I’d debated between my French high top sneakers or the YSL Tribute Sandals, in my head, in various moments throughout the earlier part of the day.
The high tops would be more comfortable, I could argue. But the stiletto-ed sandals had long been broken in and were easy to wear too.
The high tops expressed a respected casualness, communicating that I’d simply been walking out and decided to pop-in for a quick glass. But the sandals showcased elegance and respect for the setting.
“You never wear them,” that inner voice said to me, as I stood in front of my fancy Park Avenue hotel room.
Choice made.
Even though it meant I would be taking a cab the 16 blocks to the other hotel.
A few moments later, at precisely 3:57pm, I was in a cab and headed to the Carlyle Hotel at Madison and 76th Street. I jumped out to the curb in front of the revolving door and saw the sign to go around to the side. COVID restrictions we still in place.
Once inside, I asked if it was possible to get a seat at the bar, which had just opened. I was offered a table in the gallery part of the bar area. Which I ended up preferring. And I was the first person to be seated.
My waiter, an older man dressed in a white jacket, pointed to the QSR code menu card and asked me if I would like some water.
“Sparkling, please. Five hundred milliliters if you have it.”
While he stepped away, another couple came in and were seated at a table across the space.
“Tourists,” I noted.
I couldn’t help but judge.
Even though I myself was one too, despite having lived here and had come to this hotel bar quite a few times during that time.
I spotted my favorite on the menu, the Perrier-Jouet Grand Brut.
“I’d like a glass of the Perrier-Jouet,” I said when he returned with my sapphire blue bottle of sparkling water.
I opened my Kindle and picked up where I’d left off in Patrick Lenci0ni’s “The Five Dysfunctions of a Team.”
The other tables had been filled. The one right next to me had two younger women – probably in their early 30s – sitting at it.
They were obviously local, but not from the neighborhood. And listening to their conversation, it was apparent to me they’d never been to Bemelmans Bar.
“Ooohh… The Jackie,” one said, looking at the drink menu on her phone. It had a sparkly purple popsocket on the back of it, and her nails were painted a similar color. She tapped aggressively on the glass screen as she zoomed in and out of the menu.
I could hear the clacking of her nails as she tapped it.
They dissected the drink ingredients for the variety of Kennedy-esque drinks and the martini drinks.
“I wonder which Martini is less strong,” the other woman, without the purple nails, asked her friend. “Because, like, I don’t want a super strong martini.”
“So, like, maybe get the Vesper one?” sparkly purple suggested. “It’s got Lillet in it with the hard alcohol.”
Jesus Christ, I thought to myself.
I butted in.
“The way they make them here, they will all be proper strong martinis,” I said to the other woman, sipping my extremely full flute of champagne. “But you can order it aggressively shaken to dilute it more, or ask for a cocktail glass of ice on the side to dilute it yourself.”
They politely thanked me for the suggestion.
“My mom does that with Chardonnay,” sparkly purple said, nodding at me.
They then both ordered espresso martinis.
I went back to my book and my bubbles. Moments later my waiter appeared with a cocktail plate. He placed it front of me.
“Stop reading your book and have some nuts,” he said.
The plate had an elegant navy blue sleeve with metallic lettering that read, “Mixed Nuts.”
I laughed and thanked him,
I nibbled nuts and sipped, but went back to reading.
And, of course, eavesdropping on the conversation next to me.
The other woman let out a deep sign.
“I mean, I told them we need better goals. Brand isn’t a goal. We can’t measure brand,” she said to sparkly purple.
I refrained from butting in, though I very much wanted to.
How could these women, who clearly worked in marketing for some brand, be younger than me and not know how to use digital signals to measure brand marketing efforts?
Jesus Christ, I thought to myself.
I discreetly signaled to my waiter that I needed a second glass. And when he dropped it off, I also asked for the bill. I’d been told people could only have their tables for 90 minutes, and my limit was coming due.
I have a policy of never draining the last drink – if I have multiple drinks – dry. I always leave a sip or two left in it.
A prompt that my adventure at Bemelmans was not final. And that at some point I would return again.
When I had just a sip left, I tucked my electronic words in my bag, and slid out from my bench seat and table. I waved a “thank you” to my waiter, and went outside.
Only now, the 16 blocks back to my hotel didn’t seem so crazy to walk in the stiletto sandals.
That was clearly the champagne making that decision.
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