48 HOURS AT THE MARLTON HOTEL, NYC
There are moments when we have no means, time, nor reason but simply the desire to vacation.
This was where I was last Friday and instead of resorting to the late-20’s-hard-working-person’s pity party, I walked into The Marlton on 8th street and 5th ave with the intention of indulging in whatever escape it provided. I chose the hotel 30 minutes before arriving at the suggestion of my co-worker, Dan, who said the wine at the bar was good. And that was reason enough.
As it happens, there are many qualities about The Marlton that made this staycation worthwhile, including the hotel’s history. Before this most current iteration, The Marlton served as a Beat generation refuge, most notably for Kerouac while writing On the Road, Tristessa, and The Subterraneans. It was only fitting then that the staff, while attentive and gracious, were just eccentric and attractive enough for me to take names, tip extra and plan to go back just to hang out.
Both nights the bar and restaurant were bordering on too packed, but with good reason. The food was simple and unapologetic (think hearty winter fare, but with the requisite kale salad for a ladies’ — or lady’s — night out); the cocktails were strong and cold, notably a perfect Perfect Manhattan. On the topic of wine, Dan was absolutely right and by the end of my stay I was greeted with “Hello, Ms. Chateau Cambon” each time I even approached the lounge. (Again, the staff was a joy).
Small but bright private rooms played nicely with the heavy, romantic common spaces, where art, books, disassembled newspapers, and a constantly stoked fire gave the impression of a place that wanted you to live in it for a while. And so I did, quickly forgetting that this was an ‘escape’ at all — until of course, I was to return the ice bucket, hang up the bathrobe one last time, and cab 20 minutes to that other place I call home. I’ll be back soon. – M
// Visit: marltonhotel.com