Hotel Bars- Toronto and New York

Bemelmans Bar

You don't have to be a high class hooker to love a good hotel bar. Herewith, Lori's Rating System for a few places where drinks cost more than you ever imagined they could:


New York:

Bemelmans Bar, Carlyle Hotel

Drinks: I had the Champagne flight, and my friend had the Carlyle Punch, I believe. Very nice. The flight had a sparkling red, which you don't see every day.
Ambience: Low lights, great jazz, stunning decor. Lots of facelifts and fur coats, but that's half the fun of being there.
Free Munchies: Top notch.  Olives, too!
Restroom: Clean and classy, no attendant
Other: Bemelmans is a legendary New York establishment.  The interior, by, yes, Ludwig Bemelmans, is a standout, but the vibe was fun, not snobby or douchy. A great night out.

Champagne Bar at the Plaza

Drinks: I actually had one of my favourite drinks here.  The Imperial Plaza was outstanding, but for $26, it ought to be.
Ambience: It was the afternoon, so it was a mixed bag.  The crowd ranged from Eurotrash to Recent Lottery Winner.
Free Munchies: OK.  Popcorn heavy
Restroom: Very nice- upstairs, nice hand lotion.
Other: The last time I was there, they treated us like we were paying with food stamps when we didn't order a bottle, but the service was much better this time.

Toronto:

The Library Bar at the Royal York

Drinks: Excellent options available.  The Bay Area Daisy, from the Fairmont Classics list was amazing, but don't bother having it made with Patron, unless you want to spend $30 on a drink. Other drinks named for Canadian writers, so if you've always dreamed of sipping a Margaret Atwood Margarita, here's your chance.
Ambience: Elegant, not too loud. A library look, obviously. Suits and tourists.
Free Munchies: Very good, refilled often.
Restroom: Suitable to the location, if not exceptionally glamourous.
Other: This place is so much better than it was even a few years ago. Before the refurbishment, the drinks were hit and miss.  Now they are all hits. The Mediterranean dips and the crab cakes were really good as well, and they brought me a decadent piece of cake when they found out it was my birthday. You win my heart forever that way.

The Lobby Lounge at the Shangri La

Drinks: Very good, but I did get a glass of warm Champagne once, which is the saddest thing in the world. The drinks menus are little books, which is cute.
Ambience: Elegant, chill, and subtly perfumed.  Modern fireplace, comfortable chairs.  Easy place to spend a few hours nursing your insanely expensive drink. International and fashionable crowd.
Free Munchies: Can't remember, but Momofuku is next door, so just go eat there.
Restroom: Best in the downtown core.
Other: There's a grand piano in the lobby, and once when we were there, Chantal Kreviazuk sat down and played a bit.  That was cool!

I started going to hotel bars when there weren't too many other options in Toronto. Everything was either a club or a sports bar. I'm too old for the former, and too girly for the latter. Thankfully, there are some elegant bars in the city now, which I'll detail later. Of course, the historical aspects of these classic hotel bars also appeals to me.  When my life isn't a Seinfeld episode, I prefer it to be a Thin Man movie.

The Yogurt Thief

People are endlessly surprising.  I just wish it wasn't so often because they totally fucking suck.

The day I started at my current job, while giving me a tour of the office, my boss stuck a yogurt in the fridge.  When she went back for it a few hours later, it was gone.  Apparently this had been happening on and off for the past year, but the Yogurt Thief was about to go into overdrive, and was about to steal the wrong lady's yogurt.

When this woman discovered her yogurt was missing two days in a row, she just about lost her mind.  Everyone on our floor heard about it.  For a while there, I thought she was going to call the cops.  Instead, she came up with a plan:  we were going to run a sting operation.  The plan was to subtly mark the bottom of some yogurts, plant them in the fridge, and if they were taken, we were going to search through everyone's garbage cans looking for the marked containers.  I was new, so I wanted to be a team player, but sifting through garbage at the end of the work day oddly did not appeal to me.

Instead, she stuck this on the fridge:

God, even our threats are so Canadian...

I guess the threat worked.  The office Jean Valjean seems to have stopped, or was perhaps one of the people transferred to another location recently, along with the guy who used to cook raw fish in the toaster oven.  In any case, I was spared garbage patrol. And people do still suck.

Fishs Eddy and the Walk to Work

So few are...

It's just not a trip to New York without a stop at Fishs Eddy.  When a friend told me about it years ago, I thought she said "Fishetti's", so I was looking for some Italian store.  I just wandered in when I was walking up Broadway, and didn't realize I had found the place she was talking about until much later. In any case, this is a fun place to poke around when you're in the Union Square area.  I love entertaining, so I could happily spend all day, and a few paycheques, in here, snapping up trays, plates, and things I didn't know I need, like this.   I bought a lot from the Floor Plan series in 2008; probably the closest I'll ever get to living in a classic 6.  Ah, well.  Hard to believe I didn't purchase this very perceptive item:

My sentiments exactly.

If it were a travel mug, I guarantee I would have bought it for my walk to work. When I transferred to where I work now, I initially took the subway in the morning, but going only 4 stops seemed like a waste of money. It takes me about 40 minutes to walk.  The first 20 minutes are great, but after that, as my office is close to the lake, the journey gets tricky. Around Queen Street, I encounter the suburban train crowd coming into the city from Union station-  a sea of rushed smokers, texters, and wheeled suitcases.  I am often the only person walking against the tide.

Initially, it freaked me out.  I mean, there was this wave of humanity coming at me, taking up 95% of the sidewalk, but they seemed to want more.  There are still people who give me dirty looks when I won't get out of their way by walking in the street.  I have actually snorted "This isn't a one-way sidewalk, you know!".  And I have walked right through a few people, line-backer style. In time, I have gotten better at negotiating my narrow southbound lane; I keep to the right, and I keep alert.  Still, if you come at me with your head down, you will find yourself in a game of Chicken with me. I'm not saying you'll lose, but... I don't know how to finish that sentence...

The Point of No Returns

No, you can't return all that shit!

I did a bad, bad thing. These shoes, from 2 posts down?  I returned them.  Here's the thing- the forecast for New York got better, and the last time I wore them, though I didn't get blisters, the lack of support made my feet ache.  I fared much better in my white Birkenstocks. Since they're rubber, I cleaned them up and was prepared to righteously declare that no, of course I didn't wear them! if the sales person had asked.
Instead, the guy didn't even open the box, making me wish I had stuck my $6 Old Navy flip flops in the box instead.  But I'd never do that.  I feel bad enough for returning gently used rubber shoes.

The reason I feel bad is that I worked in retail for years.   I have been the person in the store who listened to the bullshit stories, and I have been the analyst at the corporate headquarters who tracked returns and formulated the policy.  Returns drive me nuts.

Also, I am someone with the shame gene, which seems to have been bred out of most people.  I seriously don't know how people have said the things they've said to me when returning used merchandise.  A selection from several stores I've worked at, recreated for your amusement:

"I'd like to return this [$350] tablecloth"
"It has a mustard stain on it."
"Yeah."
"Did it have a mustard stain on it when you bought it?"
"No."
"Uh, you can't return this."
"But why???"


"I'd like to return these 8 napkins, 8 napkin rings, 8 charger plates, 8 wine glasses, and 8 dessert plates."
"How was the party?"


"I'd like to return this lipstick [to a store in Toronto]."
"We don't sell this brand, unfortunately."
"Yeah, I know, I didn't get it here."
"Uh, where did you get it?"
"The Sak's in Palm Beach.  But I don't like the colour."


"I'd like to return this porcelain gravy boat."
"It's broken."
"I dropped it."
"You can't return it."
"But it's broken! What am I supposed to do with it?"


We eventually accepted all the returns except the broken gravy boat, and that lady came back to the store a half a dozen times, to ask literally everyone who worked there. So yes, the squeaky wheel does indeed get the grease, but trust me, everyone in the store thinks you're an asshole.  Oh, and don't yell at the cashier, or even the manager.  They are just following the rules. And if you try to return rubber shoes, give them a good wipe down first.

Everywhere Is Not Home Depot

This is not evening wear.

Last Friday we went to the 21 Club for a pre-theatre dinner, and then on to the Belasco Theatre to see Neil Patrick Harris in Hedwig and the Angry Inch.  The dinner was amazing, and NPH blew my mind (I now have a serious crush on him, but we'll deal with that later). Afterwards, we stopped by The Modern for a late drink.  Sounds like a classy evening out, right?  Well, almost.

Here's the thing: I don't understand why people don't dress for the occasion.  I realize I am almost alone in this, however.

21 has a dress code, and they enforce it, thank God, but at the theatre?  Christ, you'd think I was at the Home Depot based on what most people had on.  This isn't elitist, either- if I could see you, you were sitting in front of me, so your tickets had to cost $300 and up.  I'm thinking if you can afford the ticket to the show, you can afford a shirt with buttons on it, as opposed to the t-shirt you picked up at Comic-Con 2012 (seriously, that is what the guy right in front of me was wearing).

The ladies were no better.  In fact, many of them were dressed the same as the fellas: t-shirt, cargo shorts, and running shoes.  In New York. On a Friday night. In a Broadway theatre. There was a woman in The Modern wearing a pink velour track suit and dirty running shoes.  She couldn't be poor, because she was in a place where the drinks are $16. When did this become a thing?

Some helpful questions to ask yourself when getting dressed for a night out:


Is this what I wore the last time I mowed the lawn? 

Would this outfit be perfectly suited to the McDonald's drive-thru?

Could I comfortably complete a marathon in these shoes?

Is there something "hilarious" written on my t-shirt?

If you answer Yes to any of the above, I implore you to go back to your closet and start outfit planning anew.  Or go to the nearest Joe Fresh and get a damn dress or a dress shirt and pants.  You don't have to break the bank.  The bar is so low these days, that in a navy v-neck chiffon dress from Ann Taylor, I looked like The LSD compared to everyone else.

A night on the town is supposed to be different from a night at home.  I don't understand why you would show up at an elegant bar or a storied theatre dressed like you are about to binge-watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey on your sofa while eating KFC. I think you are disrespecting your surroundings, and your fellow patrons.  And you're pissing me off. You really don't want to do either.