Black Card, I'll take Manhattan
30 Sep 2008
Every city has its colour. London is the primary red of its old phone boxes and heritage Routemasters; Rome is a Pantone shade somewhere between terracotta and straw. New York City is gold. Not pure gold, but rose-tinted and industrial: a dirty, metallic spray-paint shade, the patina of the bygone machine-age of Woolworth, Rockefeller, Chrysler and Empire State Manhattan.
It's easy to see modern New York City as an urban paradigm of Steampunk, the art movement that blends science fiction and the sepia-toned past, most frequently Victoriana. It's the city of the future, but at the same time frozen in its industrial glory days of the 1920s and '30s. Aside from the World Trade Center, whose tall, oh-so-'70s masts gave a wonderful balance to the island, there hasn't been a truly iconic building erected since the '50s. The biggest change on the island has been a social one: most of the bohemians have long since fled their roach-infested, plumbing-free SoHo lofts of the '80s and LES walk-ups of the '90s. But the Classic Manhattan - the moneyed, jacket-required, Astor-populated city of the post-Beaux Arts period - still exists, and has been rejuvenated by a new generation doing more than just gazing up in admiration at the wonders of the Rockafeller.
One of the most successful new bars of 2008 isn't in the well-trod Meatpacking triangle boundaried by the Gansevoort hotel, the Jeffrey boutique and Soho House, but on the golden mile of Fifth Avenue that runs up to, and past, Central Park South. Salon de Ning opened in May, and its penthouse-level lift in the lobby of the Beaux Arts Peninsula Hotel has had a queue ever since. The bar takes its name from the fictitious Shanghai socialite Madame Ning, and there are touches of the decadent Orient, refracted through a mod lens, everywhere, right up to the paintings on the ceiling. The view out onto Fifth Avenue, the civilised bar service, the excellent cocktail list and the absence of try-hard fashion types are all big draws: this is a bar for grown-ups with jobs.
At the century-old St Regis, directly opposite, Bottega Veneta have furnished one of the property's most beautiful suites in modern-classic style, while Alain Ducasse, the Andy Warhol of international restaurateurs, has put his name to Adour, a far less clinical and more humanely priced operation than his recent franchise at the Dorchester in London. Adour opened in the dining room space next to the iconic King Cole bar in January 2008.the room shows off designer David Rockwell's theatrical flair: backlit patterned glass slotted in front of vintage wood-panelled walls resembles sheets of melting ice. The menu, put together with executive chef Tony Esnault, touches on all the predictably posed-up and well-executed fare du francais (seared foie gras, lobster, et al) but it's desserts that really dazzle. A chocolate pudding with gold leaf and brioche croutons has been hailed as the best city by critics who had expected to bury, not praise, particularly after the mothballing of Ducasse's last fine-dining restaurant at Essex House and the thumbs-down given to his mid-range brasserie Benoit.
Essex House, originally conceived as an annexe to house original owner Colonel Astor's guest bedrooms, still lacks a truly world-class dining room (despite the best efforts of chef Kerry Heffernan and his striking Tony Chi-mirrored restaurant, South Gate), but the hotel's relaunch under the ownership of Jumeirah has at least seen its deco glory polished up for a new century. Its name still shines in upper-case glory from its rooftop, out across Central Park, as iconic and as 'Gotham' as any Bat Signal.
Some things remain, thankfully, timeless. Gentlemen will always, one hopes, require jackets for lunch and dinner a both the 21 Club and the Four Seasons. Both represent quintessential New York dining experiences, though in opposing ways. The 21 Club - with its red-checked tablecloths and thousands of toys hanging from its ceiling - is the same - is the last remaining speakeasy landmark of the Swing Street'. On an average week, the 21 Club might serve Tilda Swinton, George Clooney, ex-Mayor Giuliani and Clintons; few restaurants, anywhere have retained such a power base. The Four Seasons (not to be confused with the hotel of the same name) doesn't, famously have the Mark Rothko paintings it was supposed to, but the scale and spatial qualities of its rooms, part of Mies van der Rohe's 1950s Seagram building, are the stuff of architectural legend. The walnut and marble swirls of its bathrooms (nay 'lounges'), the Rockwell fonts and the Eero Saarinen furniture are spectacular - as is the experience of exiting via the Seagram's main lobby, which is as Cold War austere as it is swoon-inducingly handsome.
Both the 21 Club and the Four Seasons have a huge heritage to trade on, but they do so effortlessly. These may be two of the most dizzying power dining spots in the city, or indeed the world, but they are also irresistibly, frivolously, American: at the Four Seasons restaurant, senior citizen powerbrokers in navy suits, and their wives with badgered chignoned hair and Be Beers' finest diamonds dripping from their elegantly pinched wrists, tuck into huge balls of pink candy floss for dessert. Over at the 21 Club, the bathroom attendant has a non-stop comic monologue and a lint brush ready for every gent. It's all in the execution, and execution is flawless.
If only the Russian Tea Room, open again after yet another hiatus, could attract the same crow. Opened in 1927 by former members of the Russian Imperial Ballet, it's played starring roles in movies as ingrained in the psyche of cinematic New York as Manhattan and Tootsie; but it's changed hands and been shuttered so many times that its most recent re-launch has failed to bring the faithful back. It's a shame - this facing green, Christmas red (those camp tree ornament light fittings!) and gilt room, with its swank leather banquettes, is one of the most beautiful in the city, and its chicken Kiev and beef Stroganoff are masterful.
New York has always been in love with its own history, but never so much as now. Many movers and shakers left town after 9/11, although many have since returned. Tee Faircloth was a Wall Street financier who decamped to Scotland after the Wold Trade Center became Ground Zero, but returned to set up a haute safari goods company, FM Allen, on Madison Avenue, which he hopes will be 'the Hermes of Africa' - by the way of the Upper West Side, of course. The shop's name is a reference to Frank Maurice Allen, who, Faircloth explains, was 'one of the last great gentleman hunters and campaign safari guides in Africa'. He was also rumoured to have had affairs with both Grace Kelly and Ava Gardner and, as Faircloth says, 'embodies a bygone age of glamour'.
New luxury goods stores like FM Allen, which stocks as many antique solid silver cocktail shakers as it does safari jackets, are opening up on the lustrous stretch of retail north of Bloomingdale's, in defiance of any Wall Street financial doldrums. Then, of course, there are those names that have been here since New York was invented: Harry Einston and Bergdorf Goodman are as much a part of Fifth Avenue culture as the sidewalk. Diamonds and high fashion aside, there are few better places from which to take in the view over Central Park than BG, the new salon-style restaurant on the seventh floor of Bergdorf Goodman.
Right next door to Bergorf's, at the Plaze, a super-shiny mall is taking shape in the basement of this rouged-up old grande dame of a hotel. When the Plaza closed in 2005, it wasn't so much down on its uppers as on its knees and hoping to be put out of its misery. Memories of the Black and White Ball were drowning in torrents of poisonous Tripadvisor feedback from guests. Most of the Park view side of the building was sold off as luxury apartments, while the hotel side was slimmed down and rebuilt virtually from scratch, finally reopening this spring. It's a very different hotel now, though no less imposing and iconic. 'We want people to come there and get dressed up,' says its new GM, Shane Krige, 'but was also want the sons and daughters of the guest passed and present to come to our Rose Club.' Krige has brought in nightclub promoter Danny A to make the mezzanine lobby bar a nightlife destination, and cites Denzel Washington and the ever-dubious Paris Hilton as one of the paparazzi fodder that has so far pulled up patent-croc bars tools at the new velvet-roped bar.
The Plaza is a hotel that's really Learning form Las Vegas: although that particular book of architectural theory came out in 1972, long before the Nevada city of neon really stepped up a gear, it's never been more relevant. The new Plaza slick in utterly 21st century style (all of the food, beverage and retail has been franchised out), and if the gilt and flash is a bit nouveau ' or if the solid gold traps in the bathrooms border on the meretricious for some or it previous, more staid clientele - there's no end of takers for the beautiful stained-glass ceilinged Palm Court or the opportunity to snap the Baccarat objet in the lobby. The Plaza is landmark classic Manhattan with (quick clutch of the pearls) a boutique twist; the crystal on display in the champagne bar in the lobby is backlit with a lighting rig that constantly changes colour. It's the adventures o Eloise, Plaza's most famous resident, by way of the legacy of Ian Schrager.
Meanwhile, 28 streets uptown, in a similar reinvention, The Mark is selling off a number of its original rooms as apartments. The remaining suites are to reopen this year with striking interiors from Jacques Grange, one of France's most acclaimed interior designers. There's less gilt, but plenty of grey-on-grey patterns and a very plush aesthetic. 'It's the lesson Coco Chanel and Madame Castaing,' says Grange. 'Oversized furniture - it makes you feel cosy.'
Opposite The Mark, the ravishing 1930 Carlyle continues to attract the kind of fashion crowd one might imagine more suited to edgier premises in Tribeca or thereabouts. The Upper East Side may not crackle with downtown edge, but it always sparkles.
Nowhere is Classic Manhattan, with its many and varied contemporary twists, felt more profoundly than in its nightlife. This is, after all, supposed to be the city what never catnaps. Can there be any more New York experience that seeing Woody Allen perform jazz in Bemelmans Bar in the Carlyle? Or how about dinner and dancing at the Rainbow Rooms in the Rockefeller, or uptown at Bruno Jains' supperclub?
Geographically speaking, Classic Manhattan is focused on the few dozen blocks emanating from the junction of Central Park South and Difth Avenue, but the on going renaissance of high style, dressing up and exclusivity has made major impacts downtown of late. Graydon Carter's Waverly Inn has turned a rickety, vintage 'Noo Yoik' West Village tavern into A-list-infested comfort food HQ, with an often-impenetrable booking policy. Michaels Stipe and Douglas are frequently amongst the diners in the back room, while Francesco Clemente and Fran Lebowitz mingle with the smokers outside. A few blocks north, the opening of Soho House in the Meatpacking district raised eyebrows and provoked an outpouring of scorn a few years back, but it didn't stop New York society form beating a path to its membership committee.
More recently, fashion-industry art director Simon Costin (famous for his Vogue covers with Nick Knight and his often highly provocative catwalk productions) designed the Norwood in a sumptuous style, which he describes as 'jam on jam' and includes such typically arresting Costin-esque touches as sex toys on glass shelves behind the bar. 'The original building is neo-classical, from the 1850's, and it was wonderfully intact with marble fireplaces and silver door knobs,' says Costin, who blended the old with his new. It's yet anther grown-up, dressed-up, but new-new-wave bolthole for a New York that is turning to its glory days and embracing its fondness for shameless exclusivity. Manhattan is where the money and power are, and once again, it looks like it. The city may still champion itself as a classless society, but as ever, this is the real capital of the New York World, does it in style.
Black Tomato (020 7610 9008; www.blacktomato.co.uk) can arrange return Virgin Upper Class flights with horizontal lie-flat seats and access to the Virgin Clubhouse, form London to New York and seven nights in a Deluxe room in the St. Regis, from £3,999 per person including airport transfers.
