And
what you drank.We sissie-wussie Americans—in winter we crank up the heat, in summer we turn on the air conditioner. Not long ago, the seasons meant something and the weather dictated everything from how you dressed to what you ate.
And
what you drank.
A LUPEC delegation was reminded of this upon revisiting one of Pittsburgh’s grandest buildings, the Omni William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh. Designed by the Pittsburgh architectural firm of Janssen & Cocken in 1914, the OWPH exudes Robber Baron opulence on a massive scale. Henry Clay Frick, the Robber Baronest of them all, underwrote the project in an effort to provide Pittsburgh with a hotel worthy of he and his gilded age peers. The William Penn has changed hands many times since, but generations of owners have wisely maintained much of the lush Edwardian feeling. The William Penn still has a damn palm court, complete with gilded coffered ceilings, vast chandeliers, and huge marbled Ionic columns. It’s quite a feeling to be spun out of the brass and glass revolving doors, thru a black marble foyer, and up into said palm court. You can sit there and read your last weeks New York Times Book Review. No one asks you why you are sitting there—very classy.
Last
winter Sapphi and Monday had a lovely time at the OWPH. They had good drinks,
a nice chat with the bartender, and a frequently repeated offer of lodging “anytime”
they were up in Boston from some guy whose wife eventually came down to collect
him and take him off to bed. However, Monday got writers block and never finished
the review. Obviously another visit was in order.
The Palm Court in June was much different from the Palm Court in January. 
The
January crowd was so small that everyone there took on the endearing qualities
of orphans or refugees. Little blue haired ladies drinking scotch with their
hats on (“Awww!”). Business men comparing pictures of their children (“Awwww!”).
Either part of a wedding party or a very small orchestra (“Hmmm…”). The Palm
Court in June, however, was hopping. There was no information concerning what
conferences were staying there, but there was a heavy European contingent, as
evidenced by the many men wearing socks with sandals and shoes without socks.
Sapphi and Monday were lucky to get the last table by the bar. As in January,
the service was quick with the drinks and quite generous with the nuts. It’s
a classy joint—you get warm nuts in a little bowl. Marvel at the cashew to peanut
ratio for it is high! Sapphi started with her summer martini, which is the usual
Bombay Sapphire, but with a twist instead of an olive. Monday ordered her old
friend, Tom Collins. Both turned out to be good choices and both were well made
and tastefully garnished.
As they sipped, our reporters realized that the OWPH was timeless. Unlike some of the current over-hyped theme bars with decks on a waterfront, this place changed with the seasons but maintained both character and quality year round. The OWPH wears its layers of history lightly and, when the waitress spoke admiringly of how Pat Benetar “knew how to stay in a hotel,” it didn’t seem a bit out of place with the ghosts of Frick, Lillian Russellor others on the roster of 19th century visitors. The OWPH has been wise to both maintain the character of the grande dame hotel without lapsing into a Disneyfied fictionalization. The menu, for example, was very modern, and Monday and Sapphi approved heartily of the “Jazz Trio” appetizer platter—barbequed shrimp, miniature spring rolls, and bruchetta. Not bad at all.
A Gimlet, a Sidecar, and two more Tom Collinses later and it was time to go. Sapphi and Monday realized that their quick fact-finding mission had taken 4 hours and dinner. If Monday didn’t finish the article this time, they would have to rent a room.
Which, actually, is not a bad idea…