In the Heart of Mayfair, John Saumarez Smith presides over what many consider the best little book shop in the english-speaking world. "Try that," he says, extracting a book from a messy, tempting pile as if he'd been expecting me, though it's months since I've been in London. "I think you might like it," John Saumarez Smith …[Read more]
Hermès, which turned basic accessories into modern icons, takes the lid off what's luxe now. Reggie Nadelson reports from 24 Rue Faubourg St.-Honoré. Once upon a time in a suburb of Paris, a guy kissed a bag, though it was no frog and did not really need a kiss. It was at the Hermès workshops in …[Read more]
It’s February, armpit of the year, when a girl’s thoughts turn to sunshine and maybe a pink parasol in her drink. We’re talking Hawaii here. We’re talking surfer boys with lean tanned bodies, endless waves and Technicolor sunsets. America’s improbable 50th state, a tropical island paradise plopped in the middle of the Pacific, is …[Read more]
In seafood shacks, at gourmet tables, and especially during a stomach-defying live-fish auction, Reggie Nadelson discovers the true—and a new—Hawaii. It's 5 a.m. at Honolulu's fish auction, and I'm eyeballing a quivering Hawaiian opah, a pink and silver moonfish, round and flat as a plate. …[Read more]
Redesigning your mother's engagement ring is serious business. Reggie Nadelson travels to Gstaad and master jeweler Andrew Grima to get it done right. "Shall I surprise you?" Surprise me! Andrew Grima, a big man with a generous smile, sits behind his desk in his shop in Gstaad and scribbles a design for a diamond ring …[Read more]
I love ice cream. I mean, I really love it, as much as sex, almost as much as Frank Sinatra, more than Manolos. I'll eat anything sweet and frozen (and have): yogurty vanilla ice cream in Red Square in the dead of winter as Soviet soldiers ate their own; an exquisite prune-and-Armagnac flavor at Berthillon, on Paris's Ile St.-Louis; Vassar Devils (hot fudge and marshmallow sundaes served on brownies) accompanied by many gin …[Read more]
Again, I’m obsessed. It’s the grisly month of November, winter coming on, the days dwindling down, and I’m in the grip of a have to have: I want James de Givenchy’s lime citrines. Each one is big as a fruit and the colour of lemon-lime Jell-O or quivering key lime pie or just-licked lollipops; strung on a couple of thin twisted gold …[Read more]
Again, I’m obsessed. It’s the grisly month of November, winter coming on, the days dwindling down, and I’m in the grip of a have to have: I want James de Givenchy’s lime citrines. Each one is big as a fruit and the colour of lemon-lime Jell-O or quivering key lime pie or just-licked lollipops; strung on a couple of thin twisted gold …[Read more]