Never mind that the funicular at the St. Regis Deer Crest reads like an afterthought, because it's a pretty cool way to arrive. It drops you off right next to the St. Regis Bar, my new favorite place for a drink and a fireside chat around SLC.
On a whim, I showed up with a friend one night last May at 10:00 p.m. Sales Manager, Chris Levoie, had taken me for a hardhat tour back in February, but I had been anxious to see the final product and hadn't yet bothered to set up an official appointment.
I tossed my keys to the valet at the lower reception area. Mandy, an blond Australian, greeted us warmly, explaining that the bar would be open until 11:00. A flight of stairs, an up button later, and we were ascending the hill on overstuffed leather benches, city lights twinkling below.
We wandered a few hallways, peeped into the windows of the spa, specked out the Astor Ballroom, the library, and eventually found our way to the lobby.
"May I help you gentleman?" a staff member approached us from behind the front desk. We made small talk about our drop-in, some artwork we had seen in the bar, and occupancy level of the hotel. Anxious to see us diverted in some revenue-generating task, he escorted us to the bar, apologized for not recalling the artist who painted the mural behind it, saw to it we had menus, were seated, and then retreated down the stairs.
I chose a passion fruit chili soda from an unusually-long list of nonalcoholic beverages; and my guest, a cider hot tottie. Did they have any desert offerings? No. But the keep was sure room service could whip up something for us. We ordered cobbler a la mode.
A quarter hour later, in club chairs around our private fire place, we received cobbler in personal petite dutch ovens. Unexpectedly, the staff member who had escorted us to the bar, returned. "Phillip Buller is the artist. The mural depicts the mining history of Park City. Are you enjoying your drinks? Isn't the cobbler delicious?"
We closed the bar, and lamented leaving our fireside perch. Floating, as it seemed, down the mountain, I observed how great it was to receive excellent service, even while undercover.
On a whim, I showed up with a friend one night last May at 10:00 p.m. Sales Manager, Chris Levoie, had taken me for a hardhat tour back in February, but I had been anxious to see the final product and hadn't yet bothered to set up an official appointment.
I tossed my keys to the valet at the lower reception area. Mandy, an blond Australian, greeted us warmly, explaining that the bar would be open until 11:00. A flight of stairs, an up button later, and we were ascending the hill on overstuffed leather benches, city lights twinkling below.
We wandered a few hallways, peeped into the windows of the spa, specked out the Astor Ballroom, the library, and eventually found our way to the lobby.
"May I help you gentleman?" a staff member approached us from behind the front desk. We made small talk about our drop-in, some artwork we had seen in the bar, and occupancy level of the hotel. Anxious to see us diverted in some revenue-generating task, he escorted us to the bar, apologized for not recalling the artist who painted the mural behind it, saw to it we had menus, were seated, and then retreated down the stairs.
I chose a passion fruit chili soda from an unusually-long list of nonalcoholic beverages; and my guest, a cider hot tottie. Did they have any desert offerings? No. But the keep was sure room service could whip up something for us. We ordered cobbler a la mode.
A quarter hour later, in club chairs around our private fire place, we received cobbler in personal petite dutch ovens. Unexpectedly, the staff member who had escorted us to the bar, returned. "Phillip Buller is the artist. The mural depicts the mining history of Park City. Are you enjoying your drinks? Isn't the cobbler delicious?"
We closed the bar, and lamented leaving our fireside perch. Floating, as it seemed, down the mountain, I observed how great it was to receive excellent service, even while undercover.
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