Libby’s Naked Wines Diary: Quaffing Spanish wine in the Parisian Pulitzer
Paris has often been described as “magical” but I experienced my own miracle this weekend. The Significant Other and I were dining at Le Patio, the restaurant of Hotel Pulitzer in the Opera Quarter of Paris.
Over squidgy, crispy croquettes and pesto laden burrata, I realised I had lost an earring. An earring my late grandmother had designed and had made to shock the socialite set in the 1960s (detailing a cave painting of a man who, let us say, didn’t actually have three legs…) and a pair that had only recently made its way down the family to me. It was a bad moment.
Having combed the hotel room, it was too late and too dark to head out in search of the tiny gold ornament. The next morning, heads bent to the pavement like penitent pilgrims, we retraced our steps until, in the gardens of the Louvre, nearly 24 hours after being there, I found it sparkling up at me. A miracle. A positive sign of a very good stay to come.
Not that those signs had been lacking. Checking into the Hotel Pulitzer the day before, I had been recognised by the gentleman on reception from a rooftop party a couple of years previously. The staff had been warm, effusive, and minutes after settling into our room there was a knock on the door with two crisp, fizzing glasses of excellent champagne.
The hotel is littered with literary nods befitting the Pulitzer name. A notebook for guests to “write their own story”, a menu that speaks of adventure, a ‘do not disturb’ sign that references the tales of the night before. The rooms themselves are succinct, like a pithy sentence that encapsulates all that needs to be said. A comfortable bed below well-hung art, fluffy robes, a strong hot shower and coffee station. It’s tight, but right and romantically cosy.
It is also handily positioned, only a 20-minute walk to the Seine and all it offers. Under duress (an old book shop is not his idea of a good time) the Significant Other was coerced into a trip to Shakespeare & Co, which seemed in keeping with our literary themed hotel. A higgledy-piggledy historical hideaway where banned books are celebrated, phones are not allowed, and people can pick from the shelves and allow a few moments of quiet reading across from the bells of Notre Dame. From here we took in that grand Cathedral, walked the bridges and waterways, observed the glass pyramid of the Louvre, traversed up to the views of Montmartre and managed to cover over 25,000 steps ahead of our brunch back at Le Patio.
The mimosa was welcomed, the bacon was superb (though on complimenting the chef I learned it was English), and the fried chicken Ceaser salad a devourable pairing with the Louis Constant Champagne. We table hopped around, chasing this suntrap’s afternoon rays until, as advocates of the holiday siesta we retired to our bedroom to open the wine I had brought, a bottle of Beade Primacia Treixadura 2022 (Naked Wines, £19.99; Angel Price, £14.99). A lesser-known star from Spain, this award winning Treixadura is as fruity as we felt – full-bodied and peachy with a tongue-tingling vibrancy, it was just the ticket to perk us up before the evening’s continued explorations.
Paris is a city where historical sculptures jostle against a backdrop of graffiti. Where classical pianists play from bridges as street artists dance to hip hop below. It is a place to wander into cobble encrusted corners and scented shady courtyards.
After a last lunch of snails and steak tartare at Les Deux Magots, feeling full of stomach and tired of feet, we caught the Eurostar back to London. A swift and comfortable two hours is all it takes to feel so far flung from everyday life. I write this now from the train, a glass of wine beside me as I watch the bright yellow fields, and stone chateaux fly by. As easy as Paris is to return to from London, no matter how many times I do, it still works its magic – missing earrings or not.
• Visit the Hotel Pulitzer website here. Libby travelled with Eurostar – eurostar.com