The Peninsula
Beverly Hills, California
By Jean T. Barrett
Stroll into the Peninsula Beverly Hills during cocktail hour and
you'll be treated to a scene that can only be described as a scene
from When Worlds Collide. To your left is the Club Bar, which
Los Angeles magazine dubbed the city's "best power bar" last
year. On a recent Friday, it was crammed to the maple-paneled rafters
with an astonishing cross section of L.A. West Side society. Most of
the patrons appear to have been buffing and dieting all week so they
can spend several hours in the Club Bar downing Absolut on the rocks,
scarfing up pistachio nuts and spiced taro chips, checking each other
out, and gossiping about who's over budget on which picture and whose
$3.5 million beachhouse isn't moving because it's overpriced in a soft
market.
Across the lobby is a jarringly different vista, that of a vast,
elegant drawing room furnished with oversized brocade-upholstered
sofas--seemingly straight out of the nineteenth century. Behind glass
screens, fires crackle in two fireplaces, while a harpist plucks the
chords of Pachelbel's Canon. A gowned hostess is serving high tea to a
group of gentlemen dressed in business suits and turbans. The loudest
sound is the clinking of silver spoons against Limoges teacups.
These worlds coexist happily at the Peninsula Beverly Hills, a
thoroughly civilized hostelry almost equidistant between Rodeo Drive
and Century City. A pair of local developers (the brothers Bo and
Robert Zarnegin) own 80 percent of the hotel, and the Peninsula Group
of Hong Kong owns the remaining 20 percent. The trans-Pacific
partnership has worked well-in two short years the Peninsula has
earned a secure spot in the Filofaxes of discriminating travelers
worldwide. Even the locals like it; the Club Bar is one of the hottest
watering holes in town for grownups, and Roseanne and Tom Arnold are
said to retreat to a suite in the hotel when completing writing
projects.
The Peninsula's accommodations, which begin at $265 a night, are
appointed with distinctive furnishings and fabrics that don't scream
hotel. Standard amenities include three two-line phones, in-room safes
and fax and modem capabilities. Suites boast faxes and CD players, and
many have walk-in closets, private balconies, and kitchens. The hotel
also offers two floors of villas at the back of the property, each
with its own entrance onto the lushly landscaped courtyard. The
Peninsula's public-relations director confides that the villas are
favored by guests who are undergoing plastic surgery at the renowned
Lasky Clinic, adjacent to the hotel. Guests who wish to come and go
discreetly from the clinic often request a villa with a private door
onto the back street.
One factor that separates the Peninsula Beverly Hills from its upscale
competition in the area is its lack of large function space. You won't
find yourself trapped in a cavernous hotel ballroom with no exterior
windows, you won't run into people wearing name tags, and you won't
have to wait 45 minutes for your car because some $500-a-plate gala is
just getting out. The Peninsula's only large space for parties is the
Verandah Room, a charming space that opens onto a garden courtyard and
accommodates 90 for a sit-down dinner. Hotel staffers quip that it's
the perfect size for second or third weddings.
My idea of a truly good time is to knock off work early in the
afternoon and hang out at the Peninsula's rooftop pool. Canvas-draped
cabanas to block those Southern California rays flank the 60-foot pool
and are available on a first-come, first-served basis. The cabanas
have become prized locations for afternoon-long private meetings, so
if you want to be sure one will be available, a C-note will reserve it
for a day- complete with a fruit basket and Evian water to quench your
thirst. Request a phone, dial up your attorney in some
northeast-facing Century City high-rise, and ask him whether he can
spy you waving from your lounge chair.
The Peninsula permits cigar smoking in the Club Bar and on the outdoor
dining terrace of the excellent formal dining room, the Belvedere. If
it's a warm night, enjoy your roasted rack of lamb under the stars
(if they are visible through what L.A. boosters call the marine layer
and what others just call smog) and savor your postprandial smoke
free from the glare of sensitive patrons. But remember that this is
California, and familiarize yourself with the local ordinances before
you light up. At the time of this writing, two bills banning smoking
in restaurants were being considered by the state legislature.
-- Jean T. Barrett
Jean T. Barrett is a Los Angeles-based writer on wine, spirits,
food and travel.
The Peninsula Beverly Hills
9882 Santa Monica Blvd.
Phone:
(310) 273-4888
Room Rates: from $265 per night
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