the set of "To Catch A Thief"

 

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

 [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Grace Kelly was also mentioned in musing No. 35, "Hollywood on the Hudson" and musing No. 20 "Decaffeinated coffee ... in Hungarian?"  (to access, click on titles) .