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VENICE
METROPOLE HOTEL
And my billet was appealing, too, for I always like having my own pillars. Room 231, on the second floor, was a junior suite and therefore 400-800 euros a night for two (according to season), including breakfast. From its hallway opened the dressing room (with generous drawer and hanging space, and a safe) and the bathroom. The latter was large. Its floor and walls were covered with mosaic of blue and grey, which twinkled under the spotlights. This was a handsome chamber for my ablutions.
From here I sallied forth to enjoy the delights of Venice. The Metropole has a privileged location on the Riva degli Schiavoni. From its front door the view is straight across the water to the monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore, and St Mark’s Square is but a brief stroll to the right. Equally important for me is its close proximity to the church of San Zaccaria, which houses my favourite painting in Venice, the Sacra Conversazione by Giovanni Bellini. It was a joy to be able to go to Mass and gaze at this masterpiece. I wondered whether Sigmund Freud had done the same. He stayed at the hotel in the 1890s, only a few years after it had opened. It changed its name to The Metropole in 1939, and has been run since the 1970s by the Beggiato family. The original building on this site had a chapel, in which Antonio Vivaldi gave music lessons and, it is suggested, composed The Four Seasons. The great man’s church is right next door. So The Metropole – quite apart from the patronage of your correspondent – has some serious claims to fame.
So we come to the food. I broke my fast in a long room of pale blue, lit be crystal wall lights. Here waitresses in black and white uniforms brought from the kitchen silver pots of coffee and those dishes of hot food which had been ordered (at extra cost) by my fellow guests. I confined my attentions to the well-stocked buffet. Each morning I arranged on my corner table bowls of fresh pineapple, stewed strawberries and sliced banana (with honey and hazelnuts) and plates of croissants and seed cake. All these items were of good quality. I did not rush my breakfasts at The Metropole. They were too good for haste.
I began with guinea fowl breast, flavoured with truffles and yoghurt, green apple and small, crunchy Asiago cheese profiteroles. If it had been a painting, this would have been a watercolour – light, delicate, subtle and exquisite. Then, it being the season of the divine fungus, I could not resist the siren call of one of my favourites – Parmesan risotto with white truffles. This was perhaps the finest version it has been my privilege to eat. The rice was cooked to perfection – al dente, but not aggressively so – and the aroma of the truffle filled my grateful nostrils. Then a minor miracle: my meat course was even better. Lightly cooked pigeon in a parsley crust, with almond milk, grapes, maize flour, Savoy cabbage and, at my request, more truffles, was evidence of a kitchen working at the very highest level. This combination of tastes and textures with the sweet, tender meat was nothing short of brilliant. I finished with a ricotta and vanilla soufflé of generous size, into which I spooned soft fruit with grappa. The price of 95 euros for these four courses from the carte seemed modest indeed.
I stayed in the Veneto for my dry white and my red, and went to Germany for my pudding wine – all recommended to me by the excellent Ni Naoping-Serena. The 2003 Soave was well-structured, with plenty of vanilla and hints of sherbet (Vecchie Vigne, Contrada Salvarezza, Gini, 2003 – 32 euros); the 2003 Relógio (60 euros), a mixture of carmenère and cabernet, was a rich, tannic explosion of ripe blackcurrant; and the 2004 Silvaner Eiswein (Louis Guntrum – 100 euros, half) had the piercing balance of sweetness and acidity, together with low alcohol (9%), which I so like about German dessert wines. My post-prandial stroll to St Mark’s Square was a pleasant one. I knew that I was staying at one of the best and most stylish hotels in Venice. And I knew, too, that I had just eaten my finest ever meal in the city. I will look forward to returning to The Metropole.
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THE METROPOLE HOTEL
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© Francis Bown 2003
I used to like the old Venice airport. It was small, run-down and brilliantly convenient. The walk from the conveyor belt, which delivered my suitcase, to the water taxi, which whizzed me to town, was about fifty yards. Now evil Modernity has conquered. The new airport obliges me to trudge forever through its chrome and plate glass. And even when I have finally reached the exit to the Terminal, there is still half a mile to go before I arrive at the stand for the water taxis. Such is Progress. Still, almost any hardship is endurable when my final destination is La Serenissima. And this visit to the Most Serene Republic was made particularly wonderful by my hotel and its restaurant. For The Metropole Hotel gave me the finest meal I have ever eaten in Venice.
By the time I clambered on board the taxi, I was on the verge of collapse. Speeding across water has, however, a rejuvenating effect. Twenty minutes later, I jumped out onto the hotel’s private jetty like a young mountain goat. Then it was into the sumptuous confection of crimson velvet, shimmering gold and sparkling crystal which is The Metropole’s lobby. I like character in my hotels, and it is here aplenty – not least in the remarkable collections displayed in illuminated cabinets around the entrance hall. Fans, visiting card cases, evening bags, corkscrews, crucifixes… such eclecticism – when it is done with such panache – I find very appealing.
Green figured silk covered the walls of the rest of my apartment. In the sitting area were two easy chairs and a writing table. Antique fans in golden frames hung on the walls. And there were my pillars – two of them, circular and of white stone – either side of the archway into the bedroom. The walnut headboards of the beds were in a tall Renaissance style. On an elaborate side table was an Art Nouveau clock, above which a bronze lady violinist stood ready to launch into a passionate mazurka. I enjoyed staying in this well-planned and comfortable accommodation very much, and my pleasure was increased by the high standard of the housekeeping. Everything was spotless, and I noted – with approval – that each morning my bowl of fruit was replenished with produce of high quality, including apples, pears, strawberries and clementines.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons why people are proud to work here. Another must be the skill and efficiency of the General Manager, Eugenio Rigo. Certainly, every member of staff I encountered was full of charm and good humour. I must mention two young ladies by name: Filip Simona, of the breakfast room, who ensured that the canned music was extinguished each morning, as soon as I appeared, and Ni Naoping-Serena, of the dining room, to whom I owe my thanks for the impeccable service over dinner.
The restaurant for dinner is called Met. It has a formidable reputation and its accolades include a Michelin star. It occupies two rooms, one on each side of the entrance hall. Both are full of red and gold and both are inviting. I chose the larger, in which my ailing back would have the benefit of a more supportive chair. I settled myself before the beige tablecloth, admired the glassware (by an Italian company called Zafferano), noted the mirrored ceiling and the modern crystal chandeliers, observed that the service included replacing the napkins of guests who left the table for a moment (always a good sign) and decided to try a piece of bread. Six varieties had been brought to the table by the waitress. I can report that the foccacia was utterly delicious.
As my first course arrived, the lady pianist launched into a spirited performance of Gershwin’s Rhapsody In Blue. I was startled by the quality of her playing. And I was startled by the quality of the food on my plate. Chef Corrado Fasolato (pictured) comes from Vicenza and is in his late 30s. For the rigour with which he chooses his ingredients, for the intelligent composition of his dishes, for the skill of his cooking and for the flair of his presentation, my judgement is that the Michelin inspectors should be considering the award of a second star. Yes, he really is that good.
In the cellar-less city of Venice I am used to wine lists which are comparatively short. I was therefore unprepared for the substantial volume which arrived. I did not count its entries, but the total must be many hundreds. Many of its Italian offerings are in the 15-30 euros price range, with 2002 Planeta syrah looking a particularly good buy at 27 euros. But good value abounds in non-Italian wines, too – for example, Billecart Salmon champagne at 45 euros and 1999 Dominus at 150 euros. There are grand clarets, of course (like 1995 Cheval Blanc at 610 euros and 1996 Haut Brion at 500 euros), but there are also twelve white Alsatians (like 2004 Zind Humbrecht gewürztraminer at 45 euros). Super Tuscans from great vintages are also on offer (like 1997 Solaia at 250 euros, 1997 Tignanello at 250 euros and 1998 Sassicaia at 290 euros). This is a seriously good ‘cellar’.