Shaken, or stirred?

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Louis XIV stands guard outside Louis XV. Superstitious gamblers touch his right leg for good luck, giving him an uneven shine!

My friend, Joseph the butler, tells me you should never order your martini shaken, the broken ice bruises the gin. Winston Churchill was so protective of his gin, he suggested his bartender merely look at the vermouth when making his martini. But as I walked into the Bar Américain at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo, I was worried that a tuxedo clad Roger Moore would disapprove, so I ordered a Cosmopolitan. I must not be the only one who gets confused, because the menu at the bar, offers to make your martini shaké!

I had been intimidated about a lot more than how to order my drink that evening. How does one dress for The Casino? Could everyone tell I was just a poser? How much did I risk loosing? How odd was it to be a woman alone at the bar? I hadn’t felt this insecure since I had been thrown back on the dating circuit after 20 years of marriage. I reminded myself that nobody cared what I wore, nobody was really even aware I existed, so it was time to start having fun.

When I am traveling solo, one of my greatest pleasures is people watching, so I settled in and got busy watching the remarkable normal looking crowd that surrounded me. A lot of casually chic Italians, a French couple with their 7 year old and some business men in the back. Daniel Craig, Sean Connery and Pierce Brosnan were all absent and unaccounted for. I did so two dashing gentlemen in tuxs, clearly waiting to escort their ladies to an elegant but uneventful dinner at the Louis XV, Alain Ducasse’s 3 star restaurant in the hotel’s lobby.

My diner was upstairs at Le Grill, where my sommelier spoiled me rotten and I had a butter-laced lemon soufflé that was the ideal of sweet and sour. After dinner I headed across the street to the casino. I entered and was surprised to see Vegas style one armed bandits lining the halls. The room was virtually empty; a bartender, two dealers at 21 tables and a handful of clients. Most of them in jeans. The roulette tables were dormant. I headed towards the next room, where its sound like there may be more gamblers. This was the area for the more elegant crowd, but there were no tuxedos, or even a nod towards evening wear. Friday casual wear is all that’s required on a Monday night in the off season. The roulette wheel was spinning at two tables with minimum bets in the 5-10€ range.  A plump Asian lady, well into her 60’s was betting intently, a tall European man wearing a fanny pack was trying to decide between the two tables. This was not the sophisticated European crowd I’d been dreading. These were gamblers. My inhibitions melted away, as did any desire to place a bet.

The casino shares a lobby with the Opéra de Monte Carlo. As I left, a lively aria wafted into the large, open hall, echoing off the stone pillars and reverberating in the cold, virtually empty space. I got closer to the doors of the opera house and a handsome gentleman on his cellphone nodded for me to enter. Was he mistaking me for someone else? Was this a public performance? I did not wait to find out, I tiptoed in, sat down in the small theater and marveled at the scene before my eyes; the operatic version of Arthur and the Minimoys being sung in a room so ornate, it looked like an inverted jewel box.

The Prince Albert’s royal lodge loomed directly above, devoid of anyone, but full of promise. Monte Carlo was turning out to be as surprising as its myth.

A sommelier…

Screen shot 2014-03-03 at 10.16.33 AMMimosa blossoms hummed a vivid yellow against the crystalline blue skies. It had been the rainiest winter on record, but the sun was shining so bright over Monte Carlo, I had peeled off several layers and was down to a light t-shirt as two costumed doormen escorted us through the revolving doors and into cool, refreshing marble clad beauty of the Hôtel de Paris.

I was right on time for my 15h appointment, which meant I was typically late, having miscalculated that I’d need to check-in. Details are not my forté! In no time, the formalities had been taken care of and I was being escorted into the mythic caves (wine cellars, but caves sounds so much more mysterious, non?) of the Socitété des Bains de Mers, the company founded by Prince Charles II of Monaco in 1863.

because every girl should have her very own sommelier...

because every girl should have her very own sommelier…

A handsome, young sommelier, Fabien, one of an impressive team of 7 was there to greet me, proud to be sharing the largest privately held collection of wines in Europe, with over 6000 references for 400,000 bottles, 90% of them French held in 100 year old chambers of 80% humidity. We walked pass rows of Côtes du Rhone, Burgundy and Bordeaux, to the Ranier family cellar where Princess Grace and her Prince celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary over a Chateau Margaux ’29. In the excitement of imagining her dining by candle light in a white fur (totally my imagination, her wardrobe for the evening) I sent my pen crashing on to the cement floor. Which brought an end to my note taking and explains the fact that there are no more facts…

Screen shot 2014-03-03 at 4.31.50 PMFabien guided me to the gated room that holds the most precious wines, which include the last few bottles of Petrus’45; a landmark year that is known not only for the excellent vintage, but because it was the last harvest done almost exclusively by women, as all the men were still at the front. While telling me this tale, he snakes his arms through the metal bars, grabs an ancient Chateau d’Yquiem, and brings it into the light, showing me the tobacco toned liquor as I squeal in fear that he drop the bottle. I see the cave dedicated to Pétrus, Y’Aquiem and des Pins. I see the new stock that has just arrived and is being put down for the next decade, or so, the romm where the sommeliers taste potential new acquisitions and I see the room where a private party can be held by candle light, the seductive scent of wine cellar in the air. We leave through a staff elevator, that lets us out into the lobby of the Hermitage Hotel. The cellar connects the two hotels, for the ultimate in discretion.

At dinner that evening I put myself in Fabien’s very competent hands, letting him choose a glass to accompany my grilled catch of the day, at Le Grill restaurant. He had me compare two glasses of white, explaining that he usually hates comparisons, but thought I’d enjoy this one. My dinner date and I had the same impression of the two wines. One was more complex and interesting than the other. He stunned us by explaining that the two glasses held the exact same natural Bordeaux wine from the exact same bottle, but he had shaken the bottle and let it sit before serving the second glass, “degaz-ing” it and removing some of the sulfites. It was an impressive lesson that has already come in handy…

ps If you ever find yourself in Monte Carlo, be sure to dine at Le Grill and order their lemon souffle. I’m already scheming a return trip, if just for that!

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