HOTEL WEST END, Paris, and THE SHERRY NETHERLAND, NYC
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| Carlotta atop the Arc de Triomphe 1970 |
Carlotta was an American woman who lived in the same Regent’s Park apartment where I rented a room in London. She was there when I arrived in 1969, and we became close friends. She introduced me to Rudolph Noureyev and Margot Fontaine dancing at Covent Garden, Greek food, and to Alan Bates in the West End.
Tall, over six feet, she carried it off with panache, never stooping, looking and moving like a high fashion model. Originally from California, she had left the States around 1965 to teach at an English academy on the Greek Island of Mykonos.
She was still teaching when I met her, by then at the American School of London, but she was saving to return to college to become a social worker in England, which I believe she did.
She disliked Doris, our landlady, and as a result she left Harley House before I did, but we remained fast friends, and we stayed in contact after I moved to Paris.
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| With Carlotta, Christmas Day 1970 |
In fact, Carlotta came over to see me my first Christmas in France. I was fairly scruffy those early days in Paris, and was proud to escort her around. It was bitterly cold that year, and she arrived with an eye-catching maxi-coat (the newest fashion that year) which garnered a lot of attention.
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| Cold in Montmartre 1970 (photo by Carlotta Poppin) |
She was staying at what I saw as a pretty fancy hotel. It was called the West End, just around the corner from me on rue Clément Marot, a few steps behind the Plaza Athenée.
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Lobby and bar of The West End Hotel today |
What set her stay apart in my memory is that she had known about and managed to book a maid’s room in what would otherwise have been too expensive a hotel. Normally reserved for a client’s domestic staff, it was simple and small, but still quite chic by most standards. I was impressed by her savvy and knowledge of such things of the world.
She was several years my senior, but I never thought of her as older. She did tell me then that she was increasingly aware of no longer being a very young girl, and she recounted an incident that brought this realization home to her.
Browsing in a neighborhood dress shop, the owner approached her from behind, and began to greet her: “Bonjour, Mademoi ….”
Just then Carlotta turned towards her, and the shopkeeper stopped in mid phrase and corrected, “Oh, ma-DAME!”
It’s a bilingual memory a little hard to translate. The lady in the shop meant only to show respect, as she corrected her more casual greeting to a young girl to one for a more mature lady.
I knew at some point that Carlotta had returned to the U.S., then I lost all touch. Young people are often not very good about keeping long-distance friendships, and I was pretty bad. I would often later regret losing touch with friends, as was the case with Carlotta, but then it would usually be too late.
There is a little postscript which I have filed away with my Carlotta memories.
About 15 years later, I found myself having breakfast at the Sherry Netherland Hotel in New York. I was alone, and on the banquette next to mine sat a particularly elegant and striking middle aged woman. Her hair had gone a silvery grey, and she held herself perfectly straight. Although seated, I could tell she was over six feet tall.
This beautiful lady was sort of a fantasy ideal that I might have imagined Carlotta as having become. Could she possibly be? I asked myself. There were little things, something about her eyes, the cheekbones. It seemed a possibility that this could really be Carlotta.
Anything I might say risked being misinterpreted, and I fought to overcome my timidity. Finally I leaned across to the neighboring table, undoubtedly conveying my inner turmoil, and said, “Is there any chance … could you possibly be Carlotta Poppin?”
There was a long pause as my mystery lady looked at me. When I saw the flicker of a smile, I thought for an instant that she really was going to be Carlotta.
She looked at me with such benevolence, and said, “I am so sorry that I am not.”
Guillaume (left) has recently been named restaurant manager, and the inimitable Jean Louis remains La Reserve's star sommelier
She was several years my senior, but I never thought of her as older. She did tell me then that she was increasingly aware of no longer being a very young girl, and she recounted an incident that brought this realization home to her.
Browsing in a neighborhood dress shop, the owner approached her from behind, and began to greet her: “Bonjour, Mademoi ….”
Just then Carlotta turned towards her, and the shopkeeper stopped in mid phrase and corrected, “Oh, ma-DAME!”
It’s a bilingual memory a little hard to translate. The lady in the shop meant only to show respect, as she corrected her more casual greeting to a young girl to one for a more mature lady.
* * * * * *
I knew at some point that Carlotta had returned to the U.S., then I lost all touch. Young people are often not very good about keeping long-distance friendships, and I was pretty bad. I would often later regret losing touch with friends, as was the case with Carlotta, but then it would usually be too late.
There is a little postscript which I have filed away with my Carlotta memories.
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| Doorman at the Sherry 1995 |
About 15 years later, I found myself having breakfast at the Sherry Netherland Hotel in New York. I was alone, and on the banquette next to mine sat a particularly elegant and striking middle aged woman. Her hair had gone a silvery grey, and she held herself perfectly straight. Although seated, I could tell she was over six feet tall.
This beautiful lady was sort of a fantasy ideal that I might have imagined Carlotta as having become. Could she possibly be? I asked myself. There were little things, something about her eyes, the cheekbones. It seemed a possibility that this could really be Carlotta.
Anything I might say risked being misinterpreted, and I fought to overcome my timidity. Finally I leaned across to the neighboring table, undoubtedly conveying my inner turmoil, and said, “Is there any chance … could you possibly be Carlotta Poppin?”
There was a long pause as my mystery lady looked at me. When I saw the flicker of a smile, I thought for an instant that she really was going to be Carlotta.
She looked at me with such benevolence, and said, “I am so sorry that I am not.”
RETURN TRIP TO LA RESERVE, BEAULIEU
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| Table with a view. You'd never guess it was the middle of the Winter |
The Restaurant des Rois at La Reserve in Beaulieu has recently re-opened for lunch with its special prix-fixe menu. When Dickie visited us in Nice earlier this month, we took the bus there for a memorable meal from the kitchen of chef Romain Corbière (Thank you, Ryan and Liz!)
Here are a few photo souvenirs, highlights of the occasion.
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| Sopping up the sauce (Dickie above, Brenda left) |
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| Winter vegetables melting pumpkin with hazelnut and parmesan cheese |
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| Foie gras with mandarine and truffle sauce |
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| John Dory fish with lemon and hazelnut and delicious braised endives |
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| All ably served by Pasquale |
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| Veal with caramelized salsify, Jerusalem artichokes and spinach |
Dessert of mango and pineapple cream puffs ... and coffee with more sweets
Guillaume (left) has recently been named restaurant manager, and the inimitable Jean Louis remains La Reserve's star sommelier
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| Le Restaurant des Roi. From left to right: Guillaume, Pasquale and Jean Louis |
[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]
CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings
La Reserve was also featured in blog No. 41 "A Great Gatsbyesque Lunch." The Sherry Netherland played a part in blog No. 33 "Breakfasts in the Seventies" (to access, click on title).
