A NIGHT IN THE ALESSANDRA HOTEL, WITH ABSINTHE.
I’m sitting at Bar Bardot, a watering hole named after the villainously sexy French screen star who retired a decade before I was born, on the second floor of the new Hotel Alessandra.
I’ve just had fried frog legs, lobster fondue and absinthe, a worthy dinner on the first Saturday night after the Astros earned their first World Series championship. The absinthe presentation (ice water, sugar cube, flame) was enough to entice the couple next to me to try the liquor that tastes like liquid black jellybeans.
This couple, celebrating the wife’s 30-something birthday, tries the infamous liqueur and loves it. We joke about the green fairy that is supposed to accompany the absinthe haze. Harvey-hardened, they are ready to cut loose. They’ve spent the past two months rebuilding their home, and tonight they feel like they are honeymooning in their own hometown.
Bartender Guillermo is our partner in crime. He has the hotel
kitchen make us custom, off-the-menu street tacos just after midnight, which pair disturbingly well with my second old-fashioned.
Alessandra is a newbie on the Houston hotel scene, which saw an explosion of growth before Super Bowl LI this past February. The hotel didn’t open in time for the Super Bowl frenzy, but it capitalized on postseason baseball mania. The holidays are nearing, which will bring even more business.
Being a block or so west of the House of Blues, the GreenStreet development, and the Toyota Center could mean lots of rock stars and outof-towners will be sitting in the seats occcupied by myself and the “honeymooners” here at the Bardot in the coming years. It’s a worthy spot for rock stars, and sounds like it will only get better. According to a hotel rep, plans are being finalized for a covered, outdoor terrace that will serve as an extension of Bardot. When Houston is blessed with less-humid weather it will be a hit. Houston’s downtown now has a treasure trove of hotel riches, places that those of us who might live a zip code over might not ever notice — from the Marriott Marquis with its now-famous Texas-shaped pool to Houston’s largest hotel, the Hilton Americas, which was a major player during this year’s Super Bowl. (The latter opened in December 2003, just ahead of Super Bowl XXXVIII, held at thenReliant Stadium.)
Alessandra is a pocketsized 223-room luxury hotel from the Valencia Group, the folks behind Hotel Sorella. The group operates the hotel that Houston-based Midway developed.
Its relatively small size is its strength, general manager Ryan Gullion says.
“We feel that this size of property lends itself to an intimacy with our guests that larger properties struggle to deliver. This was definitely considered in the design process,” he says. “Rather than just a great hotel, guests will find themselves within walking distance to office space, dining, retail and entertainment options.”
There also is a 21st floor conference room with a stellar view of downtown.
The upscale 64-seat Lucienne, the restaurant down a hallway from Bar Bardot, began serving dinner in early October. It’s helmed by chef Jose Hernandez, who led the kitchen at Radio Milano, the restaurant at Hotel Sorella at CityCentre, which also is owned by the Valencia Group.
My frog legs and lobster fondue came from the Lucienne, but my dirty jeans, cowboy boots and pearl snap shirt make me feel drastically underdressed for the indulgent eatery. Tonight I amjust a man sitting at a bar without a dozen televisions flickering with scenes of Houston sports stress. There is no TV at Bardot to stare into, thankfully, just a dangerously empty glass of bourbon.
Bardot is great for reflecting, it seems, and planning your next step. My next step will include an elevator ride upstairs to a tenth-floor corner room surrounded by the dim lights of downtown’s business district.
I amgiven way too much bed for one man and I feel like I’m drowning in cotton, but I amnot complaining. There is a sizable LED TV mounted on the wall that I barely touch. A green couch comes complete with an overhead lamp that would be great for a police interrogation, complete with a photo of a dainty female arm petting a Dalmatian next to it.
Downtown has a hum to it that lulls you to sleep. I slam the blackout curtains shut and dream of comely green fairies.