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ROOMS
If you don’t like the first one—complain. We did—after the incessant
beeping of the garbage trucks and the delivery trucks at the garage
directly across the street and below our room. Enough already. We’re
here for five nights—and we’re not going to take it anymore.
Fortunately, we did not have to—because we were quickly moved, and
upgraded, to a suite of rooms on a higher floor with a view of—well,
the courtyard, but a nice one at that. The bed was lusciously
dressed and we slept quite well, and perhaps partially because the
bedroom had no windows. Fine—given the sitting room with its view
of—well, not only the courtyard, but a few bits of skyline as well.
Shades of lavender abounded, tasteful and judicious—and the dressing
room itself was large enough to park a Range Rover, and encircled by
mirrors. As for the bathroom—well, it was a reminder of how the Clift used to be. The tub still the same—and the oversized and
overstyled mirrored vanity slammed onto the other wall as if to deny
that the room had roots in 1945.
PUBLIC SPACES
By now, even Martians must be familiar with Philippe Starck’s
polymorphic style, and particularly as utilized in the Ian Schrager/Morgans
Hotel Group collection. The Clift’s lobby, for example, adheres to
Starck’s eclectic and dramatic propensities, albeit with respect for
the Clift’s nearly-century-old storied past. In other words, the
fabled redwood remains—but it’s been tweaked to showcase the surreal
furnishings. The Redwood Room itself looks better than ever—and hums
with a surfeit of energy on most evenings (or so might believe a
number of San Francisco’s old guard). In a nod towards San
Francisco’s notoriously moody weather, there’s an ancillary lounge
set up with backgammon boards and such—and with a cocktail or two,
there are certainly worse ways to while away San Francisco’s chill
or rain.
BREAKFAST
Served in what was once a rather fusty French restaurant and is now
another branch of the Chodorow money machine, Asia de Cuba,
breakfast is mercifully quiet and calm, nearly serene. The buffet
stretches the length of the hand-etched Venetian mirror communal
dining table, and while its selections might be considered somewhat
predictable, they are all prepared and presented in a manner in
keeping with the tenets of the San Francisco foodie crowd. The
service is hushed and professional, as if the servers were
auditioning for a gig with Thomas Keller or Alice Waters. In fact,
the room in the morning hours has the feel of Keller’s Bouchon
Bakery at the Venetian in Vegas—and you’re quite happy to be there.
PERSONNEL
Cheerful and earnest, and helpful when requested to be so.
LOCATION
Though the Clift sells itself as being in the heart of Union Square,
it’s actually closer to the armpit—for if one were to exit the Clift
and head to the left, for example, the neighborhood soon becomes a
bit seedy. This is the fringe of the Tenderloin, after all, and the
neighborhood still suffers from an abundance of homeless and those
in need of social services. There are certainly more attractive San
Francisco neighborhoods. On the other hand, if one exits and turns
right, marching briskly to Union Square, it’s quite possible to
believe that all of San Francisco is quite lively and bourgeois—and
overwhelmed by tourists. Regardless of which way one turns upon
exiting the Clift, the immediate neighborhood is in sharp contrast
to the sanctuary provided by the Clift’s interior spaces.
OVERVIEW
Years ago, my godfather came to San Francisco to visit me—and stayed
at the Clift. This was years before Ian Schrager took over—and in
fact, might well have been during the time when Schrager was behind
bars for tax evasion. But never mind about that… At the time, my
godfather was of the very considered opinion that the Clift was
where anyone who was anyone stayed. (He abhorred Nob Hill—for the
very fact of it being on a hill…) My godfather would hardly
recognize the Clift these days—but I do believe he would appreciate
the changes. There’s quite a bit of conviviality—and an inordinate
number of quite attractive people—and often cars and drivers idling
out in front—and well-mannered bellboys, who happen to be quite
comely as well—and friendly—and the drinks are strong, and there are
plenty of them, and when you’re ready, your well-appointed room is
upstairs, a mere elevator ride away. He would’ve approved—and so do
we. |
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