A Guide to the New New York by Caroline Phillips
Featured Hotel in New York
The Time Hotel
See all hotels in New York >
I swoosh out of my cab at City airport– just a brave 25 minutes before departure - and BA Man spirits my bags to the check-in desk. I saunter down gloriously deserted corridors to the gate cum makeshift departure lounge. (There's little to recommend it apart from free wiFi and glossies.) This is my sky-test of the 'Bankers' Express'.
We're on the BA Club World service from London City to JFK. The business only flight in the Airbus with 32 flat bed seats.
Just four other passengers are on my flight – all businessmen - plus purser, two flight attendants and dual pilots. One more passenger and we'd outnumber the crew. (Worra carbon footprint.) I have front row seats – each with adjustable headrest, privacy screen and personal media player. Plus OnAir, the pioneering in-flight communication system for text, email and web (but no in-flight calls and phones on vibrate, puhlease. )
It may be a journey time of 9 hours 25 and a minimum fare of £2102 one way. But it's useful to have BlackBerry contact with Earthlings from above the clouds (when the cute mobile phone icon is switched off after 10,000 feet.) The Airbus is also pleasingly spacious – the A318 can actually fit 100 seats. Plus there's no muzak, endless hot flannels and reasonable food developed by the Borough Market restaurant Roast. A nanosecond after I lie down, the attendant closes my blinds. The service is fantastically attentive.
The other great thing is the US immigration dodge. After landing at Shannon, Ireland, citizens of Club World pass through US authorities in a heartbeat – then breeze off the flight at JFK as domestic passengers. Supposedly. As our A318 refuels, US Customs process my baggage: the only passenger's bags in the hold. My hand-luggage-only co-travellers head past smugly with their wheelie trollies. Then US immigration officials interrogate only me. Fiercely. 45 minutes later, we re-board, still on schedule.
Overall it's a glorious experience. Like being on a private jet, albeit with strangers. BA001 hasn't just taken Concorde's flight number; for moneyed Canary Wharfers and high-end leisure travellers, it could take its place. Either as the business flight of choice or on the aeronautical scrap heap, in these troubled economic times. I should have savoured being the only person collecting luggage off the carousel. Sadly my return flight is cancelled because of The Ash. Call that a one-way ticket to the blues.
The Best New Hotel
The Mark (27 East 77th Street at Madison) is the only place for the UHNWI to stay. Hyperbole? OK, let's say it's one of them. I lodged here four times in its previous incarnation, when the décor was stuffy. Now the Upper East Side hotel - just a block from Central Park – has undergone radical surgery (a snip at $150 million.) And resurfaced looking decades younger, bold, toned and chic.
The man who wielded the scalpel so stylishly was Jacques Grange, (the French design star who has worked for Yves Saint Laurent and Caroline of Monaco.) The playful lobby has a geometric black and white floor and wow! one-off contemporary pieces – including a swirling Ron Arad lamp and Mattia Bonetti bench.
Its nightclub-style bar boasts low-slung pony-skin chairs and a witty metal cloud-shaped bar by Guy de Rougemont. Visual high-kicks aside, there's The Mark Restaurant by Jean-Georges (as in Vongerichten). Its mostly European menu lures Barbara Walters five days a week and Fergie, Paul McCartney and Woody Allen. (But less often than Babs.)
In Willie Wonka-style, I try their five zingy, colourful home-made sodas – simultaneously – then order a dish that's not on the menu. Successfully. Nothing is too much trouble - and they offer 24 hour room service. I did my best to find something wrong with The Mark. Anything. But everything gets top marks. Which is (along with the John Lobb complimentary shoe shining service, eye-candy Turnbull & Asser staff outfits and Frederic Fekkai salon) why The Mark is great for long-term stays. 'People move in during divorce, decoration and relocation.' Thus speaks genius general manager, James Sherwin, the Mark Birley of New York. (He came via the Savoy and ten years at the Carlyle.)
The Mark has 100 rooms and 50 suites with coffered ceilings, drive-in marble bathrooms, bespoke carpets, custom-designed furniture and everything that's fine – from Quagliotti linens to Crestron touch controls and Boffi kitchens. I became a delighted long-term resident when Icelandic volcano, Ay-yah-FYAH-lah-yer-kuhl, erupted. But, annoyingly, the Concierge turned into a five star travel agent.
The Best Place for a Film
It's their first hotel out of London. Now Firmdale owners Tim and Kit Kemp (of Covent Garden and Soho Hotel fame) have hit Manhattan. The 86-bedroom Crosby Street Hotel (79 Crosby Street) oozes character, colour and texture – courtesy of Kit Kemp's snazzy eye – plus boasts a mix of contemporary pieces and antiques. If you're not staying the night , just pass through the lobby with its soaring windows and cool artwork to the subterranean 99-seater screening room. Then sink into a tangerine Poltrona Frau leather cinema seat to enjoy state-of-the art sound and digital technology. It's open to the public on Sunday ('Film Club') nights. They show recent releases to classics with a short beforehand.
The Best Bars
The Boom Boom Room (848 Washington Street) is 18 floors above the groovy Meatpacking District. There's a lot of hype, ('They make you re-re-confirm and still don't have your name at the door,' complains a Christie's director) and posturing, ('Let me check your coat, or we'll take it later. We have a no jackets on furniture policy,' preens the receptionist.) Despite this and Madonna sightings, this wannabe Studio 54 is a must-see. It has Art- Deco- ocean-liner-style leather banquettes, waitresses in skimpy backless dresses and an open wood fire. Plus spectacular wraparound views through floor-to-ceiling windows – including in the loo – and vertiginous glass-floored smoking terraces.
The bar is full of committed American cocktail drinkers on 'Kissed a Girl' and 'Absolution' from 4pm – 9pm. The 10 pm to 4 am 'party' is with a DJ and 'guest list only' - mainly accessed through knowing the owner, André Balazs. No membership fee – yet. And there's also an adjacent black-tiled room with a triangular soaking tub – which I wasn't shown.. Is that where they glug the 1952 Krug, USD14,400 a bottle?
Hailed the new Soho House – but not affiliated with it - Norwood (241 West 14th Street) is a Members Only arts club on the Lower West Side. It's spread over five floors of a 19th century townhouse with a restaurant, three lounge bars, screening room and private meeting rooms - think Vogue fashion shoots to book launches. Trendy and bohemian, Norwood has ultra high-backed sofas, beetroot walls and is scattered with books and paintings by members – who include musicians, writers, Oscar-winners and entrepreneurs. At lunchtime the salon is full of multi-tasking folk tapping on laptops, networking, talent-nurturing and eating decent Club food. Plus there's a garden for hog roasts, Cuban bands and models. Hardly surprising that Mick Jagger likes it.
The Best of New York's Museums
Getting into a good exhibition in New York is like trying to bag first place at the Selfridge's sale. Now those in the know can enjoy touring the Museum of Modern Art without the crowds. HNWI's, especially, love these private before- or after-hours visits and they're great for corporate entertaining. Although, it has to be said, there are some live nude bodies in the current Marina Abromovic exhibition. If you want something less challenging, catch MoMA's excellent retrospective of 300 Henri Cartier Bresson photographs in private. Private guided-tours last an hour and are with a Museum lecturer. A snip at $50 a person.
Private visits with a Museum lecturer are available from 9:30 to 10:30 am and from 5:30 to 6:30 pm (Minimum 10 people required.) MoMA also offers these exclusive tours on Tuesday afternoons, when the Museum is closed to the public.
If buying contemporary art's your thing, check out the arrival of Hauser & Wirth (39 East 69th Street) in Manhattan. Representing both emerging and established artists (and the estates of Henry Moore and Eva Hesse), it opened in September with a show of the influential American artist Allan Kaprow. Saves the schlep to the gallery's outposts in Zurich and Picadilly.
The New Museum of Contemporary Art's (235 Bowery) witty seven-tiered building – a stack of metal mesh-clad, off -centre boxes designed by SANAA- is more notable than the current exhibition. A first at curating for Jeff Koons, Skin Fruit is an ill-chosen, badly-installed selection of pieces from Greek bezillionaire, Dakis Joannou's collection. But Maurizio Cattelan's 'All' – eight life-size, occupied body bags made of Carrara marble – got my vote. Plus the view of the Lower East side is great from the Sky Room. And virtually every nook bears the name of a sponsor. Even the 60- person elevator is dedicated to a local couple. I'd like a lift named after me.
The Best Restaurants
The Breslin (16 West 29th Street) April Bloomfield's (of Spotted Pig fame) new restaurant in the hip Ace Hotel doesn't take reservations – so call before you queue. Scottish baronial meets Edwardian caff décor, it serves modern European meat-centric fare. If you have enough light to read it, it's a great menu. Chargrilled lamb burger with feta, cumin mayo and thrice cooked chips is their signature dish. ($17. Oh, plus gratuities suggested generously at '15%, 18% or 20%.') Excellent, like everything we tried.
One of the hardest reservations in NYC is the Minetta Tavern (113 MacDougal Street) in The Village. Keith McNally's (of Balthazar and Pastis fame) recent revamp of the 1930's saloon bar. There's an unlisted number for insiders and a 6pm (if you're lucky) dinner reservation for outsiders. Perhaps I should have ordered one of the lavishly-reviewed steaks or burgers, as my salt cod- stuffed squid was ill-conceived.The restaurant is also uncomfortable, cramped and chaotic. It's known as a head-swivelling place and I ended up as a cork screw - but didn't see anyone well-known apart from my companion, a friend of the late Andy Warhol.
Contrastingly, lunch at Maialino - uber NY restaurateur, Danny Meyer's just- opened Italian trattoria overlooking Gramercy Park – was a pleasure. Channelling Rome, it's delizioso food – albeit in social X-ray portions – comes with slick service from film extra waiters. Plus an airy, light room with rustic tables, weathered wood floors and what the Americans term, 'salami stations'.
The Monkey Bar (60 E 54th Street) is one of the prettiest rooms in New York with its Edward Sorel murals, subdued lighting and tinkling piano. At dinner it's full of dressed- to- kill corporate women dining sans hommes, and Old Money. With its Caprice-like menu, charming staff and buzz, it's hard to fault. Our party went long on lobster – lobster cocktails and superlative lobster pie. It's owned by Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter and reservations are only by email unless you're what's known locally as a FOG. (Friend of Graydon's.) Anyone want his home number?
Art on a Plate
Plumes of red smoke, washing lines or an immense clitoris in the scale of 450:1. Those are some artists' suggestions for filling the void in the Guggenheim, the iconic Frank Lloyd Wright museum (1071 Fifth Avenue). Alternatively, you can just have lunch at The Wright, its elegant new eatery. It occupies a sleek white- on -white space designed by Andre Kikoski, a leading new-garde architect. Inspired by the original corkscrew building, there's a curvilinear walnut wall, sweeping blue leather banquette and layered white ceiling. Plus Liam Gillick's orange and yellow powder-coated aluminium planks mounted horizontally on the walls and ceiling, The horizon produced by the factory once it had stopped producing views.
Chef Rodolfo Contreras (ex David Boulley) has created a modern American menu with seasonal, local and sustainable ingredients. And inventive creations like Roasted Suckling Pig, Quince, Violet Mustard and Apple Bacon Jus. The curved bar is for 'small plates' (panini, almond soup,) or sit at a curved communal table or that banquette. Flawless service – while I'm in the loo, my napkin is re-folded. And the food? Baby Octopus Mosaic is pure Pompeii. While halibut comes with miniature pansies, artfully arranged sugar peas and a potato-chive sauce in Picassoesque lines. World class art on a plate.
Disaffected JP Morgan man turned fashionista, Shawn Bell, has just opened lifestyle store Bellhaus (57 Bond St) in Soho. Upscale and modern, it's for the working woman and fashionable man. It sells RTW (ready to wear, darling,)including many American designers and well-selected pieces from Azzedine Alaia and Sophie Theallet to Tom Binns. From $220 for a daytime tote to vintage Bill Blass at $38,000. Plus shoes, accessories, Malin + Goetz skin care, eye wear, candles and Kilian perfumes. Think Beach in the City.
The latest fitness craze to hit Manhattan is AntiGravity Yoga. It's done suspending from a fabric hammock - allowing us to stretch further, hold postures longer and look like demented spiders. 'The fabric holds up to 1000 lbs,' consoles the instructor. Phew!
First the Setai Wall Street (40 Broad Street) luxurious condominiums (the penthouse, $7.82 million, made a Financial District record) and the Setai Club (for exclusive business and lifestyle services). Now the Setai Spa. Just steps from the NY Stock Exchange, this spa is a genuine sanctuary – not least after the NYPD concrete roadblocks and canine sniffers outside.
There are over-size soaking tubs, walnut walls, flickering candles and mahogany lockers; 12,000 sq foot of Asian serenity, couples' suites (massage for two $500, 90 mins), fitness centre and impeccable service. First into the AquaGrotto (separate ones for men and women) which even has a mineral-infused jacuzzi soak.
Then it's onto an extra-wide, heated massage table for a perfect Essential Facial ($185, 60 mins). I float into the Relaxation Lounge for warm neck pillows and teas, truffles and macaroons from SHO, Shuan Hergatt's Michelin starred restaurant downstairs. Faultless on every count.
Additional Hotel Recommendations
The best thing about our Greenwich Hotel (377 Greenwich Street) bedroom is the huge complimentary basket of Twizzlers, M&Ms and caramel-covered popcorn. Which isn’t saying much. Frankly, Robert De Niro’s hotel in trendy TriBeCa is a disappointment and the buzz about the hotel is probably as much as anything about the chance of rubbing shoulders with the screen God.
Yes, there’s good artisan work, reclaimed timber and handmade terracotta tiles; it’s almost-homely (his dad’s oils line the walls); and the staff are very friendly. (Although they forgot to show me to my room on arrival.) But it slightly misfires with that Italy-meets-Morocco-and-Tibet-via-England look. (The vibe is wannabe Soho House, but without the stylishness of Nick Jones' empire.)
The basement Shibui Spa is another thing altogether. It's in a beautifully reconstructed 250-year old Japanese bamboo farmhouse which was erected by traditional Japanese craftsmen - nail-free and with an ancient knot tying technique. It’s Asian simplicity at its best. There’s a proper lap-sized swimming pool, lit by lanterns, and touches like Oriental tea cabinets treated with persimmon juice for that perfect colour; plus fitness room with old hemlock floors and hidden lights.
De Niro’s personal trainer is on offer; and so too spa director Thuyen Nguyen’s custom-made French-Vietnamese organic products and hands. The treatment rooms include one with a Japanese tub for bathing rituals. Once I've changed into a Japanese Yukata robe, Thuyen gives my face a sublime workout, massages me to heaven and walks on my back while holding a handrail on the ceiling. Pure bliss. De Niro is missing out. ‘He hates to be touched,’ I’m told.
How to Visit the New New York
Farrell may be one of the most expensive car hire firms in Manhattan, but it's probably the best. Since there's no legal parking in NY and finding garage space is time-consuming, using a limo service is big in the Big Apple. (Many of Farrell's clients also have their own drivers; this is the second car, darling.)
Their sparklingly gleaming vehicles, ('Everything from brother and sister sedans, stretchers and formals [almost a stretch] to vans for the Louis Vuitton,' reveals my driver) are a distinctive Royal Blue with a lighter blue roof. ('You'll understand why when you come out of your wedding at the Pierre and see a 100 black Lincolns.') Unlike yellow cabs, these chauffeurs have done The Knowledge, NY- style; many are fluent in second languages; and some are accredited tour guides too. Besuited drivers with smart haircuts, white shirt and Farrell tie – two-toned to match the car, natch. Plus they're always punctual or early. 'There is no late,' says one driver.