NYC Going to Pot?
By Pamela L. Berman
Ah, my beloved New York City – how it changes and evolves, ebbs and flows, makes it through traumas and world events and always comes out somehow stronger and more vibrant than ever. It is still the greatest city in the world, even though it’s been in some real dusts-up lately.
And now that marijuana is legal in New York, all is so bizarrely happy for so many. Oh, the “green” of it all … smoking green, making green, ruining the pleasure of walking around outside in the green. Politics and tax revenues work in ultimately predictable ways: money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money (best sung to a Kander and Ebb tune).
As a never-smoker of any kind, I have asked myself for years why tobacco is even still legal. And I know the answer is somehow linked to the founding of our country, international commerce and exports, and our so-called freedoms of choice.
But we all know (those of us whose headspace does not reside permanently under a sand dune) what tobacco and nicotine do; smokers even know the fate that almost certainly awaits them and their chemo dealers. For the lucky ones – who play the “why do some people get lung cancer but others don’t” game – it is still at best Russian Roulette and the IV will one day probably drip for them, too. And for those of us breathing nearby.
I am not even sure why smoking is considered some kind of civil right. It violates the civil rights of non-smokers. On the other hand, I just broke my last glass mercury thermometer – Made in the USA and I still prefer these streamlined wonders – but they are apparently banned forever by the less powerful mercury lobby. However – cigarettes, cigars, spliffs and joints carry on spreading illness to the masses and revenue to all the commercial entities who benefit. And so it goes …
But merely relegating smokers in NYC to standing outside a building or using their “private” balconies hardly keeps their smoke out of my lungs, or the unpleasant odor from creeping inside my apartment. And New York isn’t really known for its “fresh air” in the first place (with a resulting, eponymous philanthropic fund formed just to get kids out into it away from the City).
Instead, it used to be for me, living in close proximity to Central Park, that there was always one fine day every year, when the temperature rose to just warm enough to send the wafting, unmistakable odor of carriage horses and manure nearby, when I would breathe in deeply and smile to myself, “Ah, Spring is the air.” That was the giveaway of reawakening, and New York always gladdened my heart.
But now, Spring and the rest of the seasons have melded into one horrible pervasive stench of “skunk”. Yet this is progress, I am told. And meant to make New York more fun, tolerant and profitable. But in these post-Covid, respiratory-conscious times, is this really what we need to get New York back on its feet? Because I just see a lot of people off their feet, and off their heads, and I am thinking that this is not the New York I’ve loved for so long, the New York that offers so much more than being able to get high without a trip to the pokey.
Look – It is thrilling that New York has come back to life and there are people enjoying being out and about again, and back inside cultural venues. It’s good for everyone, it’s good for business – it’s good for my real estate business.
New opportunities are opening up all around – and this could be a call to weed entrepreneurs everywhere: Come up with some odorless delivery method (in addition to new bakeries and new calories); maybe they exist already? Or just figure out a way to corral the smokers into some big empty retail spaces (now there would be a profitable repurposing of storefronts and empty offices – a new high for commercial real estate) … and just let the sun shine in. It could be a big mellow party all the time, and the rest of us could go back to walking the fab streets of New York, enjoying the sweet smell of manure.
Manhattan Apartment Living: Small is the New Big
By Pamela L. Berman
As a freelance writer, and a real estate agent investigating and facilitating the selling, buying, renting, and leasing of residential and office space … it’s always an unexpected pleasure when my various pursuits intersect fortuitously, as they did recently when I was invited to an event hosted by Green Drinks NYC at the showroom of Resource Furniture.
Founded in 2002 by Margaret Lydecker, Green Drinks NYC calls itself “the largest environmental networking organization dedicated to unifying the sustainable community in NYC,” hosts monthly events, and has over 15,000 members. Indeed, this socially conscious company (and local satellite of the international Green Drinks) has become a kind of unique meet-up and movable cocktail party for environmentally savvy revelers and entrepreneurs — including architects, interior designers, product designers, engineers, artists, academics, retailers, real estate movers and shakers … and their concerned clients … among other citizens from all walks who are trying to change the dialogue about industry and modern living, as they change the world.
And which no doubt inspired Green Drinks NYC’s association with Resource Furniture. Since 2000, Resource has been in the vanguard of importing and distributing inspired furniture from Europe, with showrooms in New York and several major Canadian cities. Owners Ron Barth and Steve Spett have also been in the forefront, especially of late, working closely with developers in NYC, suburban NYC, and other cities, and playing a central role in the current discussions spearheaded by Mayor Bloomberg’s adAPT NYC program for building micro-apartments. Resource is also sponsoring the Museum of the City of New York’s exhibition “Making Room: New Models for Housing New Yorkers,” which showcases innovative design solutions for small apartments, including a 325-square-foot room model (“a size prohibited in most areas of the city”).
Because let’s face it … Unless you are in that rarefied percentile of New Yorkers whose dwellings come with cool seven-, eight-, and now even nine-digit price tags — and the corresponding breadth of gracious living — we live in a shrinking city in search of where the heck to put all our stuff.
Green Drinks
In the course of my work, I often look at apartments, or even single rooms within larger spaces, that are size- and shape-challenged, and am asked by clients and customers to make suggestions. While there are many tips for making small rooms look larger, such as picking correctly proportioned furniture, creative lighting and the thoughtful use of paint, artwork, and so on, the most important thing one can do for a small space is to purge the clutter, of course. However, artistic types, frequent travelers and collectors such as myself know that that is so much easier said than done. Nevertheless, fond memories and fabulous “finds,” or not, sometimes you just have to face the great New York City trade-off and send your treasures on a permanent vacation elsewhere.
Green Drinks
Yet, really, the best and most encompassing solution I have found for smaller spaces — i.e., for those people not capable of some OCD version of “nothingness” Zen — is to find a way to have a place for everything, and everything in its place. Which, for me, means only one thing: clever “furniture systems” with innovative storage.
So I was delighted to discover that Resource Furniture lives up to its name with the sort of creative pieces I have always utilized since I moved into my own, very first NYC apartment as a student: furniture that can multi-task. A design concept pioneered by companies like Murphy Bed, which is still in business and still popular today over a century later … along with many off-shoot design companies and alternative and evermore sophisticated mechanisms … Resource stands out on the high end with fresh, sleek gems of form and function.
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Concealed beds reveal sofas and libraries and desks when not in use, tables “rise to the occasion” or stretch beyond their initial slim impressions, “walls” become bunk beds, chairs so elegantly thin and compact they take up a fraction of space when hung almost as “wall art,” and so many other very cool and versatile products … Frankly, I would simply adore these pieces even if space were not an issue.
And for some, like the evening’s guest speaker, Graham Hill, who has used Resource to furnish his own apartment, living “small,” “clean,” and “reducing one’s footprint” is a mission. A successful businessman in several fields, who opted out of corporate life and conspicuous consumerism, founded TreeHugger, moved to New York, bought a couple of small apartments, and later founded LifeEdited, Hill gave up his more expansive lifestyle and opted for sizing down only to what he really “needed,” and now devotes himself to inventing new products, creating new buildings and apartments, and teaching the world about existing more efficiently. And how much fun it can be (he says)!
This all sounds wonderful when you have the luxury of actually choosing whether to live in a small apartment or a city palace. However, try convincing the average New Yorker already existing inadequately in a “micro” New York apartment with a cramped, reduced quality of life that sizing down even further is the way to go. A New Yorker might tell you — in more colorful language — that the only advantage to reducing your footprint is if you’re Sasquatch and you forgot to turn off the Location Tracker on your iPhone.
Pocket Chair
Yes, I’ve lived in big, and I’ve lived in small, and let me tell you — no matter what anyone says — big is better. Real breathing room and light and quiet and air and views and gardens count. And closet space! Lots and lots of closets! Not to mention that elegantly engineered chic does not comes cheap — high art never does. But as micro-apartments take shape and wend their way through city planning, “high concept” furniture and products will not only be considered ingenious and chic — but absolutely necessary. Never mind that, ultimately, it might be just an ironic trade-off: expensive solutions instead of expensive, larger apartments.
Still, with so little inventory on the market, New York is in dire need of more apartments and more affordable living, especially for groups such as the city’s “artist class,” which has always given New York so much of its lifeblood and edge … and finds itself all but forced out of town in search of less costly live and work space. That alone is changing the dynamic of our city, and not for the better.
Passo
So make no mistake: the day of small is looming big, my friends — one can see the writing on the (movable) wall. Fortunately, though, in this changing landscape, we have companies like Resource to help make the inevitable compromises and sacrifices a whole lot more appealing — and organizations like Green Drinks NYC to help ease the pain with cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, and stimulating conversation with leaders of this brave, new, environmental avant-garde … and interesting, passionate, likeminded fellow travelers with energy to burn.
For more information, please visit:
http://www.greendrinksnyc.com/
http://www.resourcefurniture.com/
http://www.lifeedited.com/
http://www.mcny.org/exhibition/making-room
http://www.nyc.gov
The Life of Pie
by Pamela L. Berman
If anyone had told me, after an exhausting week of work, that I would be spending a precious Sunday learning how to make different types of pie crust, I would have said when pigs fly. However, in a moment of pure, impulsive, how-many-new-things-can-I-cram-into-my-brain, New York whimsy, I found myself signing up anyway.
Despite the fact that the clocks had done their annual “spring forward” in the wee hours of that particular Sunday, I was off to the The JCC in Manhattan @ 76th & Amsterdam to learn all about the joys of pie dough.
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There, in the The Patti Gelman Culinary Arts Center — the spacious and thoughtfully appointed kitchen where The JCC’s many culinary classes are held — eight (mostly) beginners in the pie-baking arts gathered around the substantial “island” for the Perfect Pie Dough Workshop with Chef John Scoff.
Chef John, an accomplished South Carolina and New York chef and instructor-about-town, began by introducing us to the fundamentals: how to select ingredients, make a basic pie dough and a pâte sucrée (sweet pastry dough), mixing and rolling techniques, blind baking (also known as pre-baking or par-baking), lining pie plates, tart dishes and individual ramekins, pricking crusts before baking, using pie weights … and so on.
Our well-equipped kitchen came with all the fixins’ we would need already laid out, along with that day’s wonderful JCC volunteer, Rachel, who more than assisted (i.e., helped with anything we needed and, most importantly, did the cleaning up after us along the way). They pretty much thought of everything — even plastic containers were provided for take-home.
So after Chef John’s formal lesson and Q & A, we split into teams, with each to make two pies. Mine chose a blueberry pie with the basic dough, and a fruit tart with the pâte sucrée.
Now I have to admit that I am not really a big fan of fruit pies in general, nor the often-tasteless crusts that go with them for that matter. Occasionally, perhaps, but usually if I am going to succumb to all that sugar, carbs, and calories, I much prefer creamier, denser fillings that call for graham cracker crusts. Though I do really love savory pies, so it was great that the basic dough we learned will work well for those, too.
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That being said, I was excited to make the blueberry on my own, mainly because my inner artist wanted to give its “lattice-top” a go (cutting and laying down strips of dough in a “woven” pattern). My teammates made the fruit tart with pâte sucrée, strawberries, blackberries and a vanilla pastry cream, splitting a long vanilla bean for a more intense flavor.
Others made a sour cream apple with walnut streusel topping (basic dough), lemon meringue (basic dough), individual tartes tatin with apples and caramel (pâte sucrée), and a winter fruit crostata (made without a dish, using a variation on both dough recipes and shaping it free-form into a rustic-looking kind of “box” for the filling of apples, prunes and brandy).
Finally, after measuring and dicing and chopping and mixing and kneading and rolling and lining and pricking, our masterpieces went into multiple ovens. About an hour later, when all were done and looking GORGEOUS, the class went to town on a whole lot of truly scrumptious pies — which were even more scrumptious because we had proudly made them ourselves.
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And while the fruit tart was way up there as my favorite of the day — as well as being the prettiest, in my opinion — the ultimate surprise for me actually turned out to be the lemon meringue. However, this perfectly sweet, tangy, lemony-creamy pie served warm was a revelation! It was sooooo good that I am looking forward to making it and the fruit tart all by myself. PDQ!
So to sum up the extent of my knowledge for all you would-be, first-time, pie crust makers … From what I now understand about pie dough … the less you “mess” with it, the flakier and better it will be. Paramount in the process is keeping the butter very cold and handling it as little as possible (there are varying results when using all butter, or part butter and part shortening; my team chose to go with all butter, though I believe that adding shortening is supposed to make for flakier crusts. Of course, I might only be recalling “Minny” from “The Help” reverentially extolling the many virtues of Crisco, but I think shortening would be worth a try the next time).
Indeed, when it comes to making pie dough, you want a kind of “in and out” technique: mix it, knead it four or five times — only just enough, shape it into one disk or two (a double batch for pies with crusts on bottom and top), wrap it in plastic and get it into the refrigerator immediately — before getting started on the filling. When the filling is ready, roll the dough out carefully … always from the center outward … flattening a little at a time, pulling it up slowly while wrapping it directly around the rolling pin to transfer over the pie dish, where you then set it down and press gently around the walls, trimming the excess with a knife or tucking it in. Chef John also recommends making a double recipe, because if not used, dough freezes well and can be readily available for your next pie. And another tip: marble seems to be the best surface for flouring and rolling dough because it’s cool and smooooth (and I especially loved flinging that flour onto the marble in what I am calling a kind of modified “Opie” technique of skipping rocks on a Mayberry lake!).
Really, it was just that easy and so much fun that it will now put an end to frozen pie crust for my fresh tomato tart this summer (that is to say, Craig Claiborne’s Fresh Tomato Tart), not to mention how much healthier homemade will be without all the added what-nots. But first, I foresee some hearty pot pies until tomato season in my very near future. Mmmm. Goodbye, Marie! (Though I still miss your coconut crème and exceptional French apple from when I lived in Los Angeles, if it’s any consolation.)
And, so, folks … If you haven’t been to The JCC in Manhattan, you owe yourself a visit. I was so impressed that I even stopped by the Membership desk later to take a tour. Currently in its 11th year, this whole building remains a true destination “it” spot on the Upper West Side. Whether as a member, or a non-member taking a single class, there is so much to do … seven days a week. From events and classes of all kinds, including arts and crafts, fashion design, film screenings, lectures, spiritual and self-help workshops, children and family activities … to its well-equipped gym and swimming pool (one of the few, really long pools in the city — at 25 meters, or “half-Olympic size” — as it was described; they didn’t have to tell me … I took one look and felt a “cosmic shiver” as I flashed back to way too many crack-of-dawn swim team practices; though after all that pie, I would have happily taken a few laps right then!) And so much more.
I really was so hooked on the experience that I began searching the catalog for my next Sunday cooking class (amongst so many other enticing pursuits) on the spot. Come to think of it … it kinda puts a whole new twist on Sunday School. And a delicious one at that.
For more information about The JCC in Manhattan at 76th and Amsterdam, please visit http://www.jcc.org.
This article was originally published in BeautyNews, May 20, 2013.
The Ciragan Palace Kempinski Istanbul … and Other Turkish Delights – Part 1
by Pamela L. Berman
Having worshiped at the temple of travel since I was a restless child in Indiana (the travel bug instilled in my brothers and me by our equally peripatetic parents, grandparents, great- and great-great!) – I have discovered that while heaven can come in many forms on this earth, for me it has always been a great hotel in an exotic city.
So for this particular adventure, and upon the recommendations of other family and friends, my mother, brother and I set out to fulfill a long-held wish of our mother’s – to experience together the acclaimed Çırağan Palace Hotel and the splendors of Istanbul.
And though this story should rightfully begin with our journey first to Athens (where high atop the Acropolis we marvelled, indeed, at “the glory that is Greece”), our subsequent sea cruise and tours of the Greek Islands, Cyprus, Israel, Kusadasi and Ephesus, Turkey – all worthy of articles of their own – I am going to beg forgiveness of the travel gods and cut straight to the sage advice that, “Life is short. Eat dessert first.”
So on to the addictive baklava that is Istanbul. Like the pastry itself – arguably the best in the world made in Turkey – Istanbul is a many-layered and labor-intensive delicacy.
Steeped in a rich, long, challenging history, blending cultures and seemingly effortlessly managing to wed the old with the new, our first glimpse of Istanbul came as it should … as it has for travellers throughout the centuries: by sea. From hearing the magnified sounds of the calls to Islamic prayer and seeing the numerous minarets and domes that dot the horizon, to the architectural delights of its modern bridges which connect a city that straddles two continents, we arrived after having sailed past ancient cites and ancient wonders, past Troy and the tragic Gallipoli, via the rolling beneficence of the Mediterranean, the Aegean, the Dardanelles, the Sea of Marmara, and the Bosphorus Strait.
Even more fittingly, we began our real introduction to the city later that day on a private tour boat of the Bosphorus. Floating past hotels, government buildings and stately homes, on both the European and Asian sides, watching people strolling along the banks and the busy streets beyond, and with scores of amateur fishermen casting lines into the depths, we were entranced by this modern yet mysterious landscape that is Istanbul.
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And there on deck, as we sipped from delicate glasses of hot, sweet Turkish tea in the brisk autumn weather, the Çırağan Palace Hotel materialized before our eyes like an Ottoman Venus rising from the sea. The Palace to the left (at over 400 meters wide), the additional hotel wing to the right, its three, stepped, sky blue pools and outdoor cafe with pristine awnings, the ornate and imposing Sea Gate accessible and inviting from the waterfront, led the eye across the grounds and broad expanse of palm trees and deep emerald lawn – even in chilly November. Perfectly framing this E-shaped complex, the whole tableau rendered for us a tantalizing glimpse of the luxury within.
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The next morning, we bid our cruise ship and new friends farewell, piled our luggage high into our van, and set out to explore the Grand Bazaar and Spice Market with our private guide Linda and driver. There we passed through the ancient stone entrance, where throngs of people shopped purposefully, congregating and winding their way through the myriad stalls before a long holiday would begin at sundown. The crowds were overwhelming, but exciting too, as the atmosphere was all color and life. We shopped for cashmere pashminas (and fell in love with whisper-thin, reversible shawls, with each side more exquisite than the other), silk scarves, leathers and suedes, spices and sweets and incense and oils. We were accosted by every carpet merchant claiming to have the only authentic carpets in Turkey, drank freshly squeezed pomegranate juice, and by late afternoon we had had enough of the teeming souks and finally made our way slowly to our hotel, through the great big traffic crawl that is this metropolis.
Fortunately, sanctuary waited. We arrived and were welcomed by a handsome doorman – a distinguished gentleman in full red, gold and black regalia who escorted us through the doors (and whose uniform insignia introduced us to the stylized Sultan’s flower that is the Çırağan logo).
And let me tell you, once inside the Çırağan Palace Kempinski Istanbul, you are in.
A home away from home to presidents and prime ministers, oil magnates and potentates, celebrities and the high profile from all walks – the Çırağan hosts 313 rooms, including 20 suites in the hotel and 11 suites in the Palace.
Grand doesn’t quite cut it. Magnificent doesn’t do it justice. Charming – well yes. Beautiful – most definitely. Spacious and airy and light-filled and serene and regal – perhaps – can only begin to describe this favored respite to discerning travellers from around the globe. (Tellingly, Çırağan – pronounced “Cheer-on” – is derived from the Persian word for “light,” as torchlight festivals were a favorite of Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha of Nevsehir, who built the first Çırağan in 1719 and enjoyed holding “Çırağan Festivals” – i.e., “Light Festivals” on the grounds.)
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From its soaring lobby to hallways as wide as boulevards, its fine Turkish carpets set into inlaid, polished hardwood floors, the Çırağan is a visual banquet, a sumptuous feast of Turkish color, architectural detail and Ottoman tradition, along with youthful and cheerful service from the moment one arrives.
Indeed, rather than checking in at the front desk, we were immediately greeted by a member of the Guest Relations staff, one of several who stand in the lobby in their deep red uniforms of jackets and skirts and black pumps, at the ready to shepherd guests quickly and graciously through the formalities.
The delightful Ms. Gizem Ulusan would become our guide and “Go To” person many times during our stay. We listened attentively as Gizem showed us how to work the television, the phones, and all the comforts of the room (e.g., how to request pillows from the “pillow menu” – all the types and densities offered for one’s sleep experience), delineated the numerous gadget-y looking knobs and levers on the blue-curtained, high-tech bathtub and shower (momentarily making us wonder whether we needed an advanced degree to operate this thoroughly modern fixture. Fortunately, we got the hang of it quickly), the Molton Brown toiletries, the mini-bar, electrical outlets, and so on. She was very thorough.
The show and tell complete, our paperwork expedited in the civilized gentility of our room, my brother went off to his own stately room for his check-in session, and my mother and I settled into our Grand Deluxe accommodation with it’s panoramic view of the Bosphorus, and which surely could have slept five.
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Stepping out onto the balcony, we were immediately transfixed by the evening show of lights. From the Bosphorus Bridge to our left, with its colorful, changing light displays to the Golden Horn off to the right and illuminated mosques on the hill in the distance – and the wondrously lit grounds below – we watched the twinkling tour and merchant boats drift by, and could have easily remained mesmerized all night.
Soon there was a knock at the door, and the night houseman came in for “turn down” service. Watching him go through his ceremonial and practiced routine – clearly, it is all about the details at the Çırağan – he arranged each fold of the long deep Cerulean blue drapes to rest on the floor in the same direction, making sure they were equally spaced along the way. And placed our slippers by our beds – carefully angling them “just so” on the soft linen foot cloths. Mainly, though, it was the first time in any fine hotel I had seen standard white terry cloth slippers actually sized for a woman’s foot, rather than the enormous “clown shoes” usually on offer. (My brother’s turn down service, we would later see, included a pair of larger men’s slippers in black angled “exactly so” by the side of his own bed. First time I’d ever seen black terry hotel slippers, too. Such a good idea – why never before? I had to wonder. Very chic and an excellent touch!)
The houseman then placed, atop a polished dark wood dresser, fresh ice in a silver bucket on an ornate tray in our private hallway, which included water and wine glasses and a flower in a vase, and made sure we had ample, soft white Turkish towels, and said goodnight. Back we went to our living area to sample what the hotel calls “amenities”: a bottle of wine to welcome us, fresh and dried fruits, pistachio nuts, and tasty bites of sweets and savories, all so very artfully arranged, and which would be replenished each night with new tastes and temptations. It was lovely.
We sat a moment and took in more details – the comfortable sofa and chairs (all in various shades of blue – the family color!), the stately desk and accessories, the thoughtful little guide to Istanbul and a helpful bound history of the hotel, the inviting fine linens and comforters, and bottles of water strategically placed around the room and bathroom, with their own etched brass holders adding a welcome touch of Turkish Oriental to the décor.
We hated to drag ourselves away, but we had nevertheless worked up an appetite during our shopping at the bazaars, so down we went to the Gazebo Lounge off the lobby to have dinner…
(To be continued…)
Please check back for Parts 2 and 3 over the next few weeks!
Ah, well, I guess we have to look at it this way… Dessert may be the way to go, but when it comes to the real sweetness of life … travels and memories are best savored slowly.
For more information about the Çırağan Palace Kempinski Istanbul, please visit:
http://www.kempinski.com/en/istanbul
For more information about Kempinski hotels, please visit:
http://www.kempinski.com
This article was originally published in BeautyNews, January 9, 2012.
The Ciragan Palace Kempinski Istanbul … and Other Turkish Delights – Part 2
by Pamela L. Berman
In the spacious dining enclave, with its view of the Bosphorus (with dining also available on the terrace where we had first seen those bright awnings from the water), we perused the international menu of the Gazebo Lounge. My brother and I each ordered pizza – mine Italian, his Turkish with ground meats and spices – and our mother ordered one of our favorite Thai dishes: Tom Kha Gai – a tangy coconut milk and chicken soup flavored with galangal and lemongrass, and served with jasmine rice.
Unfortunately, this rendition was beyond salty. My mother simply could not eat it. We mentioned it to the Maître d’, and the next thing we knew, the chef came flying out, apologized profusely, and proceeded to discuss the soup with us for what seemed like ten minutes. He insisted on taking it back and remaking it, which he did. Out it came once more, only slightly less salty but still not truly inviting. My mother, however, was prepared to make do, until the Maître d’ inquired once again. Without hesitation, he apologized so sincerely, whisked it away, brought her a newly chosen substitute and refused to charge for her meal. And though we were full, he insisted on presenting us with an array of desserts. Now that’s fine service.
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Afterwards, the lobby was still jumping and festive during the start of what was the annual, national Turkish religious holiday called Kurban Bayram (a feast of sacrifice involving the slaughter of a lamb or sheep, with a portion of each animal being shared with other families less fortunate), and which attracts guests to the hotel (and all of Istanbul) from throughout Turkey and the Middle East. Indeed, there amongst Islamic gentlemen, giddy children, and women in black robes (some in full veil) or stylish Islamic attire, one was lured to the marble “welcome table” with its large marble replica of the Palace door, in the center of the lobby. Dotted with ornate silver dishes and serving utensils, offering Turkish sweets and candies – and the real Turkish Delight known as Lokum (that jellied fruit candy in flavors such as rose, mint, lavender, and lemon, and sometimes with pistachios, hazel nuts and almonds, dusted with powdered sugar) – to the hotel guests in celebration. Festively, other guests and I took turns serving each other from every vessel. It was all very convivial.
Before our energies flagged, we took a languid stroll around the hotel.
The colors of the carpets, and corresponding objects d’art were what enthralled us. I had already seen in a Kuşadası ceramics factory the prevailing, traditional design patterns of deep red paired with dark blue along with what I can only describe as periwinkle mixed with Wedgewood. The colors are so stunning when melded together, that I immediately wanted to rush out, purchase everything in sight, and redo my apartment in the same hues and patterns. And maybe I will!
And the way the Çırağan has decorated so many of the hallways is just so visually arresting and refreshing. Framed paintings hanging on the walls are themselves framed inside glassless frames suspended from the ceilings. Art within art within art!
Indeed, so richly appointed, yet thoroughly modern, the Çırağn designs reference its storied history as the palace of several generations of Ottoman sultans, and infuses it with gracious Kempinski German, Swiss, and now Thai hotelier expertise.
The hotel literature tells us that the Çırağan is “The Only Imperial Palace & Hotel by the Bosphorus.” As with many luxuries, location is, indeed, everything, and this location has been prized for centuries. Situated on the European shore of the Bosphorus, between Beşiktaş and Ortaköy, in close proximity and driving distance to the business district, and all the important historic and cultural sites, including Taksim Square and the Old City (Sultanahmet), the Palace took life and shape over many previous incarnations. With its beautiful gardens and adjacent park and woods, the Palace was built and torn down and built again by various Pashas and Sultans until Sultan Abdülâziz began the construction on what would become the current Palace in 1863, taking almost nine years to complete, only to die a few years later.
The Sultan ensured that it was built of the finest materials… stone, marble, mother of pearl, and gilding from around the world. After his death, it again passed through the hands of relatives and royals, along with changing governments and fortunes, and was entirely destroyed by a fire in 1910, leaving only the stone shell. Once more, the Palace was adrift for many years, even becoming a dumping ground for sand and the football field for a local soccer team. Until a Japanese corporation purchased it in 1989, renovated the Palace and built the hotel complex, as well.
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In 1990, the complex opened as the Çırağan Palace Kempinski, and was finally refurbished and restored to its former Ottoman glory in 2007. Kempinski, the oldest luxury hotel group in Europe, founded in 1897, painstakingly reconstructed the Palace piece by piece, from drawings and photographs, and even chunks of the original stone and marble found on the grounds. With Kempinski’s dedication to service and style, the Çırağan Palace is once again a building of magnificent stature, standing as a testament to time, perseverance, and cultural cooperation.
And so, we continued to wander through the arcades off the lobby, where shops were selling exquisite Turkish carpets (now these were the real deal), chic jewelry, fine art and antiques and more. We poked our heads into the Çırağan Bar, where a Turkish singer was channeling Ella Fitzgerald. We stopped to see Le Fumoir, the airily enclosed (open air in summer) cocktail and cigar bar, warmed by a dancing fire. We gazed out at the lawn and water, the firelight reflected in the glassware and enclosures. It was so beautiful but it was getting late and time for bed, as we would have several more early mornings and long days of sightseeing ahead of us.
On our way to the elevator, we stopped off at the Business Center to check e-mails, where the wonderfully efficient and charming Ms. Emel Todurga would become our “personal assistant” over the next few days, helping us manage and share photos and files. The “switchboard” counterpart to Gizem, Emel was a whiz on the computer, and the procurer of all blessings with wake-up calls, requests to housekeeping, and so on. Her gentlemen colleagues were also very helpful, and this was clearly a cheerful group who manned the phones and were the evening hub of the hotel. At one point, I heard one of the staff saying on the phone, “Yes, Your Highness. Yes, Your Highness. Yes, Your Highness. Very good, Your Highness.”
I didn’t ask which “Highness,” but the next day, the official greeters from the front office were standing at the ready with fresh orange juice and individual bouquets of flowers. What was happening, I inquired? The wives of a sheik were arriving soon, and this thoughtful husband had personally requested juice and flowers to welcome them from their journey. I wondered, momentarily, if I might have a word with the head wife as to any vacancies.
But before retiring that night, I called down for a wake-up call, and was greeted with a question I had never before been asked at any of the numerous fine hotels at which I have stayed. “Would you like tea or coffee with your wake-up call?” Yes, please, tea! Another delightful touch and thoughtful detail.
The next morning, while the hour was fairly ungodly, the hot tea and international newspapers were a great way to ease into the day before heading to breakfast.
On our way down, the front desk staff immediately greeted us by name. How could they possibly know or remember us already? But they did. Once again, details… And speaking of …
Let me tell you – breakfast at the Çırağan is something to behold. Hosted in the Laledan restaurant off the lobby, the sun streaming in from three sides, a buffet the likes of which we had never seen anywhere, unfolded as far as the eyes could wander. We had never, ever seen so many choices, tables, and food stations in any hotel, restaurant, or cruise ship on all our travels. It would have taken a week to eat one’s way through everything.
Racks of large iced beakers of myriad fresh juices. And trays of all kinds of fresh breads and pastries, every kind of fresh and “prepared” and dried fruits imaginable, cold and hot cereals and granolas, different varieties of fish and seafood and sushi. And a dozen, maybe two-dozen platters of salad fixings and varieties of lettuce and fresh and cooked vegetables, including my own favorite fresh artichoke hearts. Prepared salads, stuffed grape leaves, hummus and spreads and dips. So many Turkish and Middle Eastern prepared dishes, both hot and cold. Eggs Benedict (made with Turkey bacon, in compliance with the dictates of Islam), scrambled eggs, with more turkey bacon and turkey sausages, and a fresh omelet station with made-to-order eggs of all kinds. Waffles and pancakes and French toast. Cheeses from around the world. Desserts and sweets, especially the delicious Turkish ones with so many kinds of baklava and little crêpes stuffed with sweet milk-crème fillings, some I am told, using chicken in the ingredients!
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My favorite of all? The large block of raw honeycomb, which could be cut and eaten as is. With a real, actual honeybee buzzing protectively around its handiwork! What, but a palace built for Sultans, would have its own “house bee?” Indeed, who but the Çırağan would think of this? It was amazing and wonderful and, needless to say, we looked forward to breakfast everyday.
So from this endless cocoon of comfort and style … rather reluctant, really, to leave this haven for mere sightseeing … we nonetheless spent another few days taking in as much of Istanbul as we could. With our knowledgeable guide, we braved holiday crowds and lines the likes of which we never expected. All of the country seemed to be there, as eager as we to explore their national monuments and treasures.
For more information about the Çırağan Kempinski Istanbul, please visit:
http://www.kempinski.com/en/istanbul
For more information about Kempinski hotels, please visit:
http://www.kempinski.com
This article was originally published in BeautyNews, January 20, 2012.
The Ciragan Palace Kempinski Istanbul … and Other Turkish Delights – Part 3
by Pamela L. Berman
(Continued from Part 2…)
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We saw so much – the Hagia Sophia, Topkapı Palace and its jewels, the Blue Mosque, the Basilica Cistern (a magical underground world that stored water for the ancient city, supported by 336 Ionic, Corinthian and Doric marble columns, and where my brother and I indulged in a cheesy “costume” photo of the two of us as Sultan and Sultana).
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We toured more mosques and churches and synagogues. We visited shopping streets and stores. We visited the Pera Palace Hotel, restored to its Victorian finest, to see where Agatha Christie called home during her many visits to Istanbul. Indeed, though her room was occupied, the charming front desk agent took us instead to Greta Garbo’s room, where I sat on the divan and “vanted to be alone.” Riding up in the “second oldest elevator in Europe” (the first being in the Eiffel Tower), sitting on the silk seat as heaven forbid we should stand, we were transported through history and the halls of Hercule Poirot.
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We visited the Ortaköy district (deriving its name from once having been “the village in the middle”), now home to a revitalized arts culture full of bistros and galleries and boutiques. Plus, we indulged in what were enticing-looking, actually awful-tasting, baked potatoes the size of tugboats (with dozens of unusual toppings, like green olives and peppers and other pickled things, amidst the traditional butter and sour cream), and came back later in the evening to eat at the trendy House Café.
Suggested by an American friend and confirmed by the Çırağan concierge, we also travelled by taxi one evening to the area called Levent, to a celebrated kebab (or “Kebap” in Turkish) restaurant called Kosebasi. With the help of our server Cafer, who chatted with us and ordered for us, we had a delicious meal of Turkish specialties: Lamb, minced meat mixed with herbs, chicken Kebaps, salads and spicy dips. My mother pronounced her lamb chops the best and most tender she had ever eaten. As a lifelong great cook herself, that was saying something.
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I had one culinary pursuit at the top of my agenda when I arrived in Istanbul: Karaköy Güllüoğlu, I had been told, is perhaps the best and most famous purveyor of baklava in the world, since 1871. We made a pilgrimage for me to the restaurant located in the Karaköy area, where I viewed variety after variety and chose my selections carefully. Upon leaving, I inquired if the owner was there and I was promptly introduced. I had been on a quest, I told Mr. Nadir Güllü, since arriving in Europe via Athens and the Greek Islands, to find the best baklava! A Turkish waiter on our ship had definitively declared that the best of all was to be found in Turkey – right in Istanbul at this very establishment.
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Mr. Güllü beamed, and the next thing I knew, I was invited to a table with this gentleman, several of his friends, and the manager who translated. A tray of fresh baklava was summoned, and I was offered a sampling with a flourish, first being asked to lift up the top pastry, something I had never before been instructed to do. The whole top crust should come off like a hat, despite all the many layers. It should be light, not soggy, and light this was. Then, a crème fraîche was dolloped onto the delicately sweet, nutty mixture, the top resealed, and I was told to pop exactly half into my mouth, let the flavors slowly reach all my taste buds, for the most authentic experience.
OMG. Perfectly sweet with just enough honey, the walnuts crunchy but smooth, the pastry flaky and not sodden – this was worth the wait.
Honestly, this is the reason one travels to different cultures – to broaden one’s horizons and every one of our senses. Even in this multi-cultural day and age – and especially in New York, where one can become familiar with so many international cultures and cuisines – it is still the “sweet” unexpected, the authentic twist on an old favorite, shared with newfound friends, that so delights the imagination and feeds the memory.
Mr. Güllü presented me with several little gift boxes of individual pieces, adorned with American and Turkish flags, and I left barely able to control wanting to dig into these fabulous treats straight away. But I successfully paced myself over the next few days, so that I could make every morsel last as long as possible.
And on our last day at the Çırağan, we rested. That is, we wandered around on our own, and ran into the oh-so-chic hotel manager, Ms. Andrea Muegge, who was making rounds and surveying the morning scene. I mentioned that my first Kempinski experience had been the Bristol Kempinski in Berlin, from where I could hear artillery detonating somewhere beyond Checkpoint Charlie, just a short time before “détente” would reunite East and West. On another grand family tour, four of us that time had also enjoyed our stay at the Baltschug Kempinksi Moscow. So we were quite familiar with Kempinski service.
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Ms. Muegge graciously invited us to see the Palace itself and made an appointment for our personal tour. The ever-versatile Gizem was, once again, our guide. She accompanied us from the hotel through the long white marble passageway (along which glass display cases and framed photos and written histories tell the story of the buildings and the succession of Sultans), where we were met by a Palace manager who took over with the ins and outs and facts about this gorgeously restored, last Ottoman palace.
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The Palace houses the largest suites, usually home to dignitaries and heads of state. President Obama, we had been told, had visited not long ago. Consisting, as mentioned, of 11 suites of one-, two-, and three-bedroom “apartments,” the Palace also hosts the award-winning Tuğra restaurant, which serves fine Turkish and Ottoman fare. One can see why the entire palace and hotel complex is a favored venue for high-profile weddings, arts and cultural happenings, special events and conferences.
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The grand Sultan Suite is the ultimate in luxury and size. It’s really a large apartment, with living and dining areas, bedrooms, a partial kitchen, state-of-the-art electronics, and luxurious bathrooms with fabulous baths and showers. The Master Bath is fitted with solid gold faucets, and all the suites feature all the up-to-the-minute modern conveniences one can imagine. Many of the suites are duplexes with staircases and second floors. One bathroom, complete with old-fashioned tub, had a view of the Bosphorus and grounds that would be grounds for never leaving.
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The Palace splendidly retains its Ottoman ambience, with original architectural details, art and furniture. I admired several of the paintings, which Gizem explained had been created using an old Turkish technique, involving paint and submersing the canvases in water.
We thanked our guides for the beautiful visit, and reluctantly left that world of regal privilege.
Meanwhile, back on our own side of the tracks, I had one last service to investigate for Beauty News: the Çırağan Spa. The Spa and gym facilities are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No doubt necessary after a daily Çırağan breakfast buffet!
And I certainly could not leave Turkey without a visit to a traditional Hamam – or Turkish Bath – so was led into the dressing room, offered fruit-infused water, and changed into what can only be described as a red plaid tea towel, just covering my appropriate bits.
Loli, my “bather,” was dressed in a traditional pillowcase-like short white toga (I couldn’t help thinking that the two of us must have looked like house elves in “Harry Potter”!), and I was sent into a sauna to relax and steam.
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Escorted out of that inferno not a moment too soon, I was led into the hamam, a dimly lit white marble room with marble sinks lining the perimeter, and was asked to lie down on a pedestaled slab of marble. Still clutching my tea towel, Loli deftly exchanged it for modestly placed terry towels.
She began by applying warm water and a scrub to my body. Thoroughly exfoliating my limbs and torso, she rinsed me off and then used fragrant oil as she massaged my neck, shoulders and limbs, before rinsing me off and washing me down again in the most fascinating manner. A white cloth was soaked in water and filled with soapsuds, turning the cloth into a kind of large elongated balloon, which was then squeezed out gently over my body from toe to head, engulfing me, and the marble slab, in what looked like an overflowing bubble bath, with foam rising above and around me.
Between the sensations of bubbles lightly tickling my skin like airy silk, and warm water being filled into antique-looking metal pitchers (the sounds echoing softly off the marble walls) and then poured over my body in what felt like slowly cascading ribbons of the softest velvet – well I have to say, it was one of the most ethereal and sensuous experiences I have had. In fact, I had to wonder if there were something extraordinary about the pitcher or the water, but Loli assured me it was a very ordinary vessel pouring quite ordinary water.
Finally, I was asked to sit up while Loli washed and conditioned my hair. All clean, I was led to a relaxation chamber, where I sipped tea and came back to reality and room temperature. Loli apologized for not being able to give the “full experience.” What more could there possibly be? Loli, who is from Bali, explained that it is usually a Turkish woman who gives the baths – while singing traditional Turkish songs. The Turkish woman, however, was home celebrating the holiday. I re-assured Loli that I had a very good imagination, and that I was more than happy with the experience of my first hamam.
Unfortunately, after that bliss and a last dinner, there was nothing left to do but break the mood and pack for our departure the next morning.
We would discover at the end that there is, in fact, one serious problem with the Çırağan Palace Kempinski Istanbul: It makes you never want to leave.
We were truly sad to be leaving this comfort, and all the charming people we had met. But we were happy to know that we would be taking with us so many special memories … and perhaps might find ourselves returning again someday.
On the plane back, I thought about all we had done and seen. And I realized only then – like Istanbul itself – my heart is now in two places.
For more information about the Çırağan Palace Kempinski Istanbul, please visit:
http://www.kempinski.com/en/istanbul
For more information about Kempinski hotels, please visit:
http://www.kempinski.com
This article was originally published in BeautyNews, February 10, 2012.
See and Be Seen: The Never-Ending Search for that Somethin’ Somethin’ in Eyewear
by Pamela L. Berman
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Visionaries!
A Disclaimer: In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that eyeglasses are to me…what shoes are to Carrie Bradshaw. Yes, my name is Pamela, and I am an eyeglass wearer.
While I have never held a pair of glasses up to my cheek and cooed, “Hello lover,” I will nevertheless admit that I have been known to gaze moonily at myself in the mirror whenever I score a new pair of specs. Well okay, maybe just for a day or two. And though I promise that I am an otherwise (credit) card-carrying Girl in Good Standing (and one who certainly does lust for my requisite share of shoes, handbags, and the perfect shade of lipstick) – I must confess upfront that eyeglasses are my Number One…my Numero Uno…my Shop ‘Til I Drop…accessory of choice.
And why shouldn’t they be? From the moment I wake up in the morning until that last moment at night when I finally slip into a world that is always 20-20, I wear glasses the majority of my day. Of my life! And anything that gets to take up that much personal real estate had better be something pretty darn FAB.
So as we come out of this long dull winter (as I write, it is pelting rain on this cold mid-April evening), I needed a pick-me-up. My once-fab frames were tired, dull and I was BORED! BORED! BORED! Besides, nothing says spring and new beginnings like a new pair of gorgeous glasses or a knockout pair of shades.
When the annual Vision Expo rolled into the Javits Center last month, I was so excited to attend my first show, curious to learn more about the world of eyewear, and what’s hot, what’s current in these uber-accessories that have been a part of my life since I was a kid. I picked up my badge and headed straight for a terrific press event, sponsored by The Vision Council. Staged to look like an optical store, with shelves displaying the latest styles I would be seeing on the convention floor, I browsed and learned about this year’s trends from my hosts at The Council. Colors, shapes, materials – all what’s new and now. “Retro Prep,” “Disco Diva,” “Urban Edge,” “Modern Heritage,” “Street Pop,” “Globe Trotter”: The Vision Council had it all goin’ on.
Next came my appointment with The Council’s eyewear specialist, who gave me a mini-course in eyeglass shapes, face shapes, bridges, temples, curves, eyebrows, camouflage and more. If you’d like a mini-lesson yourself, do visit The Vision Council’s informative website. It posts the latest in trends, what your favorite celebrities are wearing, how to choose the perfect frames for your own face shape, and so much more – and is a great resource for the eyewear fashionista.
Available: http://www.eyecessorize.com
Eye Candy!
So finally, I was turned loose and headed straight for the high-end designs of Germany, Belgium, France, Denmark and Switzerland. I was on a mission! No department store fashion designer licensed, mass-produced brands for me. I wanted the real deal. Not to dismiss the pricey, glamorous fashion frames that so many of us covet, but when it comes to eyeglasses, I personally prefer to wear the creations of artists and technicians who specialize in optical design. It’s like the difference between wearing a clothing designer’s shoes…and a Manolo, a Choo, or a Louboutin. And not just in price, which can actually often be comparable, but in the quality, materials, workmanship, fit, innovation and style that so distinguish extraordinary from good.
And…oh…my…God. Like a kid in a candy store, I didn’t know which flavors to try first! Designer after designer, company after company, I walked the aisles, dizzy with longing. I sheepishly admit there were times I had to be dragged away from booths like some day tripper stoned on form and color, strung out on flexible steel and titanium and cotton acetate and “green” plastics and psychedelic hues, only to have it start all over again at the next booth to catch my fancy.
Colors! Lots of colors! It seems that more than ever before, color has overtaken the eyeglass industry. Explosions of reds and oranges. More greens than I have ever seen – from bamboos and limes to chartreuse. Blues and turquoises. Bright pinks and purples. Clear and white and honey and cream. Geometric and architectural and asymmetrical shapes, with double and triple layers of color.
And while plastics always remain popular – lots of retro tortoise, browns and blacks mixed with all those hot colors – metals are making a big comeback this year in matte silvers, gunmetal grays, midnight blues, burnished golds, and copper browns.
Previously rounded temples are flattening out, and are textured, laser-cut and patterned, running the gamut from plain and elegantly simple to wildly ornate. Squares and rectangles and even aviators are softening and curving into rounds and ovals and subtle cat’s eyes. Bigger is definitely better. Yet the unbearable lightness of being is key: materials are becoming lighter, more flexible, and feel more like a kind of high-tech fabric for the face.
And these artists-designers-entrepreneurs are positively evangelical about their creations. This isn’t just business. This is immense pride in innovation and function and form (and I was terribly amused by the distinct undercurrent of one-upsmanship I could feel bubbling all over that room). I was fascinated by the sheer amount of technology and machinery that goes into the making of high-end optical eyewear, the constantly developing advances in materials and engineering. I don’t know about you, but I know that I have certainly wondered just how a few pieces of seemingly simple plastic or metal, joined together with a few screws, could possibly warrant the sticker shock we often face when purchasing these little suckers. Outrageous! It seems that to gorgeously accessorize our eyes, it costs an arm and a leg! But now at least I know why (of course, never mind the substantial mark-ups in the industry, but that’s biz).
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I had heard especially good things about a few companies, so I headed next for Theo of Belgium. What a kick. Personally walked through by Toon Somers (son of co-owner and co-founder Wim Somers, whose partner is Patrick Hoet – with Theo being an anagram of “Hoet”), who himself was wearing an adorable large turquoise and lime frame. I finally saw for myself what the buzz is all about. With many design lines from which to choose, the ones that stood out for me were thin, thin, thin coated wire in the most unusual shapes and colors that look so fresh and different and unlike anything else I saw. In varying shapes, they are like morphing “goggles” (i.e. with a kind of uni-lense feeling), yet are completely lightweight and feel barely there. While large, they lighten and brighten and open up the face and eyes. Just the ticket for summer! Very trendy, very European sizzle meets New York cool. Their business card and cute “cartoon illustrated” website tell us, “Theo loves you.” Well, we love you back, Theo baby. Wish list: Theo. Check.
Available: http://www.theo.be
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Next stop: IC! Berlin. Now this was probably the coolest, hippest, too-sexy-for-its-shirt brand on the whole floor. The only booth to have make-up artists and swag bags and “coins of the realm,” I was walked through the entire ethos by new representative Douglas Dowers, an artist himself and already a true believer, and so passionate and knowledgeable about the designs and technical advances of IC!’s eyewear. And I was thrilled to meet owner Ralph Anderl of Germany, who couldn’t have been more impossibly Euro-sophisticated and high fashion, nor more charming and accommodating. I was completely captivated by the story of IC! Berlin and Ralph himself. A former Ph.D candidate in comparative something or other, it seems that Ralph one day met a couple of designers who had invented an almost revolutionary hinge that required no screws at all. None. And there we have it: A “calling” was born. These hinges remind me of the sterling silver puzzle ring I had purchased on the Spanish Steps in Rome on my first trip to Europe. Spatially challenged that I am, it took my handsome 20-something Italian vendor, on whom my entire 13-year-old American self was crushing, the better part of an hour (well, I had to delay him somehow – I’m no fool) to teach me how to put together that Rubik’s Cube of a ring. IC! Berlin hinges are equally clever and equally as seductive. These glasses are so innovative, so high tech and made up of the lightest, most flexible stainless steel and other materials, and yet are so simple that you can literally take them apart and reassemble them yourself. Ralph, and IC! Berlin, are like no other. Be sure and visit their fabulously wild website. Wish List: IC! Berlin. Double Check.
Available: http://www.ic-berlin.de
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Anne et Valentin of France was nearby, also showing its lovely, architectural shapes in great colors, and of which I already own several pairs. Alas, sorry guys, but no time to linger on the familiar.
Available: http://www.anneetvalentin.com
Only now I’m gettin’ it. Now I see why my longtime optician, co-owner/brother Dimitrei Gladstein of Euro Optika on Columbus Avenue (212.501.7070) – my very own favorite up-to-the-minute Euro-guru of eyewear fashion, quality, high style and hip – I now get why he has always been so positively evangelical himself about these three brands, and all the quality eyewear he loves so much (and wears himself). Great news, D – I get ’em! And I want ’em!
Many other design, quality and style advances caught my eye, including new developments at Pro Design of Denmark http://www.prodesigndenmark.com – and SWISSFLEX of Switzerland http://www.swissflex-eyewear.com (which are positively the most featherweight glasses you will ever wear) – but I was now fading fast and ready to get down to my most important business of all. I headed straight to TAG Heuer of France for my last stop of a long day.
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Knowing virtually nothing about the company, but having had my eyes on their frames for more than a year, I was fortunate to snag charming representative Felix Marks, who graciously introduced me to the brand and history. And personally helped me select the perfect frames, color and lenses shape from their Track Series of rimless designs, with rubber temples. In red. Yes! They are at once light, sporty, stylish and with a flash of red that just brightens up my world.
TAG Heuer, with its motto of “Swiss Avant-Garde Since 1860,” introduced their first line of eyewear in 2001, with many design series since. With constant engineering and advancements in performance, function and design – from signature hinges and temples to ever-lighter, stronger and more weather-resistant materials – the TAG Heuer company is always moving forward in the world of eyewear, as they do with their coveted timepieces. Long associated with Formula One racing, they are a beautiful blend of sport, performance and high fashion, and TAG has one of the most identifiable looks on the market. You know instantly that they are TAG. There isn’t anything else like them, and ten years later, they are still unique.
And while Felix would have enthusiastically continued telling me about their new materials of carbon fibers, and, and…while showing me one of the latest lines, the Automatic Series, whose temples spring open automatically (super cool, kind of like an automatic umbrella – which let’s face it, you don’t know you need until you can’t live without it)…now I’m on technology overload. TAG has some great looks for women, but this line has to be positively irresistible for boys who like high-performance toys.
I could listen to the impressive features of TAG Heuer eyewear all day long, Felix. But I’m a girl! So enough all you guys at the Vision Expo with the tech talk! I just want to look cute! Wish List: TAG Heuer. Checkmate.
Available: http://www.tagheuer.com/eyewear
Framed!
Home to rest my brimming brain. Finally, a few days later and a brand new prescription in hand, specifically for this article I set off to find a new optical store and optician with whom I had no previous experience.
While there are many fine optical stores in New York, including some of the larger “chains,” I have always had a preference for supporting small individually owned boutiques. I don’t know what it is about eyeglasses and the opticians who dispense them, but they quickly become like old friends. They get to know you, your style and your vision needs (and stay current for you on the latest options in all the myriad lines of now-digitalized and “high definition” lenses on the market. And by the way, as many optical stores tend toward their own favorites, you may also want to do a bit of independent research on what might be best for your particular correction requirements. Most opticians will be happy to work with you accordingly). If it’s the right place, it’s always so much fun to come back and hunt for the next pair of glasses.
So having already decided that my first purchase just had to be the TAG Heuers, I spent some time dropping in at several retailers who carry the brand … until I got that intuitive hunch, that je ne sais quois, that feeling of the right mix of confidence, professional know-how, style and personal service. Grand Central Optical was the one I wanted to try.
Though I am not often in Grand Central Terminal, I love visiting this elegant New York grande dame from time to time. Forty-seven years in Grand Central alone, Grand Central Optical is a grande dame itself. Family owned, in this generation by Scott Stein, the company has been in business since 1923. But let me tell you…old doesn’t mean fuddy-duddy. This is one happening place. And, of course, I couldn’t help myself when I walked into this kinetic store and just had to say, “Wow – It’s like Grand Central in here!” Yeah, they’d heard that before.
But after you get used to the pace (their Madison Avenue store, usually presided over by Mr. Stein, is a bit less hectic; not to mention that the Grand Central store is a lot like Grand Central Terminal in that it slows down a little at “off-peak” times), its longtime employees, all of whom are either opticians or eyewear specialists, will work with you patiently to choose a frame from their many exclusive brands, and numerous other fine optical designers and fashion brands, as well.
Manager and lead optician Gregg Randell is the conductor and chief engineer of this well-oiled train. From the moment I began working with him, I knew that I was in very capable, knowledgeable hands. Hands that were doing a million things at once, mind you, but this man knows his stuff. And has a great time doing it.
The main thing in an optical store, at least for me, is that there be absolutely no high pressure, no sales pitch. This is about my eyes and vision – and my daily display of taste and style, after all – and I, literally, have to live with my glasses. Which means, they need to get them right. And with the price of frames and lenses these days, they need to get them pretty darn close to perfect. At Grand Central, I felt as if they care more about establishing an ongoing relationship than in making a sale.
Indeed, there wasn’t a single time, on any of my visits (of course I had to go back and get another pair – just the absolute cutest Oliver Peoples sunglasses! http://www.oliverpeoples.com), that another customer didn’t turn to me and say that they had been coming there for 10, 20, 30 years. Honestly, I think that says it all about Grand Central’s quality and customer service. They stand behind everything they do. And they’ve been standing a long time.
Oh, and a couple of neat tips from Gregg I had never heard: When you clean your glasses, spray one time and wipe them only once across per spray. It prevents scratching. And Gregg also recommends using Bounty paper towels, as they are made without wood fibers, which can also lead to scratches (Bounty, I’m sensing a new ad campaign here). And here’s a neat tip from me: Gregg.
For more information about Grand Central Optical, the services they provide (including their on-site optometrist), the brands they carry, their full line of contact lenses, and special promotions, visit their website. And if you decide to give them a try, tell them that BeautyNewsNYC.com sent you. But of course!
Available: http://www.grandcentraloptical.com
Soon, I intend to get to that Belgian and German checklist and my guru Dimitrei. In the meantime, summer is just around the corner and my world looks fresh again. I am ready now for whatever life may bring…
I can see beautifully.
This article originally appeared in BeautyNews, May 2, 2011.
