Zip, zip, zip—that’s the story of my life, endlessly jaunting from here to there. And, frankly, I would have it no other way. I once flew from Milan, Italy to New York City and then jumped in a car bound for tiny Milan, New York: I wonder if anyone else in the homely hamlet had ever gone straight from the namesake city to its rolling hills, curiously pronounced “My-lan.”
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| Hollywood Regency takes center stage at the Viceroy Palm Springs. Photo courtesy of Heather Parker |
But back to California …
And so, like all good things, my Palm Springs adventure drew to a close. Other highlights of my five days in this sun-kissed paradise? A fabulous poolside dinner at designer Kelly Wearstler’s Viceroy Palm Springs hotel, where we supped upon a cooling watermelon and heirloom tomato salad rich with feta cheese before moving on to Marcona almond-dusted diver scallops with grapefruit butter. It was the most glamorous evening under the stars, and I was truly smitten. John and I drove all over town and scoped a few homes that we would like to own one day, played gobs of tennis and returned to Trina Turk for floral-patterned sport coats.
And then it was freeway city, destination LA. We cranked up the tunes—especially “Bulletproof” and Goldfrapp’s “Number One”—and, yes, we zipped into town, checking into the Andaz West Hollywood hotel, aka the “Riot House.” The latest from the folks at Hyatt, the Andaz brand is all about “authenticity,” and since West Hollywood is apparently a party bastion, the hotel was filled with folks who looked like they hadn’t slept in days. “Riot House”—the hostelry’s nickname from its former incarnation as a straight-on Hyatt—seems to still be the guest M.O. Ah, but if you are young and seeking some Sunset Strip thrills, this just might be the place for you.
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| The elegant, sleek dining room at Andaz West Hollywood's RH. Photo courtesy of Andaz West Hollywood. |
For me, the highlight of the hotel was its stellar restaurant, RH, “RH” being a play on the Riot House sobriquet. Happily, the restaurant is anything BUT a party palace: The dining room is stunning, the service attentive and the cooking sublime. I was a bit perplexed at first as not a single bra was doffed upon the bar and beautifully muddled cocktails seemed to be more apropos than a bucket of PBRs. But I quickly assimilated and blissed out as I savored chef Sebastien Archambault’s southwestern French-inspired cooking, such as the seared wild salmon with sorrel and green beans or the 12-hour-cooked boneless suckling pig. Perfection on a plate! A must, must, must visit.
On the way back to my room, a gaggle of drunken Paris Hilton-types packed into the elevator, quickly reminding me of the riotous good times to be had at the Andaz. I, on the other hand, turned off and tucked in.