J’ai Deux Amours…

I have two loves: Entrecote in Paris and In-N-Out Burger in LA….

Returning to Paris after a four day carb fest in Saint Tropez/Ramatuelle, I was on a hunt. A howl and a whine and I found myself walking at a pace that might even be described as a trot to le “Relais de l’Entrecote”.

Fortunately, the “New Economy” has thinned usual lines of tourists waiting for a table at this Parisian establishment, and I was seated right away. Usually, I dine alone at Entrecote as most of my Parisian friends wouldn’t be caught dead in such a touristy restaurant.

Like In-N-Out, Entrecot offers little choice and has few complications. There is one question to answer and two to ask: “How do you want your meat cooked” followed with “May I have a half bottle of red?” and later “May I have the Profiteroles au Chocolat?”

All three locations are always full of American tourists and smiling French Waitresses. In-N-Out usually sets me back about $6, while Entrecot sets me back about $60.
I love le “Relais de l’Entrecote”, and I’m not ashamed!

15 Rue Marbeuf in the 8th

49 Rue Saint-Benoit or 101 Boulevard du Montparnasse in the 6th

www.relaisentrecote.fr

Ramatuelle Villa-St. Tropez

Available August 2009.  The Castle of Ramatuelle. $20,000 Per Week

Four Bedrooms.  Four and one half-baths in the center of the Ancient Village of Ramatuelle.

The home of shopkeeper Marjolaine Leray, this villa was recently renovated with modern comforts while retaining its original charm.   The three level villa is situated in the heart of Ramatuelle, just above the port of St. Tropez.

The ideal arrangement is to rent mopeds to easily access Club 55 during the day and village of St. Tropez in the evening.

Daily housekeeping is provided and the house manager will cook either lunch or dinner.

Please call Mr. Gatsby’s for more information.

Moises Esquenazi designs for Mr. Gatsby’s

The Sag Harbor Modernist Estate designed by Moises Esquenazi in Mr. Gatsby’s “Featured Section” is available for Summer Rental from August 1st through Labor Day.  The property sits on approximately one and a half acres with views of the Harbor.  There are four full bedrooms and baths as well as one half bedroom and bath.  The property is slated to be featured in Metropolitan Home Magazine in October 2009.

A native of Bogotá, Colombia, Moises Esquenazi’s interest and early education in art were fostered by his grandmother, an artist and patron of contemporary Colombian artists, as well as by his father, an ambassador, engineer and farmer.  Esquenazi was educated primarily in the U.S., earning a B.A. from Cornell University and an M.F.A. from the University of Southern California. Esquenazi’s early career was spent as an architectural renderer and animator, working on such projects as Steve Wynn’s Freemont Street Experience in Las Vegas and the AT&T Olympic Pavilion in Atlanta. His education in architecture and fine arts as well as the skills he fine-tuned as an animator proved invaluable for 3-D modeling and rendering when he transitioned into a new career as an interior and products designer seven years ago. Esquenazi is also an accomplished photographer, having exhibited at The Makor Center in New York City. Oceans & Hedges is his most recent photography series, which will be exhibited in June 2008. He will also be shooting one of his Hamptons projects for Hamptons Cottages & Gardens Magazine in the spring.Whenever possible, Esquenazi customizes his clients’ homes by designing furnishings or wall coverings for them. Instead of focusing on a particular style, he strives to integrate the client’s background with the style of the architecture and the local surroundings, and always allowing function to guide the design. Having the focus on function permits the client to drop some pre-conceived ideas of what the space should look like, resulting in a more creative use of elements, such as the “conversation daybed’ which has become a signature element. The idea of a daybed allows families and friends to take off their shoes and gather in a cozy area to relax and visit.

How to Travel in (Relative) Luxury

To me, living in luxury is living within one’s means while making smart choices about time and money. Living a life of luxury isn’t about vulgar, conspicuous consumption or displaying wealth (or illusions of wealth). Mr. Gatsby’s aspires to report about unique treats, haunts and experiences independent of price.

Traveling to Paris to work to report on the Yves Saint Laurent Auction and to preview villa rentals for Mr. Gatsby’s Chic Experiences, I tried to be very deliberate in my travel choices. My budget, beyond the cost of the hotel, was 100 euros per day, and I wrote every single expense in my pocket journal. I ‘m not very good at “sticking” to a budget, but “tracking” to a budget gave me sense of empowerment. Many days I broke the budget, but writing each expense down made me aware of what I was spending.

A few tips:
Da Plane Da Plane….use Points! When not pursuing the life of a Travlelisto, I build and remodel homes in the Hamptons. When buying appliances, lumber, and furniture, I use my American Express which has enabled me to accumulate a fair amount of points. I booked my ticket to Paris using points and used American Express Travel which is very helpful in navigating blackout dates.

Hotel Bookings. Paying for my flight with points allowed me more of an indulgence for my hotel expense. Most “luxury” hotels aren’t eager to discount their nightly rate, but are willing to offer “packages” such as spa packages or meal plans. I reserved the basic room at the hotel and was offered my fifth night free, and when I arrived I was upgraded to a junior suite with a terrace facing the avenue. Usually, I prefer to stay on the Left Bank, but I chose to stay in the 8th to be walking distance to the Grand Palais which is where Christie’s was exhibiting the Yves Saint Laurent collection.

Don’t order hotel coffee. Unfortunately, my hotel didn’t offer a meal plan, and I refuse to pay 35 euros (plus service) for a pot of coffee. The price of coffee motivated me to leave the hotel earlier than I might otherwise have. I discovered a great café, La Grande Corona, at the foot of Avenue George V that offers omelets for 7 euros.

Publicis Drugstore on the Champs-Elysee Publicis is open until 2 a.m. and sells Evian for 1.15 euro. The store feels like a hybrid of White’s Pharmacy in East Hampton and Fred Segal on Melrose. There are various kiosks in the store selling perfume, champagne, chocolates, candles, magazines, Pierre Herme macaroons and Missoni sweaters.
Tipping is a Karma…good tipping brings good karma. I factor tips into my travel budget. I tip the doorman, the maid, and the concierge the first day I arrive.

Don’t aspire to be “Euro-trash”. When I was in my late teens, my friends and I would make pilgrimages into the New York to frequent Au Bar and Nell’s. Wearing a collective bad attitude and projecting a sense of entitlement as if we were minor royalty of undetermined European origin always gained us immediate access to the clubs and frequent admission to the “VIP Area”. At thirty-something, I don’t find acting like Euro-trash serves me well when actually traveling in Europe. A sincere “please” and “thank you” with a smile seems to be more effective these days.

Take a Lulu Lemom Tracksuit and Trainers. Running along the Seine is free and helps to shake jetlag.

YSL Auction, Grand Palais

There appeared to be absolutely no economic crisis in Paris last night as the private collection of Yves Saint Laurent and life partner Piere Berge became the most expensive one ever sold at auction, bringing in more than $262 million on the first night alone. There are two more auction days left!

The Grand Palais was almost at capacity filled with buyers, buyers’ agents, auctioneers, dignitaries and the press. There were over 1200 seated collectors. The electricity in the room began to magnify in the room as the early lots started exceeding original estimates. There were two high points of the evening. The Duchamp, piece “Beautiful Breath, Veil Water,” sold for six times its original estimate when a bidding war broke out between two American collectors, and the Matisse from 1911,a vase of cowslips on a carpet, sold for over $40 million, double its estimate.

Also sold were several paintings by Piet Mondrian which inspired the famous YSL Mondrian Dress.

As many of the lots started to exceed estimates, I turned to Paddle 619 seated next to me and remarked “this sure doesn’t feel like the New Economy.” He replied “sure it does. I would rather invest my money in amazing art or irreplaceable real estate than in the stock market. At least I have something I enjoy”.

Hmmm…the New Economy.

YSL Auctions, My 401k and Thoughts on Real Estate

620 was meant to be my lucky paddle number at the YSL auction. The paddle was assigned to me last Friday and would be my ticket to investing in the “New Economy”.

There was a private viewing of the Yves Saint Laurent collection at the Grand Palais this past weekend with much pomp and pageantry….a lot of pomp and a lot of pageantry if you catch my drift. In addition to putting themselves on display, many had come to pay respects to Saint Laurent and peek at the articles of his private life.

I had my eyes set on several pieces created by Claude and Francois-Xavier Lalanne after having seen the estimates in the Christie’s Catalogue. Given the mood in New York when I left, I was hoping these particular pieces would go towards the low end of the auction estimates. I thought this would be a great time to invest! When I need to retire, in forty years I can sell these pieces for thirty times what I paid giving me enough money to pay for astronomical insurance premiums and bad health care.

In addition to being my nest egg, my small collection of art and furniture is also something that gives me pleasure every day. As for other investments, my 401k now is worth the same amount of the actual cash contributions I made, and I quit investing in it almost ten years ago. When paper shredders first came out, I enjoyed shredding papers at my father’s office. But shredding those incomprehensible 401k statements doesn’t seem so fun anymore, well at least not as much fun as collecting art, furniture, and real estate.

John Thain, the former CEO of Merrill Lynch, must have thought similarly when he commissioned Michael Smith to decorate his then office for a reported $1.2 million. Knowing Michael’s work, I’m sure he selected wonderful antiques and rugs that have a tendency to appreciate in value. I saw Thain on the news apologizing for using Merrill’s money to decorate his office as the press badgered him for squandering Merrill’s money on furnishings when the company was generating multi-billion dollar losses. After all, the company had earned the right to decorate the CEO’s office by “earning” fees from 401k holders like me even if those fees didn’t’ make the company profitable….right?

If the “collection” Michael Smith assembled belonged to Merrill, Thain was actually investing well…investing much better than allocating more corporate funds to the toxic crap he and his cronies were hocking to other money mangers.

But Thain must be clever as a fox as they say. He said he would “make right” by offering to reimburse Merrill for the antiques and the rug in an attempt to atone for wrong doings. Might he have traded the value of his own Merrill stock “at the time the collection was assembled” so that he could take possession of those pieces? A shrewd investment indeed!

Thinking of Thain reminded me of a Merrill retail stockbroker who tried to hock me some stocks, mutual funds and term life insurance in my early twenties. I have a BS degree from the Hotel School at Cornell with a concentration in real estate and corporate finance. I had worked as consultant at Arthur Andersen, and even with this background, I wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand “whole life insurance”. I was hopeless at choosing stocks and always felt I was at least one day behind the market.

Instead, we bought a house in Los Angeles in the best area that we could afford (which felt quite expensive at the time). We paid the house down over the years instead of investing more money in a 401k or a Roth-IRA. When mortgage rates dropped a few years ago, I refinanced to a fifteen-year term at a 5 percent interest rate. Last year, we moved to Sag Harbor and now let (rent) the house in Los Angeles. If we were to moderate my lifestyle and spending habits just slightly, the income that the house in LA generates would be enough on which to live. The 401k plan doesn’t seem to offer quite the same flexibility as income producing real estate.

Other collectors attending the auction must also have had a similar investment perspective to mine as I lost out on bidding for the objects of my desire. Many of the YSL Lalanne pieces sold for more than ten times Christie’s high estimates. Such is a sign of investing in the New Economy. The buyers may have overpaid for the pieces, but unlike Madoff investors or Lehman bond holders, they have a story AND something to show for it…..

Good Intentions Gone Bad…

As I was driving through Provence in search of great villas to represent for the Travel Club, I passed by an empty farm stand, and I thought of my grandmother who lives in a small town outside Aiken, South Carolina (which itself is a small town). My grandmother loves to drive through the county from whence she hails and buy peaches and pecans. This is her form of “recreational shopping”.

I turned to my co-pilot and suggested that we find some locally grown lettuces or parsnips to offer our villa hosts. I think I made the declaration that driving leisurely through the country in search of fresh produce should be the new form or “recreational shopping”, and that I intended to write about it on the Blog.

We continued on through the vineyards and fields somehow winding our way down to the beach. It was after one o’clock, and I thought we shouldn’t “hunt” lettuces on empty stomachs so we ended up at Le Club Key West. The intention of “Recreational shopping” turned into the reality of “Recreational Drinking”…

Two bottles of wine and three hours later, I panicked. All the farm stands must be closed by now!

We ended up “hunting” for a parking spot at the Geant Marche, the French equivalent of a Wal-mart/King Kullen hybrid. We walked to the back of the store under fluorescent lights passing tabloids and frozen foods to pick out four bottles of wine. As we waited in line for the clerk to scan our merchandise, I thought. “So much for finding a farm stand out in the sunny countryside…”

Avoid Brunch on the Champs-Elysees at all cost!

Let’s face it, as a travelisto, one should aspire to have an open mind about new experiences and ideas. One of my goals on this sabbatical to Paris was to try to give up the need to be in control. So when a group of Parisian friends invited me to Sunday Brunch, I agreed without knowing the final destination. In my head I was associating the word “brunch” with a lingering afternoon reading the paper and talking at Estia’s Little Kitchen in Sag Harbor or Babette’s in East Hampton. I’m sure my friends must be taking me to the Parisian equivalent? Why did I need to know where we are going ahead of time? These folks were locals and why should I feel the need to Google information about the restaurant ahead of time or “corroborate” their opinions?

Signs of Danger

Sign 1
My first indication that something bad was about to happen flashed on the IM screen of my new Blackberry Bold: “Meet at the Southwest corner of the Champs-Elysees and look for Danish flag”. Okay, this message was the equivalent of telling someone to meet at 45th and Broadway and look for the Marriott Marquis…

“Open-mind…Open-mind”, I started to chant so I wouldn’t grind my back teeth.

Sign 2
Well, at least Spring was in the air. The sun was out and birds were chirping as I quickly identified the Danish Flags and passed through glass sliding doors into a foyer with ballroom carpet, flowers of questionable pedigree, and a hostess in a black polyester uniform. I felt a bit disoriented…this felt very reminiscent of stepping onto a Carnival Cruise ship in 1987. But, the space was very bright and sunny. It almost felt as if I were in an outdoor atrium or courtyard. Settling into the my surrounds a bit more, I noticed bird nests everywhere in various colors of blue and strawberry as pre-cognitive senses started to send more danger signs to my brain…

These weren’t nests! These were coifs! The room was full of geriatric women swarming around something I could not identify in the center of the room.

Sign 3
The reality of this horrible, horrible situation was finally hitting me. Though I was trying my best to keep an open-mind, in an instant I knew in my heart of hearts what was happening….I was at a Buffet!

In France, I get with the program and can eat snails. With enthusiasm, I’ve tried raw beef, and even smiled when I’ve eaten cow’s cheek or sheep’s brain. Was this a French buffet or a Danish Buffet anyway? I guess it didn’t matter the nationality of the buffet…it was still a buffet. And as I passed a pair of dentures floating in the bechamel sauce, I knew Destiny had sent me to such a place to atone for naughty things I must have done in the past.

But, in the end, I made it through that two and a half hour “experience” picking at a stale croissant trying to smile graciously at my hosts. I thought “I gave up control and made it through this challenge” as I surveyed the carnage of soiled white table clothes and red lipstick scars on countless glasses around me.

Secretly, I longed for the New York Times and a proper Sunday afternoon brunch on the East End of Long Island…

Talking with Betsey Johnson from Z to New York…

New Year’s was over and I was returning from a friend’s villa in Z.

Everyone had boarded the plane departing from the Zihuatanejo Airport, or so I thought, when “something” came spinning up the stairs just as the forward door was being closed (there are no air-bridges at this airport). This “something” hurled some sort of plastic gold suitcase which appeared to have been attacked by a Bedazzler and dipped in glitter into the cabin. As I flinched from the trajectory of sequins, glitter and rhinestones, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be blonde locks?

In usual circumstances, I would have panicked and grabbed someone’s child to throw at the oncoming assault. But I was in Mexico, and the two glasses of tequila I drank before embarking helped to slow my usually manic thought process so that I could more easily digest my situation. I had narrowed this situation down to only two possibilities: The Tasmanian Devil had retired to Mexico and was being called back to Warner Brothers for a new Bugs Bunny feature, OR the Chupacabra was making a daytime attack on a commercial aircraft.

Neither scenario proved correct: Betsey Johnson had just boarded the plane plopping down right next to me.

Betsy and I had met before briefly in Sag Harbor. Once she had buckled in, and we each had a drink to settle our nerves, she started telling me about her homes outside of “Z” (that’s short for Zihuatanejo) after I told her that I was looking at possibly representing villa rentals in Z for Mr. Gatsby’s Travel Club.

She had built two homes and was now putting them on the market. She told me of her love affair with Mexico….the colors, the ocean, the people. So, I asked her why she is now selling both her places? She told me that as an artist, Mexico gave her inspiration, but as a grandmother she wanted to be closer to her grandchildren. She had remodeled a home in East Hampton and the two-hour car ride from New York made her Hamptons home an easy destination. She told me that East Hampton gives her a different sense of inspiration as an artist. The town and her home there give her a sense of serenity.

She also talked about the challenges of being both an entrepreneur and a designer while managing to date a much younger Italian and build homes. At 65, she still oversees her entire collection and co-manages more than eighty stores which are all corporate owned. I asked where she was currently deriving inspiration? She told me that 80s punk was back, and that she was currently taking inspiration from her own vintage pieces.

I asked her what other designers inspired her and she immediately declared “Donna Karan”. She loved what Donna had done in Sag Harbor with Urban Zen mixing home decor with amazing sweaters and accessories. She also loved what the store stood for: mixing cultures and inspiring change through fashion and design. Betsey and I also talked about Donna’s daughter Gaby and what a wonderful job she had done with the restaurant Tutto Il Giorno adjacent to Urban Zen.

Though I was still cautious of her carry-on, Betsey bedazzled me. She had amazing energy, she was positive and she had designed a life that worked for her.

I’ll Take (A) Manhattan

Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité

Face up, I laid sprawled out diagonally across the sidewalk of Avenue Kleber with a twelve year old Louis Vuitton (pre-welovesprouse) tote in my left hand and a Jack Spade messenger bag twisted around my neck, and I thought about the French mottos “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, and It’s not possible”….

It was my last week in France, and I had many things to accomplish before leaving. I started marching up the Avenue at a pace that would be more than appropriate in New York, but slightly aggressive in Paris, particularly in the 16th. Rather than kick the woman’s poodle walking ahead of me, I stepped off the sidewalk into the street to bypass her. I misjudged the stoop stepping back up and crashed to the pavement with a grace that can only be described as American. This fraternity of Parisians universally ignored me as they elegantly stepped over me leaving me in silence. The poodle had the well-bred manners not to lick my face.

This Fraternity seemed to have an unwritten, but frequently spoken motto “It’s not possible”. Was I starting to hear this phrase more than Bonjour? Friends had taken me to a fashionable and tasty restaurant called 6 New York a few nights before, and I was so thirsty for a martini. When the waiter arrived at the table I smiled and asked for a Manhattan as I stared gleefully at the bar. “It’s not possible” and he then instantly disappeared offering me no alternatives. Granted, he was probably scared as the sound of me speaking French sounds like Chewbacca the Wookiee being electrocuted, but at least I was smiling…

Earlier that day at the local café I asked the barista if his fruit smoothies were made fresh. “Mais, oui”. Wonderful, could I have the strawberry smoothie on the menu, and could he add one of the bananas sitting on the basket in front of me? “It’s not possible”. But, why not? “Because we only have strawberry smoothies on the menu, not strawberry-banana.” But, I can pay for Banana as well. “It’s not possible”. Hmmm…this wasn’t Burger King, so I guess I didn’t have the liberté to have it my way…

During that same weekend, my friend and I went to the famous fashion haunt, Mathis Bar which is one of my favorite places in Paris. The décor feels like it was created by Kenzo who might have been inspired by a 1920’s Bordello. The music is fantastic and the scene of people is always over the top. We squeezed past recognizable fashion models fresh from rehab and headed directly to the bar with eager smiles in anticipation of a martini. We said good evening to the bartender and asked for a vodka martini and a Cosmo. We really offended this one because he screamed “It’s not possible”. Ignoring us, he shuffled to the other side of the bar to stare at some void in the left corner of the room.

Egalite? I pondered. Was everyone treated equally as badly in this Fraternity or were we not part of the Fraternity?

My companion and I began to sit down at the two vacant barstools to allow the bartender’s hormonal flash to pass, and this immediately caught his attention. “You cannot sit here!” Why I asked? “It’s not possible!”.

Somehow the two bottles of wine that my friend and I shared at dinner had made me very lucid. Within milliseconds, I was summarizing one of two strategies in dealing with this assault on our fun night out. I could use diplomacy to diffuse this bitter little man wearing some sort of Danskin leotard apparently stolen from his younger sister’s closet and made into a makeshift shirt. Or, I could engage him in a New York style confrontation that would result in one of us leaving the bar in tears. What would Obama do?

I chose diplomacy. I smiled and asked “are you having a good night?” Stung, he had not anticipated this. “No, it’s not such a good night”. Well, you could make it a great night for us if you will make us two Grey Goose sodas with limes. He began to pick up the vodka bottle and as his pupils gazed into another corner of the room, the whites of his eyes gestured for us to take the stools. We had passed the test! He liked us, and we felt we were part of the fraternity!

Being in France for over a month, I did start to understand the mottos. I didn’t see any Burger Kings anywhere in the city, and I couldn’t have it my way. The architecture, the culture, the elegance of Paris works because there is a consistency. “It’s not possible” was really a collective resistance to changing too quickly and a preservation of the integrity of the collective society. This City had maintained its elegance because it did not change too quickly and was not subject to the whims of individuals. And, hadn’t I retreated to Paris from the New Economy because of this elegance and slightly slower pace?

Paris had given me the reprieve I needed…time to wander, ponder and write. I was becoming eager to return so I could launch the new website for Mr. Gatsby’s Travel Club. I also understood that I was missing New York where everything is possible!

I’ll take Manhattan…(but I still love Paris and these strong-willed, difficult French!!!)