You walk into a hotel lobby and find an envelope waiting for you. It looks vaguely antiqued. It’s closed
with a wax seal. Inside: important things written in calligraphy.
No, the pope isn’t asking you for a meeting while he’s here.
It’s actually a secretive list of spirits at Quadrant, three fetching new rooms of cocktailery at the Ritz-Carlton, open now.
You may remember the old, stodgy Lobby Lounge. This is different. Everywhere, there’s a dark shade of gray, with nooks of velvet and leather. (Witness the slideshow.)
And here’s a few times when it’ll prove useful:
An after-work tryst with someone you maybe shouldn’t be trysting with. A fireplace, plus drinks with smoked pineapple and honey spiced ice, makes anything more justifiable.
An excessive celebration. You’ll ask for the reserve list. They’ll hand you that sealed envelope. In there: names like Pappy Van Winkle and Louis XIII.
A football watch party. Or papal-procession viewing party. Whatever. You’re in the private room, delineated by a purple velvet curtain. There’s a TV. And you’re having bowls of tequila-spiked punch, lamb pretzel sliders and waffle fry nachos.
You wouldn’t toast Kirk Cousins with anything less.
No, the pope isn’t asking you for a meeting while he’s here.
It’s actually a secretive list of spirits at Quadrant, three fetching new rooms of cocktailery at the Ritz-Carlton, open now.
You may remember the old, stodgy Lobby Lounge. This is different. Everywhere, there’s a dark shade of gray, with nooks of velvet and leather. (Witness the slideshow.)
And here’s a few times when it’ll prove useful:
An after-work tryst with someone you maybe shouldn’t be trysting with. A fireplace, plus drinks with smoked pineapple and honey spiced ice, makes anything more justifiable.
An excessive celebration. You’ll ask for the reserve list. They’ll hand you that sealed envelope. In there: names like Pappy Van Winkle and Louis XIII.
A football watch party. Or papal-procession viewing party. Whatever. You’re in the private room, delineated by a purple velvet curtain. There’s a TV. And you’re having bowls of tequila-spiked punch, lamb pretzel sliders and waffle fry nachos.
You wouldn’t toast Kirk Cousins with anything less.