I hoof-it whenever possible and have become a grime-covered veteran of the New York City subway system (always carrying a Metrocard). Taxis for me are a last-resort option, maybe, when I have less than twenty minutes to get from Battery Park up to Central Park. And I’m not beyond an ”I’m walkin’ here!” pedes- trian shout at an encroaching vehicle in my crosswalk.
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On this particular weekend, I’ve escorted my wife and two kids as they’re partici- pating in the annual Origami USA con- vention. While my brood is folding, manipulating and consorting with fellow enthusiasts, I get to do the town solo. My plan is to go - wherever. Do whatever.
But first, it’s time for that shower!
The view from our 32nd floor perch is the most spectacular one I have ever had from a hotel room in New York; a sweep- ing vista showing off the shimmering Hudson River beyond. And that’s just the vantage point from the deep marble bathtub.
In typical (read: exquisite) Trump fash- ion, the Soho property - part million + dollar condo and part luxe hotel (391 guest rooms) - is a crowning, soaring landmark along the western edge of this most prestigious part of town, a superstar locale in a neighborhood fairly devoid of prime lodging opportunities. Shops, gal- leries, restaurants and boutiques galore - sure - but until the Trump Soho opened this past April, it was no good luck trying to find a decent hotel in that part of town.
Our room is so atypical from those boxy Midtown hotel spaces we’re used to. It is replete with chic Fendi Casa furniture; dark wood panels hug the cream col- ored walls, and whoa - check this out! Click the remote (or a hidden wall switch) and you can open the shades/turn off-on select lights; create temperature zones.
I recall when the TV clicker used to only change channels as my 8 year-old makes the living room blinds go up and down, up and down...
Showered, decently dressed (no more glares from the lobby fashionistas) we make our way into the heart of Soho. It’s twilight and lovely; a cool breeze brushes us as we take in the hip street scene. Hunger immediately tugs at our tummies and, as if on cue, an attractive young host- ess asks if we’d like to see the menu she’s holding outside an adorable Florentine trattoria. Later, we’ll all reflect on how sat- isfying that place - Ristorante Savore - was for all of us.
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The main lobby is understated, yet sub- lime. Long rectangular fountain pools reflect the squiggly whimsy of blown glass mobiles floating above. Meanwhile, the staff of the most professional bellmen I’ve ever met smile, greet and assist their valued clientele. The scene is as much Miami Beach as it is NYC.
The property boasts 12,000 square feet of banquet space, a just-debuted Turkish spa - two stories of pampering and relaxing, the notable Quattro Gastronomia Italian restaurant, and a rooftop pool and lounge.
It’s definitely an Ari Gold kind of place. Mid-Atlantic EVENTS Magazine 79
My son and daughter make quick work of their tasty flat bread pizza while my wife tucks into her agnolotti, delicate pasta purses filled lovingly with tender goose and a silken black truffle puree. Meanwhile, I go fishing - Branzino, a sweet, light and lacquored repast. A shared tiramisu for dessert and some strong espresso make for the perfect meal pre-theater.
Soon, we duck into the subway and ride up to bustling Broadway to take in the show Billy Elliott.
The next day the family checks into their origami convention and gets settled while I roam the city. First, I tread through Little Italy which, in all honesty, is my only disappointment during this trip. Where so many other Manhattan neigh- borhoods are thriving - gentrification abounding in the Lower East Side and a cool vibe emanates from the West Village - that old time city bastion of sons and daughters from the boot is now a sad shadow of its former self. I look at run- down brownstones and move on...
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Soon I’m in the heart of The Bowery. Turning onto Bleeker Street, I note a long line of patron-wannabes snaking out from the Double Crown. Being solo, I brush on by the hungry masses and sidle onto a bar stool.
A well-regarded restaurant (awarded Two Stars by the New York Times), the Double Crown offers an east-west mélange of atmospherics and cuisines: British pub flair combines with Far eastern accents - woody beams and coffered screens, all encased in a part-industrial - semi-nostal- gic and lofty environment.
I order a lime kissed Bloody Mary and a Nova lox sandwich while people-watch- ing. Vital Baby Boomers with ruddy cheeks rub elbows with youthful East
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