We’re in the beating heart of Beverly Hills and somehow there’s no bling! Can that be right? Oh, ten minutes down the road (four if you hop in The Peninsula house car, a classic Rolls Royce – way too classic to be bling) is Rodeo Drive, that row of shops founded on bling where they wouldn’t let Julia Roberts shop in Pretty Woman because she was wearing PVC mini-skirts. And all around are houses that Real Housewives would take off their hairpieces to get their hands on…
But here there is marble in the lobby – cool, pale marble – a wood-panelled bar, The Club Bar, to the left, one that could be in Madrid or London or New York and a phalanx of smartly kitted-out staff opening doors and smiling and taking care of luggage so you don’t even have to look at the stuff. They pride themselves on their service levels… and have much to be proud of.
Upstairs, you start to understand why they have a 70% return rate around here. It just feels like home… if home happens to be somewhere based on Sandringham. A pale palette of creams, furniture that is chic but very much along classic lines: ornate mirrors, marble-topped credenzas, canopies above the bed that match – of course they match – the acres of curtain fabric at the windows but an informative iPad by the bed and a printer under the desk… they even have nail driers! And they’re big these rooms, so big that Carly Simon once recorded a whole album in one.
Take your breakfast in The Roof Garden – why not? – where all the waiters wear kitschy Hawaiian shirts with drawings of The Peninsula on them and umbrellas in egg-yolk-yellow and white shade you from the sun. It’s the place we’re going to do all our business meetings… once we think of a business. And the pool – 60-foot with 12 cabanas and views up to Century City, is just there, up on the roof.
For full-scale fine dining, head down to The Belvedere, with its outdoor terrace filled with ladies who lunch (and like a drink with that lunch!). Here the cuisine (do people still say ‘cuisine’?) is Californian-French, which means classic fancy with the frou-frou taken off. So, you know, Boeuf Tartare with Petrossian Caviar (imagine that without the frou-frou!) and Poulet Rôti Crêpe (remember, no frou-frou) and Chocolate Soufflé with Jasmine Anglais (they probably won’t mind if you finger-up the dregs, there’s so little frou-frou round here!) and, oh, a whole bunch of salads for those of us who have to get into swimwear later. And if there’s still some kick in your step, head over to afternoon tea with live harp music (come on, it’s not afternoon tea without live harp music! What are we? Animals?) in The Living Room.
No, this place isn’t edgy, no siree. But even if you do have a taste for edgy, you can’t not have a taste for this. Like the title of this story suggests, The Peninsula Beverly Hills is both a legend and a class act, and praise doesn’t come higher than that. Not even in these circles.
