“Cor!” Becks might have thought, considering the 320 square metre Imperial Suite at Hôtel Le Bristol. “Big enough for football with the boys!” Was that what swung it?
Had he opted for the equivalent suite at the Hotel Plaza Athenée on Avenue Montaigne, he could have had the most romantically framed view of la Tour Eiffel, from both the main room and the bedroom; a balcony table set à deux for the world’s ultimate dinner by candlelight – two flickering wicks, supplemented on the hour by 7.5 billion candlepower across the Seine as the Eiffel Tower does its sparkling thing – and Alain Ducasse on the ground floor. Although with Becks being Gordon Ramsay’s new business partner, Posh might have had to make the calls for room service. But she wouldn’t have minded, looking down on Fashion Avenue stretched beneath her. She might even have smiled.
But it’s Le Bristol that’s bagged Becks for his five-month stay. The €17K a night suite is off the bookings website till June – and I doubt the prospect of family footie had much to do with it, which is just as well. Of Paris’s four remaining “Palace” Hotels – the government badge of honour which sets France’s grandest properties apart from mere five-star wannabes – Le Bristol is the one with, how best to put this, reserve. All four (the other two are Le Meurice and Park Hyatt) have je ne sais quoi in their genes, hot and cold running minions to service the whims of potentates and sheiks, perfect thread counts and killer cocktail bars, but Le Bristol is a place apart, with 50% of its wealthy clientele “returns”. It sits across the road from the Elysées Palace, and while François Hollande may be too busy taxing the rich to be a regular, Carla Bruni and Nicolas Sarkozy were not immune to Le Bristol’s charms.
The boss is Didier Le Calvez, whose CV reads like a Top Ten list of the world’s great hotels, from New York (twice, the Plaza and The Pierre) to Singapore, Hong Kong and Paris, but who still glides through the lobby straightening flowers, whispering “Bonjour” to all and sundry, smiling and being utterly charming. He was poached after more than a decade with Four Seasons, where his crowning glory was the reopening of the Georges V across town, and while there he was showered with industry accolades (“World’s Best Hotel Manager” etc). At Le Bristol, however, the French Prime Minister came knocking, and made him a Knight of the Order of the Legion of Honour.
He is debonair to a fault, as likely to engage you in conversation about wine (he has his own Bordeaux vineyard) as he is about where to go for coffee locally (Cafe Chic, 100 metres along Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré). He knows about fashion, fabrics, art, style, food and wellbeing. He smiles, opens doors, is an engaging dinner companion, and retains a freshness that reflects his roots, the open landscape of his native Île de Ré, the flat Atlantic coast island where stuffiness is swept away by the wind.
A couple of days in the company of M. Le Calvez and he is your friend. Over five months, with the paparazzi permanently parked outside looking for scalps, he’ll be the most valuable buddy Becks could have in the city.
Le Bristol is wholly independent, part of a small group owned by the Oetker family, of Dr Oetker fame, whose main business is frozen pizzas and yoghurts for the German mass market and beyond, and although you won’t find “Hôtel Le Bristol” mixed in with the pretzels and blancmanges on their online product listings, the property carries the Oetker stamp throughout. That’s because Maja Oetker likes things the way they are. During the recent €100m renovation of the property, which Didier managed, the Oetker family matriach famously looked after “the smallest details” – which meant wallpapers being “just right”, carpets being exact shades, the kind of thing architects just love their clients getting involved in. The Bristol is Mrs Oetker’s baby and if David only knew an up-and-coming fashion designer whose collection could be shown at one of her weekly “Fashion Saturdays” (2pm to 4pm, when presumably he’s kicking a ball about somewhere) then that would just be dandy.
In the kitchen, meanwhile, is one of the heroes of French Cuisine, Eric Frechon, whose three Michelin stars were 32 years in the making, time he spent in kitchens such as Taillevent and Le Crillon. In season, he gets through 10kg of truffles every week, woven into food of such originality and inventiveness that Epicure, the airy restaurant designed by Pierre Yves-Rochon (ably assisted by Mrs Oetker, of course) is packed every night with diners salivating for his screamingly expensive food. Frechon’s Poularde de Bresse, as made famous by chef Paul Bocuse in Lyon, is a whole chicken poached inside a pig’s bladder: the breasts are served first, the legs cooked a little longer and served second. It is €260 (for two), one of the most divine dishes in French haute cuisine, and as it’s carried aloft from the kitchen on its own silver salver, it bears more than a passing resemblance to a football.
Cor indeed, Mr Beckham.
Hôtel Le Bristol, 112 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré 75008 Paris, France
+33 1 53 43 43 00; lebristolparis.com