Reggie Is Having Fun Over At Privilege

Reggie is thrilled (and tickled pink) to have collaborated with LPC, the writer of the marvelous blog Privilege, on a post analyzing and discussing the sartorial style of the East Coast Grande Dame.  For those of my readers who aren't familiar with LPC's Privilege blog, I whole-heartedly recommend that you click on over to it and give it a gander.  I am sure that you will become as hooked as I am.

The Style Icons of the East Coast Grande Dame
as selected by Reggie Darling for Privilege
Image courtesy of same

I first became aware of LPC's Privilege blog shortly after I started my own, and we have since become fast friends, transitioning from an initial electronic acquaintance discussing our shared High WASP backgrounds into a live, "Let's have dinner when you are in town" one.  Several years ago we guest-posted on each other's blogs about attending our twenty fifth college reunions at the Ivy League schools we went to, in her case Princeton and mine Yale.  You can link to her post about it on my blog here.

The East Coast Grande Dame's favored accessories
as selected by Reggie Darling for Privilege
Image courtesy of same

On her own blog, LPC frequently discusses the sartorial equipage of three types of WASP women: the "Sturdy Gal," the "Artsy Cousin," and the "Grande Dame," each of which she cleverly defines and analyzes for her devoted readers.  A month or two ago LPC did a post about Grande Dame style where Reggie commented and which prompted LPC to invite him to collaborate with her on a piece about the style of the East Coast Grande Dame, a subset to her broader Grande Dame category.  LPC sought Reggie's input because she is a life-long Californian (her parents decamped there from their East Coast High WASP origins before she was born), and felt that I could provide a window into the style of the East Coast Grande Dame from "the inside" (so to speak), as a New Yorker.

Modern Day East Coast Grande Dames
as selected by Reggie Darling for Privilege
Image courtesy of same

I had much fun collaborating with LPC on her post, peppering her with images and suggestions, and I think the result is absolutely swell.  I am honored that she asked me to contribute to it, and I encourage you, Dear Reader, to click on over and read the piece here.

I hope you like it!

Many thanks, LPC, for giving Dear Old Reggie the opportunity to have fun with you on our collaboration.  You are a treasure.

A Round Hill Reverie

Now that the madness of the Christmas season is over, Dear Reader, I'm planning on posting a series of essays that have been in my queue for some time.  Today's post, a review of one of the Caribbean's most storied resorts, is the first in the line up.

This past October Boy and I visited Round Hill in Jamaica, to celebrate a milestone birthday for Boy.

The Main Lodge at Round Hill

Round Hill is one of the fabled Caribbean resorts, and one that I've always wanted to visit.  This was my first—and I'm confident will not be my last—stay at the Queen of Jamaica's resorts.

Situated on a secluded, 100+ acre peninsula near Montego Bay, Jamaica, Round Hill has virtually nothing in common with the enormous all-inclusive resorts the island is known for.  Round Hill is, in contrast, very discreet, quiet, small, and exclusive.

An aerial view of Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

Long celebrated for its exquisite location, luxurious amenities, splendid service, and rigid door policies (no tourists allowed, thank you), Round Hill has long been a favored tropical destination for those born with golden spoons in their mouths, captains of industry, international socialites, Wall Street heavyweights, and Hollywood icons of the old school.

Babe Paley and her husband, William Paley
at their villa in Round Hill, photographed by Slim Aarons

For example, Mrs. and Mrs. William Paley were once among Round Hill's most famous residents.

Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Lauren at Round Hill
Image courtesy of Architectural Digest

Today their villa at Round Hill is owned by Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Lauren.

The view from the veranda at Round Hill's main lodge

Round Hill sits on a lovely, sheltered bay, far from the hubbub and madness of Montego Bay.

President John F. Kennedy at Round Hill
Image courtesy of Round Hill

President and Mrs. Kennedy were regular visitors at Round Hill, drawn to it for its exclusivity and firm policy of protecting the privacy of its guests.

The pools at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

The resort has all of the amenities that one could possibly wish for: a protected beach, pools, a spa, several bars, luxurious dining pavilions, and more.  The staff couldn't be nicer, or more accommodating.

Miss Grace Kelly, relaxing on the beach at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

Grace Kelly was a regular visitor at Round Hill, both before and after her marriage to Prince Ranier of Monaco.

Mr. Clark Gable and Mrs. John Pringle at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

Clark Gable was also an habitué of Round Hill.

Miss Mary Martin and Sir Noël Coward at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

The playwright and composer Sir Noël Coward once owned a villa at Round Hill, where he regularly entertained the stars of Broadway and London's West End.

Miss Joanne Woodward and Mr. Paul Newman having
fun at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

Joanne Woodward and her husband Paul Newman were no strangers to Round Hill.

Sir Paul McCartney and friends at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

More recently Sir Paul McCartney and his family have been frequent visitors to Round Hill.

The villa we stayed in at Round Hill

While Round Hill's storied history was a plus for us, it was the sybaritic luxury of the resort that attracted us to it.

A night time view of the villa

We stayed in a private villa during our visit there, owned by a major U.S. media mogul.

The outdoor living room at our villa at Round Hill

The villa was beautifully appointed, with both outdoor and indoor living rooms to lounge about in.

The lovely, charming, and sweet Angela,
the Major Domo of our villa at Round Hill

We were beautifully attended to during our stay by a housekeeper/cook, two maids, and a gardner/poolman.  The staff cooked breakfast for us at our villa every morning, and served us lunch, too.

The "English taste" method of arranging pillows

We found the accommodations pleasant and exceedingly comfortable.  After only a minor amount of rearranging . . .

The "American taste" method of (re) arranging pillows

. . . the pillows in the villa's indoor living room were perfect, at least for the requirements of Boy, the Fancy New York Decorator.

Another view of the pool at our villa at Round Hill

We hardly left the grounds of our villa during our stay at Round Hill.  Why should we, when we were so beautifully attended to?  We ate breakfast and lunch at our villa every day, and we only ventured out in the evening for drinks and dinner at the resort's handsome bar and dining pavilion.  It was all very cushy, and very private, Dear Reader.

Boy swimming in his birthday suit
at our villa at Round Hill

We spent most of our time at Round Hill lazing about our villa and swimming in its private pool.

So, who needs a Speedo?

Bathing suits were largely superfluous, we found.

One does, of course need white wine!

Wine and cocktails, snacks, and meals were but a phone call away . . .

The splendid evening sky at Round Hill
Image courtesy of same

It was a lovely, low-key holiday, and a welcome respite from the madness of Manhattan and one's more mundane daily responsibilities.  I look forward to returning to Round Hill again sooner rather than later.  I highly recommend it to you, Dear Reader, as the perfect getaway from one's winter cares . . .

Round Hill Hotel and Villas
John Pringle Drive
Montego Bay, Jamaica
(800) 972-2159
www.roundhill.com

Please note: Reggie has received nothing in return for writing this review of Round Hill in Jamaica, nor does he expect to.  He has written this review solely for the enjoyment of his readers, which is why he writes this blog.

All photographs, except where noted, by Reggie Darling

The Pine Club's House Dressing Redux

Today I am reissuing a post that I put up several years ago about finding a bottle of salad dressing in the Siaconset Market on Nantucket from the legendary Pine Club of Dayton, Ohio.

The Pine Club's House Dressing
as photographed today on Nantucket

I'm back on island for several weeks again this August, and was delighted to find the Pine Club's salad dressing is still stocked on the market's shelves.  I've been enjoying its tasty tangyness almost daily ever since.  Here's my original post about it, which I hope you like, Dear Reader.

The other day I made a late-afternoon trip to the Siasconset Market here on Nantucket to pick up some last-minute supplies for dinner.  It's much closer to where we are staying on the island and more convenient for a quick visit than the Stop & Shop (for supermarket staples) or Bartlett's Farm (for heirloom vegetables and best-quality comestibles).  While I've shopped at these latter two grocers during our visit (Bartlett's has been an almost daily destination), they are too long a distance for a quick run.  Well, about as much of a distance as one can experience on an island as modestly sized as Nantucket.

The Pine Club house dressing,

ready to dress a salad on our deck on Nantucket

The Siasconset Market is a remarkable little store.  For the uninitiated, one would think it would be an unlikely source for a good selection of "gourmet" groceries.  First of all, it's tiny.  And second, it's rather remote, far away from the hustle and bustle of mid-island.  But when one examines what the Market has to offer, one is pleased to find a highly focused selection of edibles and household items that belie a razor-sharp understanding of the Market's affluent, WASPy clientele.

The Siasconset Market

Words cannot express my delight during a recent visit to the Market at coming across a bottle of house salad dressing from the Pine Club, of Dayton, Ohio.  Yes, Dear Reader, you read that correctly.  I'm talking jarred salad dressing!  At first I was drawn to the bottle by its charmingly retro-looking label, thinking "Oh, that looks worth checking out."  But when I stopped to examine it more closely I was surprised to see that the Pine Club referred to on the bottle was none other than a restaurant by that name where I spent several memorable evenings almost twenty years ago, when I visited Dayton on business.  I have thought of the Pine Club fondly ever since, longing to visit it again.  But Reggie hasn't found himself anywhere near Dayton in the intervening years, nor has he figured out a sufficiently suitable justification for going there, except to return to the Pine Club for another splendid meal.

The Pine Club's facade

Image courtesy of roadfood.com

As I drove back to our house I wondered, how did a jarred salad dressing from a restaurant in Dayton, Ohio, make its way to the shelves of the Siasconset Market, nearly a thousand miles away?

And then I pieced it together . . .

At the time I visited Dayton I was working as a bond analyst at one of the major rating agencies, where one of my colleagues was a fellow named George M.  I liked George, and he and I shared a love of eating in still-vital old-line restaurants, as well as a fondness for the island of Nantucket.  When George learned that I would be traveling to Dayton on business, he said that I should be sure to have dinner one night at the Pine Club, a beloved old-time steakhouse in the city, known for its delicious aged steaks and chops and a knotty pine interior unchanged since the late 1940s.  It turned out that the Pine Club was owned by a friend of George's named Dave Hulme who had bought the restaurant a decade beforehand, intending--among other things--to preserve its old-fashioned roadhouse charm.  Dave owned a house on Nantucket, too, and George would regularly visit him there during the summer to play golf, and Dave would sing the praises of his restaurant as they traversed the links.

David Hulme, owner of the Pine Club

Image courtesy of the Dayton Business Journal

As can be seen in the photograph, above, the Pine Club derives its name from its entirely wood-paneled interior (walls and ceilings), dating from the 1940s.  It is regularly voted the best steakhouse in Dayton, standing head and shoulders above its rivals, and it serves a menu that its original patrons would likely recognize.  Even though almost twenty years have passed, I vividly recall entering the restaurant for the first time and being thrilled to see its knotty pine interior lighted with table lamps and filled with banquettes upholstered in red vinyl.  I was quite happy to be seated at a table in the middle of the main room, where a waitress delivered a relish plate (Heaven!) and a basket of hot dinner rolls while taking our drinks order ("Make mine a highball, please!").  After starting with a classic iceberg-lettuce-and-blue-cheese salad dressed with the restaurant's tangy and sweet house dressing, I and my happy dinner companion polished off perfectly cooked, juicy strip steaks served with sour-cream-smothered baked potatoes and the restaurant's delicious signature stewed tomatoes.  I don't recall what I had for dessert, but I do remember that we had to pay for our meal with cash, as the Pine Club didn't accept credit cards.  It still doesn't.  To this day its customers must pay with either cash or sign under a house account.

So I figured out that the reason I stumbled across the Pine Club salad dressing on the Siasconset Market's shelves was because David Hulme likely still owned a house nearby and had talked the owners of the Market in to stocking his product, and they must have obliged because he was probably a regular customer.  And the Pine Club's dressing had to be a good, steady seller there, too, given the Market's clientele.  While not exactly an earth-shattering connection to work my way through, it was a pleasant puzzle nonetheless.

A Pine Club salad dressing four pack

And that's how I came to find a jar of the Pine Club's house salad dressing at the Siasconset Market on Nantucket.  I happily brought one home with me in the L.L. Bean Boat and Tote bag that I use when out shopping, and Boy and I enjoyed it that evening at dinner sitting on our deck overlooking the ocean.  While Reggie is not ordinarily a fan of prepared salad dressings, the Pine Club's is really quite delicious, and he highly recommends it.

You, too, can own the restaurant's salad dressing, along with its steaks and stewed tomatoes, since--as I learned when researching this essay--the Pine Club will be more than happy to ship its justifiably-famous delicacies to you.  I've copied several images of options available for order from the restaurant here in this essay.

Now that I know the Pine Club does mail order deliveries, I'm planning on ordering some steaks from the restaurant when my Nantucket vacation is over.  I figure if I can't find my way to the Pine Club any time soon I'm happy for it to find its way to me.

The Pine Club

1926 Brown Street

Dayton, Ohio 45409

(937) 228-5371

www.thepineclub.com

Please note, Reggie has received nothing from the Pine Club for his recommendation, except the happy memories of his visits there almost two decades ago, for which he is most grateful.

Dinner at Donohue's Steak House

I realized recently that it has been a long time since I've done a restaurant review here on Reggie Darling.  It's not that I haven't been going out to eat, Dear Reader, but rather I haven't felt all that compelled to write about the restaurants I've found myself in lately.  Don't get me wrong—they have (in most cases) been good restaurants, and in some cases they have been very good restaurants.  But each has lacked a certain, well, something to inspire me to take pen to paper (so to speak) and write about it.

Donohue's Steak House on busy stretch of Lexington Avenue
on New York's Upper East Side

That is until last week, when I had the good fortune to find myself tucking into a tasty dinner at Donohue's Steak House, located on Lexington Avenue in the East Sixties.  Donohue's is an intimately-scaled (some would say diminutive), old-fashioned chop and fish joint beloved by neighborhood regulars and others for its authentic, of-another-era, New York dining experience.

The bar scene as one enters Donohue's.
It is advisable to get there early in order to stake out a bar stool
among this crowd of hard drinking regulars

Donohue's keeps 'em coming by serving stiff drinks and straightforward, classic American fare that hasn't changed all that much since the Donohue family first opened the restaurant's doors in 1950.  The decor appears to date from then, too, with black, button-tufted vinyl upholstered booths, red table cloths, and black and white checkerboard floors.  I understand the interior has been refreshed over the years, but the Donohues have kept it true to how it originally looked.

Donohue's dining room, before the evening's rush.
Note tufted vinyl booths and paper place mats on red table cloths

Donohue's wood paneled walls are hung with landscapes of the "painted by a real artist" variety, along with a framed newspaper clipping or two about the restaurant dating from when Robert F. Wagner, Jr., was the city's mayor.

Donohue's is one of the breed of old-school, old-style, authentic American restaurants that are particular favorites of Reggie's, whose ranks have been sadly depleted in recent years.  It is cut from the same cloth as the late, lamented Gino's, which used to stand only a few blocks south of Donohue's on Lexington Avenue.  I am happy to report, Dear Reader, that Donohue's appears to be going like gangbusters these days.  I hope it remains popular and in business for many years to come.

Donohue's chalkboard menu says it all:
You can have it baked, roasted, sautéed, or broiled!

I first ate at Donohue's twenty five or so years ago, when I was taken there for dinner by my friends Preston and Digby, who lived (and still do) in the nearby Manhattan House apartment building.  It was with Preston and Digby that Boy and I dined there the night when I took the photographs for this story.

Chopped iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, a
few shavings of carrot, and a
dollop of creamy blue cheese dressing
(liberal application of black pepper suggested!)

I remember being delighted during my first visit to Donohue's to find myself transported back to the "I Love Lucy" era, which even at the time (it was the late 1980s when I first went there) seemed impossibly long ago to me.  I loved it!

Please note sliced carrot and curly parsley garnish
accompanying Reggie's perfectly cooked prime sirloin steak

Not surprisingly, the food served at Donohue's—while very tasty and very satisfying—is honest, basic fare.  There's nothing fussy, frothy, or trendy about it, and that's just how its patrons like it.  I'd characterize the kitchen's output as a couple steps up from pub fare.  The restaurant's chalkboard menu pretty much sums it up, listing entrées of steak, pork chops, chicken-pot-pie, broiled fish, and broiled scallops.  You can get an order of lamb chops there, too.

The table's Holy Trinity of Heinz Ketchup,
Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce,
and A.1. Steak Sauce

Donohue's entrées come with the expected sides of mashed, fried, or baked potatoes, or white rice.   You'd get a funny look if you asked for brown rice there.  Reggie wouldn't be surprised to learn that the vegetables served at Donohue's arrived on the premises frozen.  Mind you, Reggie is not complaining—he likes frozen peas!

The view of Donohue's dining room, looking towards
the front of the restaurant and bar

Part of the fun of going to Donohue's (as it is for any restaurant, for that matter) is the people watching.  As I mentioned before, Donohue's is popular destination for many who live in its UES neighborhood, any number of which have been regulars there for many years, and some of whom may even remember the restaurant from shortly after it opened.  It is not unusual to see several canes hanging among the coats there.  But not everyone sitting in Donohue's booths is a card-carrying member of AARP, Dear Reader, for the restaurant is a favorite of patrons under forty, too, who—like Reggie did when he was that age—appreciate the restaurant's strong drinks, hearty, reasonably-priced food, and "other era" charm.  Our friends Courtney and Lowell, who are probably one of the hippest young couples we know, are fans of Donohue's.

Leaving Donohue's, one is delighted by the multi-colored fairy lights
that decorate the bar area of the restaurant

One needn't be budget-minded to appreciate Donohue's, though.  I once saw David Rockefeller, who lives around the corner, eating dinner there one night.  And our friends Preston and Digby told us they had once seen Kitty Carlisle Hart dining there with Elinor Gordon, the subject of an earlier post of mine.  I once sat in the next booth to a young man who was at the time much in the news for having allegedly violated securities laws, and who was packed off to prison for it shortly thereafter!

A lingering last look back through Donohue's window.
Reggie rather loves the venetian blinds and the
DINING ROOM IN REAR painted on it

While Reggie is not what one would call a regular at Donohue's, he is always happy to find himself there dining with friends, and he always leaves it satisfied—liquored-up, contentedly full, and ready to totter off to bed.  For those among his readers who appreciate the pleasures of such old-school dining establishments, Reggie highly recommends it.

Please note, Reggie has received nothing in return for writing this review nor does he expect to in the future.  He is writing it solely for the pleasure of his readers, which is why he writes this blog in the first place.

All photographs by Reggie Darling

Mrs. Whaley, By Way of Maxminimus

I recently received a gift of a book from my esteemed fellow-blogger Maxminimus.  Titled Mrs. Whaley and Her Charleston Garden, the book is ostensibly about the author's justifiably famous garden in Charleston, South Carolina.  But it is more than that.  It is a charming and thought-provoking memoir that delves into Mrs. Whaley's past, her family, her marriage, and her philosophy of life.

Maxminimus' gift, photographed by Boy Fenwick
in the gardening barn at Darlington House

Maxminimus sent it to me, he said, because of the post I wrote awhile back, on Charleston Receipts.  He thought I might like it.  And he was right.

It is always so nice to have a book inscribed by its giver
Photograph by Boy Fenwick

It is not a particularly weighty tome, but it is one that resonates and ripples beyond its covers.  I highly recommend it to you, Dear Reader.

Mrs. Whaley's Charleston garden
Image courtesy of Preservation Nation

Mrs. Emily Whaley, who died in 1998 at the ripe age of eighty-seven, was of a vanishing breed of women that once spread throughout this country, whose population has been sadly depleted by the passage of time, the spiraling cost of living, and the supposed benefits of "progress."  She was of a class of women, largely wives and mothers, who were raised in a culture that valued tradition, continuity, self-discipline, service to others, and positive thinking.  While some, like Mrs. Whaley, were raised in affluence, it was not a prerequisite for belonging to this breed of women.  An appreciation for thrift and economy were also among its hallmarks.  They planned ahead.

Mrs. Emily Whaley with landscape architect Loutrel Briggs
Photographed in the 1970s
Mr. Briggs designed Mrs. Whaley's garden in 1940
Image courtesy of the Cultural Landscape Foundation

I was quite charmed by Mrs. Whaley's book, the stories she tells in its pages, and the nuggets of wisdom she shares.  The book is full of her keen observations and sensible opinions on matters ranging from working with others, marriage, raising a family, faith, getting involved, and being active.  She genuinely liked people, was appreciative of the advantages she had either been given or worked hard for, loved her dog Rosie, and didn't take herself (or others) too seriously.  She was happy to poke fun at herself.  And she was a worker, too—whether it be in her garden, helping out family members or friends, or toiling on behalf of a worthy cause.

Mrs. Emily Whaley with her beloved Rosie
sitting in her Charleston garden in 1997
Photographed by Milton Morris
Image courtesy of Workman Publishing Group

In short, Mrs. Whaley was a lady.  In the very best sense of the word.  She was someone that one would be proud to have as a mother or as a wife.  And she was a person that one would most certainly be honored to count as a treasured friend.

Thank you, Maxie, for introducing me to the delightful Mrs. Whaley.

Reggie is sure that you will enjoy Mrs. Whaley's memoir as much as he did, Dear Reader.  It can be ordered here from its publisher, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill.  It is also most likely available in print and on ebooks at your local public library.