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Steven Comfort |
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If you've ever been jealous of Alice's fall down a rabbit hole into Wonderland, check into Chateau Marmont. Greta Garbo helped put it on the map and every major star since, it seems, has shown up there to soak in some sun, eat like Baccus, and disappear from the mundane. Renowned for its privacy, the Chateau attracts elite out-of-towners and Los Angelenos alike. When your regular patrons include(d) the likes of: Mick Jagger, Led Zeppelin, Frank Sinatra, Jim Morrison, John Belushi, John & Yoko, and many of the world's best actors, it should be obvious that the food is outstanding.
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Built in 1929 and modeled after a chateau in the Loire Valley, the hotel sits majestically atop a bluff at 8221 Sunset. The manicured grounds are highlighted by lush flora creating a sense of enclosure that adds to the Chateau's mystique. Barely visible from the Blockbuster Video/Taco Bell/Chevron monotony of Sunset Blvd, it's obvious the moment you finish climbing the driveway that you've entered a nest which provides an otherworldly respite from the headaches of L.A. The main building has thirty nine suites and eleven rooms; adjacent to it are nine cottages and four bungalows (from which the majority of the Chateau's best stories emanate). Restoration of the main building was done in the classic Hollywood style of the Golden Age, while the cottages and bungalows are decorated individually but share a homey, vintage/antique feel - hippie chic. The kitchen is always open. Imagine running a four-star kitchen 24 hours a day, 365 days a year that hosts a menu replete with innovative California cuisine. Guests can eat in the intimate dining room, by the pool, in a courtyard, in their beds, or practically anywhere on the grounds. For nightlife, the bustling Bar Marmont (separate from the hotel but accessible via a private gate from the hotel grounds) provides a dramatic change from the tranquility of the Chateau. |
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I stayed in Bungalow #1, which boasts four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a full kitchen, full dining room, large living room, and a private porch right off of the pool that could seat fifty. If those walls could talk. Belushi OD'd in #1. Led Zeppelin threw orgies in #1. John & Yoko meditated and composed there for weeks on end. The space presented me with an unusual conundrum: should I hole up in the bungalow, or eat with the other guests? Since nobody seemed to be hounding me for autographs or pictures, I tried several of the possibilities during my three days in la-la land - sampling the menu from various spots on the grounds. | |
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The lounge with vaulted ceilings off of the main reception desk has beautiful courtyard views that I chose for brunch with four friends. The mammoth fruit plate, which came out minutes after we ordered our main dishes, was piled high with: orange, papaya, mango, kiwi-fruit, apple, red & green grapes, cantelope, banana, pineapple, kumquat, and even a few mystery slices. At the time, it seemed astonishing to me that it took over 45 minutes for our main courses to arrive. Rich coffee, tea, and fresh OJ refills had been coming regularly, and we were all still happily munching on fruit and talking - but I was obsessed with the thought that we had been forgotten - that our food would never come. Then it hit me: there's no rush! This is not Manhattan. It's a breezy, tropical morning; we're sitting at an ancient mahogany table surrounded by fantastic plants. Relax. They haven't forgotten us; they're allowing us to enjoy the place and dine leisurely. They don't care about turning the table or running up the check. My stress was cut in half with this realization, and I began to understand how the big stars get treated everyday. Acclimated now, I could enjoy the tuna-steak sandwich on sourdough with a wonderful chipolte mayonaisse, eggs benedict, belgian waffles, and of course we had that person (there's one in every crowd) who just wanted "a green salad, oil and vinegar on the side". I secretly hoped she had just finished a big plate of bacon and hash browns in her room before joining us. The bungalows and the pool are accessed through a locked gate, and on my way back from brunch I noticed a woman struggling with the latch. She was dressed only in an oversized sweatshirt (with the hood up) and espidrilles. She was taller than me (I'm 6'1") and as I approached and began to say "you need a key to get in here" she turned around and I found myself face-to-face with Elle McPherson. With a big smile and a charming Australian lilt, she explained to me that "I only want to get in here to work out". With a big smile and a racing heart, I unlocked the gate for her. Suddenly, despite the mixture of eggs, canadian bacon, hollandaise sauce, and spearmint tea which was surging through my arteries, I had the immediate urge to hit the Stairmaster. You can learn a few things from a supermodel, and Elle taught me to do something that I rarely do - confidently order something that's not on the menu. We both enjoyed fat free fruit shakes after the workout, and I'll never again drink a fruit shake without thinking of her. Did I mention I was in L.A. for business? On my way to a meeting I was asked to stop by the front desk. The manager explained that there was a photo shoot taking place that day; would I would mind if they used my bungalow to take some shots while I was gone? I thought this to be a most unusual request, but when I asked who was being photographed he would not tell me. I said no, and left wondering who I might have been hanging out with in my bungalow if I didn't have to go to the appointments. When I called the Chateau a few hours later for messages, the manager asked to speak with me again: 'Mr. Comfort, I completely understand why you're unwilling to allow us to use your bungalow while you're away but I give you my personal assurance that your belongings will not be disturbed and, furthermore, the clients will pay for your bungalow for the day.' Now he had my attention, a free day in Bungalow #1. I pushed it: 'Does that include room service?'. 'Yes sir', he assured me 'you'll be responsible only for the tax on the bungalow and the tax on the food you order'. Done deal. Jackpot. I invited an old girlfriend over for dinner and we settled in for what I hoped would turn into a long evening of indulgence. Room service got to know me quickly: A bottle of Perrier Jouet, a bottle of 1983 Chateau Prieure Lichine (Margaux), a cheese plate (smoked cheddar, stilton, havarti w/dill & sesame), roasted garlic, duck pate, foie gras, and several bottles of San Pelligrino water to help wash it all down and keep us hydrated. The waiter who brought us all of these delights had a knowing smile on his face. As is customary at the Chateau, he also brought us CDs, like side dishes. My first waiter/DJ! As the sun began to set and we digested the wonderful crudites, I thought it was time to share some of these experiences with my friends back East. Grabbing some of the stationary from the desk, I headed out to the patio with a tall gimlet to take in the pollution-aided purple sunset and write a few letters while Lisa called her L.A. friends to invite them over. As I began to write, I noticed that beneath the embossed 'Chateau Marmont' letterhead was printed: 'Steven T. Comfort, in residence'. Nice touch. | |||
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For dinner, which we ate in the sunken living room, I enjoyed a perfect surf & turf: fillet mignon and lobster served with green beans & almond shavings. Lisa had roasted chicken breast served with sweet potato and baby artichoke sauteed in garlic and lemon. I intentionally cut short an amazing meal (foregoing bread and dessert) for fear of being too full later in the evening. I should have indulged - the pot that one of Lisa's actress-friends brought over was so strong that I was hungry again within the hour! A case of Sapporo beer (in the large bottles) kept on ice near the patio satiated the late night revelers, who were enjoying the balmy night: skinny-dipping, dancing, and drinking in true Dionysian style. Soon I was on the phone with our friendly waiter/DJ doing what Elle taught me; off-menu (nothing fat-free this time): macaroni & white cheddar cheese, peanut butter and banana sandwiches on white bread, a selection of hard sausages, marinated goat cheese, tiramisu, ice cream, and a rainbow colored assortment of Star Trek worthy mixed drinks. | |
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When our lifeline to this magic kitchen brought the massive cart of late night chow, I insisted that he disclose our benefactor. Our waiter went through the obligatory hotel gobbleygook: 'I'm sorry, I can't tell you about any of our other guests.'. 'They're not guests,' I pressed, 'they were only here for the afternoon, and they were here in MY bungalow'. He agreed to divulge only because he wanted so badly to tell someone the story: my bungalow and food had been comped by the Sex Pistols. He was their waiter/DJ during the shoot and confessed with glee that on one of his deliveries he told John Lydon that he was a huge fan, had a band, could play all of their songs, and was thrilled just to be in the same room with him (a huge faux pas for a waiter at the Chateau). Lydon, without saying a word, motioned for him to come close to his chair so he could whisper something to him. When he leaned forward to hear what his idol had to tell him, Johnnie Rotten belched loudly in his ear! I told our wide-eyed waiter that this must be a letdown for him, dealing with a bunch of skinny-dipping New Yorkers and young actresses in various states of intoxication and undress. He assured me that we were keeping with tradition and representing Bungalow #1 with distinction. Now that's great service! I worried about someone dropping dead to keep with tradition and became temporarily obsessed with figuring out exactly where Belushi most likely died, but soon I was drawn to the kitchen where someone had discovered a huge tray of snacks: Carr's table wafers, Snickers, Oreos, potato chips, nuts, and similarly healthy items. That put to rest our need for any more room service, free or not. The next morning as people showered and put on their wine-stained, cigarette infused clothes to begin their journeys back to reality, I realized what an absurdly fantastic day had just receded into my past. As I stood at the front desk looking over the $250 tax bill and wondering how we had managed to consume this long list of food, Keanu Reeves stepped up beside me looking equally haggard (we were both wearing dark shades, tshirts, shorts and two days worth of heavy stubble). A few months earlier, he had approached me in the lobby of the Marquette Hotel in Minneapolis and asked if there was 'anything at all to do here' (I recommended the Loring Cafe). This time, I pretended not to notice him. As my plane was maneuvering over L.A. to begin the journey home I looked down on the sprawling hugeness of it all and was glad to know I'd always have this memory. I daydreamed about returning and spending 24 hours in the kitchen, whipping up off-menu requests for the stars and chatting them up when I delivered their presents. In a city built on fantasies, Chateau Marmont gives you a dream to live in. |
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Steven Comfort is Fillet's roving reporter. He greatly enjoys his job. | |