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)

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

[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).

Those Silver-Spooned Children Living the Grand Hotel Life

  

The little girl in red, Gritti Palace 1991

    Watching silver-spooned children living the supreme grand hotel experience somehow underscores the simplicity of my own childhood, growing up in Aberdeen.

I never cease to be amazed when I see young children at grand hotels.  It’s a kind of life I couldn’t have imagined as a little boy, although I would have loved it.  That being said, had I grown up in such a pampered environment, then my special hotels today certainly wouldn’t seem nearly so special.

It was Christmas of 1991 at the Gritti Palace in Venice when I saw the beautiful little girl in the red dress.  Of that visit, it is that elegant, sophisticated child who sticks in my mind.  She’d be almost middle-aged today; I wonder what kind of life she leads.

* * * * * * * *

On our last stay at Claridges in London, just before leaving for the train station, we had checked out and were waiting in the lobby.  Brenda was getting more and more anxious to slip into the restroom, but every time she tried, there seemed to be a surprisingly young crowd blocking the door.

Claridge's Hotel 2010

We suddenly realized the entire teatime area was filled with all of these tiny pre-school children.  Soon we were surrounded by dozens of elegantly attired tots with their even more elegantly attired mommies coming into the lobby from all directions.

It turned out Claridge’s was host to the FIRST birthday of one of the little tykes and about sixty of her closest and dearest friends.  It made for a colorful and stimulating Sunday afternoon ambiance.  Pity the camera was all packed away!

* * * * * * *

Here are a few photos of the younger generation spotted at some special addresses.

Emma and Nathan are Brenda’s grandchildren and mine by adoption.  They definitely were not born with a silver spoon, nor do they have one now.  However, at eight years old, one gets accustomed to things fast.  Here they are enjoying ice cream a while back  in the Paris Ritz gardens.

 Christmas vacation, young hotel residents ice skating in the newly-created rink at the very luxurious Plaza Athenée in Paris. 

Checkout time for this Japanese
family at the Paris Ritz

Unidentified cutups, Hotel New York, Rotterdam

Little girl enraptured with cat in the gardens of the Hotel Bristol in Paris.  I had assumed it was hers, but in fact "Fa-Raon" belongs to the luxury palace and is something of a hotel mascot.

 Youngster undoubtedly unimpressed by the cushioned hotel atmosphere as he enters the Plaza Athenée on his little scooter!

Eloise and vintage photo of the Plaza (photo google)

Last but not least, do not forget hoteldom's most famous youngster, Eloise, whose adventures at the New York Plaza have been chronicled in five best-selling children's books.  Written by the late Kay Thompson, Eloise is a six year-old living in a room on the "tippy-top floor" of the Plaza with her nanny, her pug dog Weenie, and her turtle Skipperdee.  Thompson's goddaughter, Liza Minnelli, has frequently been cited as the original model for the mischevious title character.

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

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

Ginger and me !

THE SAVOY, London
(This posting originally appeared in March 2013)

Ginger Rogers in Drury Lane dressing room 1969

Seen in her "bow gown" donned solely for curtain calls (Google photo)

      

     My arrival in London 45 years ago coincided --by sheer coincidence, I might add-- with that of Ginger Rogers, who had contracted at a record-breaking salary to star in the Broadway musical "Mame" at the Drury Lane Theatre.  

Southampton arrival with 5th husband Bill Marshall

     Disembarking at Southhampton from Cunard's spanking new QE2, one hundred-odd members of the press and a few celebrity guests joined her for the trip to London on the "Mame Express," a vintage train rented for the occasion with a champagne fountain and showing the 1935 Astaire-Rogers classic "Top Hat." 

   The whole over-the-top entourage headed for the Savoy Hotel where Ginger was shown into her new digs, rebaptized the Ginger Rogers Suite.  She remained in her six-room apartment there for over a month.  

 The exact same week found me arriving (via Reykjavik, Luxembourg and Paris) to make my life in London, fresh off Icelandic Airways, which in those days was pretty much the polar opposite of an ocean liner crossing.

 I initially stayed at the Dorset Square, at that time still un inexpensive, exceedingly simple neighborhood hotel.  It was there by the sheerest luck that I discovered directly across the square a grand, though tired Georgian mansion. 

Gilbert, Dorset Square 1969

 Gilbert, the owner-landlord, was a somewhat down-at-the-heels aristocrat, who barely managed to make ends meet by renting out most of his home.  He had once worked for the BCC, and tended to speak with his teeth clenched and mouth almost shut.  He sounded to my ears much like the Duke of Windsor.  

I rented an undistinguished room with an inefficient gas heater requiring a steady stream of sixpence pieces.  It was there that my path sort of crossed that of Ginger Rogers.

Jon

   Jon, a singer in "Mame", lived across the hall.  As I was out of work and almost out of money, he arranged for me to have occasional employment as "dresser" for six of the company dancers.  I was only needed for certain afternoon performances, and the pay was way beneath minimum wage (I seem to remember it being one pound per performance!)

  It was a union regulation that someone be present in each dressing room to make tea and sweep the floor.  As it turned out, I didn't know how to make tea, and I was told not to bother with the broom.  It was just one of those crazy union rules that required a presence.  I loved every minute of my life in show business.

In rehearsal (Google)

 During much of the show I enjoyed watching the musical numbers from the wings.  Freshly embarked from my native North Carolina, I have rarely felt so sophisticated and worldly as I did standing backstage at the Drury Lane Theatre.

 Ginger was the toast of London and "Mame" the flavor of the month.  Though I frequently captured a glimpse of the aging star and occasionally caught bits of her conversations with others, our paths still didn't officially cross quite yet.  

It was many months later, after having found employment at United Press International, that I actually had an unforgettable (for me, not for her) dinner-interview with the Academy Award-winning actress.  It was at the then-trendy restaurant Inigo Jones, and I recall her ordering a "rare-rare" steak which she then proceeded to send back for being too rare.

I particularly remember her telling me that the "dear Queen" (she tended to overuse adjectives like "dear" and "sweet") had told her that she and her little sister Margaret had seen all of the Astaire-Rogers musicals as little girls in the palace projection room.  

Ginger with Mom on opening night (Corbis Images)

One thing about wire services, they do service the world, and my little article, which was a lesson in banality, was nevertheless picked up by hundreds of newspapers across the globe.  This was obviously more a tribute to G.R.'s star power than to any journalistic prowess on my part.  

As an indirect result, I later found myself tete-a-tete with the actress at her luxurious St. Johns Wood apartment.  For reasons which I will spare myself the embarrassment of explaining, she had invited me there for tea. 

With Queen Elizabeth II and singer Tom Jones (Google)

 I offered her some hippy "love beads" made from watermelon seeds which my Greensboro friend Dottie Benjamin had given me.  I think she didn't quite know what to say, so she called her old Polish maid in to take a look.  I fear they may have exchanged knowing glances about the mental equilibrium of her guest.  

Whether that was the case or not, I was fairly crazy at the time, and I certainly did not manage to cement a lasting friendship.  

That was the last time I ever saw G.R, though I followed her waning career with enthusiasm, always tending to think of her a little like an old friend.     

To watch a six-minute video of the title number of Mame as performed for the Queen at the Royal Variety Performance in 1969, click on above photo.

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

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Savoy Hotel was also featured in sidebar for blog No. 13, "Kaspar, the Savoy's Black Cat" Nov. 11, 2012; and blog No. 27, "Stompin' at the Savoy," March 8, 2013  (to access, click on above titles).

Thanksgiving with Ruth and Dickie ... and more about Mother

This posting initially appeared Thanksgiving 2013

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

SIDEBAR:  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).

Around Africa With Brenda

THE MOUNT NELSON and THE VICTORIA FALLS HOTELS

Killer view,  the Delaire Estate in nearby Stellenboch

   

       I have made my life with Brenda for eight years now,  though I actually fell in love with her forty years ago.   That is another story.

Brenda, Kalk Bay Pier

Me, Echo Road, Fishhoek

Brenda has a house not far from  Capetown where we usually spend a part of the South African summer (i.e. a couple of months somewhere between December and March).

We always make it to the wonderful old Mount Nelson Hotel in Capetown, usually for their buffet lunch.  There are finer restaurants in the world, but the Mount Nelson’s Oasis Restaurant still is unbeatable value for money with delicious fish and crustaceans cooked to order.   

Poolside at the Mount Nelson

Opened in 1899, the Nellie (as Winston Churchill called it) is set in over nine acres of impeccably manicured gardens, and it occupies a prime Capetown site on the lower slopes of Table Mountain.  It is arguably Africa's premier surviving hotel from the golden age of hostelry.

The Mount Nelson's iconic pink facade

Margaret is a special friend at the Oasis, and she has many, many other client friends.  The doyenne of the hotel’s wait staff, she has been at the Mount Nelson for well over 35 years, and has seen colossal changes in South African society since her arrival there as a young girl at the height of apartheid.

Margaret outside the Oasis Restaurant

 

She is something of a hotel celebrity just by virtue of her longevity and special personality.  I don’t think I have ever been there when at least one returning guest hasn’t asked if Margaret were around and available for a chat.  She always gives a big hug, and seems to remember each client, no matter how long ago their last visit.

* * * * * * * *

Front lawn, Victoria Falls Hotel

      We traveled north this year into Zimbabwe and Zambia, spending time at the magnificent Victoria Falls, one of the scenic wonders of the world, and we stayed for three days at the Victoria Falls Hotel, historically another one of Africa’s finest.

If I particularly mention Brenda, it is because this trip was her idea and a voyage down memory lane for her.  She had last stayed at this mythic African resort as a little girl during a stopover on a long train and boat journey from Nairobi to the southernmost cape of South Africa.

Bontebok antelope near the South Cape

She recently discovered some old family snapshots taken on the hotel grounds admiring a troupe of visiting monkeys.  To our surprise and delight, while enjoying the view from Stanley's Terrace our first afternoon, we observed a similar troupe of about a dozen monkeys from the neighboring rain forest, paying their teatime visit.

Brenda and friend on Vic Falls Hotel grounds (family archives)

It was a moving moment for Brenda and undoubtedly rekindled many of her African memories from a lifetime ago growing up in Kenya.

* * * * * * * *

Victoria Falls Hotel, room 212

Our room, with a distant, partial view of the Falls, retained vestiges of the grandeur that once was hers.  There were details one might quibble with, but the hotel, itself, and its stunning grounds (not to mention the Victoria Falls setting) nevertheless lent itself to a fine vacation. 

Doorman

The personnel was beautifully trained.  From the wait staff to the doormen to the gardeners, all have had serious training in connecting, communicating and generally making the hotel guest comfortable.

I was a bit touched when I realized that some of the room maids had limited English, but had been taught, when in doubt, to reply “Thank you.”  It seems a funny little detail, but given the general decline in basic good manners –both in and out of hotels—it is reassuring to see just how effective and appreciable a smile and a thank-you can be. 

Main lobby

 

A photo album of the Victoria Falls trip

For more about this year's trek into Zimbabwe and Zambia, click below:

  

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

 [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]