Peninsula Hotel

Ladies Lunch at Hong Kong's Peninsula Hotel $$$$

By Yvonne Lanelli , Freelance Writer

April 2007

You’ll expect Ingrid Bergman to cross the lobby’s marble floors or Cary Grant to jaunt down the plush carpeted staircase.

Luncheon at the Lobby Restaurant in Hong Kong’s nearly century-old Peninsula Hotel is as much bygone-era elegance as appetite.

After shopping the jewelry boutiques and computer stores on Nathan Road, my friend Pat and I had slipped into Kowloon’s “Grande Dame of the Far East.” An immaculately suited maitre-d’ had seated us at a polished wood table, gently placed my little maroon backpack on a vacant chair, unfolded stiff white linen napkins two feet square into our laps, handed us menus and asked, “May I suggest the house specialty drinks, the Blue Dream (blue Curacao, vodka and pineapple juice) or the Purple Shadow (cranberry juice, vodka and lemon)?”

I blinked at the drink price--$99 Hong Kong dollars, about $15 US--but ordered a Shadow. Pat ordered the Dream. We scanned the Asian classics—spring rolls, Indonesian noodles, Peking duck, satay--then the International fare— Wagyu beef, risotto, goulash, pot-au-feu, orange roughy fillet, Irish salmon. Eyeing the right side of the menu, I suggested a light lunch. The speed with which Pat agreed indicated she’d studied the same column.

We ordered the appetizer shrimp spring rolls, at $15 US, one of the two least expensive offerings. Settling deep into the leather chairs, we sipped and people-watched. Above us on the mezzanine, a black-suited five-piece orchestra played “As Time Goes By.”

Behind me, a well-dressed stoic rotund Asian man stared into space. We stared too, at freshly painted walls in two shades of cream and carved columns that stretched two stories high to elaborately carved gilt moldings that depicted Greek mythological figures. Looking down, Pat slipped off one shoe and wiggled her bare toes in the inch-thick maroon carpet. “Feels like silk,” she reported with a vodka-inspired giggle.

Lunch arrived, five brown crisp rolls as long as my middle finger and three times as thick that lay seductively on a lime green banana leaf. A small white porcelain bowl held soy sauce laced with sliced padi chili. A tiny purple and white vanda orchid nestled between them. I bit into one roll. The crispy pastry crumbled in my lips. The shrimp that filled the roll were big and fat, not the unrecognizable minced bits hidden in gooey filler so typical of this dish back home.

When the last spring roll crumb disappeared with the last swallow of Shadow and Dream, we ascended the carpeted staircase to the marble-floored Ladies’ Room. After washing our hands, we looked around for the paper towel dispenser. A black and white uniformed attendant smiled indulgently and handed us instead freshly ironed white linen squares.

Suppressing another vodka-induced giggle, we stepped outside, returning to the swirl of 21st century Hong Kong. Farewell, lush carpet, orchestra, tall columns, bygone film stars and liveried doorman.

May the Peninsula enchant for another century.