If you ask any member of staff at The Ritz for ‘The President’, they will know instantly the identity of the person you seek, and it will not be the head of state of some foreign power (although the hotel has a generous number of such dignitaries among its guests from time to time). No, you will be directed to Michael Patrick Day, whose genial presence now wafts through the elegant corridors of this luxurious chateau as sweetly as once did the fragrance from his enormous Romeo y Julieta cigars (until they were untimely snuffed out by the smoking prohibition).
What does he contribute to The Ritz? A sense of bonhomie, for certain (times without number have I spied him making sure that a regular guest is made to feel a little special, with a friendly word and a glass of champagne), but also an eye for detail, which must surely come from his enormous experience of the hotel world. And he gets things done. Allow me to illustrate the point with a small but telling example. Walking to the hotel from Green Park some years ago, I noticed that one of the electric bulbs (in the notice which proclaims ‘The Ritz Hotel’ to the world) had failed. I mentioned it to The President. At once he was on the telephone and, by the time I left the building, the offending bulb had been replaced. Only by such constant vigilance and care can The Ritz maintain its place among the world’s top hotels. Every hotel should have a Michael Day. But only The Ritz does.
The second Michael hails from Egypt and therefore has a surname which needs to be pronounced carefully. He is Michael Kotb, and we pronounce the name as ‘Kot – ub’. This outstanding gentleman – and I use the word ‘gentleman’ here deliberately – is the Manager of the Palm Court, the place to which it sometimes seems that the entire civilized world comes for afternoon tea. Our picture shows this exquisite space in its Christmas finery, but it is one of the most beautiful rooms in London at any time of the year. Look carefully at Mr Kotb’s photograph. You will see that he has a twinkle in his eye; it reveals a good-natured sense of humour. For I have found no more delightful person in all my travels. He presides over his part of The Ritz with the charm and efficiency of a pharaoh from his homeland. Does a fellow having tea make the mistake of removing his jacket? Within seconds, Mr Kotb is by his side and, without causing the slightest ripple in the smooth running of the Palm Court, the guest is persuaded in the most gentle of manners to return to sartorial propriety. In other countries men such as these would receive public recognition. If I had a say in the matter, they would both be knighted. Until such a happy circumstance, I can merely salute my two heroes at The Ritz: the Two Michaels.
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ENGLAND LONDON THE RITZ HOTEL
The longer I have to do with the world’s great hotels – and I have been loitering about their gilded halls now for nearly half a century – the more I realize that the personality of each hotel depends upon the individuals who run them. This is why I have decided to pay this tribute to The Two Michaels. They play vital roles in the ongoing life of my favourite hotel in Britain – which is, of course, The Ritz in London. This magnificent temple of hospitality and good living has graced Piccadilly for over one hundred years, but I venture to suggest that it has never been in better shape. And for that my two friends – for I hope I may call them such – can take a good part of the credit. Their names are Michael Day and Michael Kotb. For your edification, I bring before you two pictures of the great man. One shows him with his usual smile. Notice the smartness of his attire, for The President is one for whom the word ‘dapper’ might have been invented. The second portrait is by Christian Furr, and shows its subject in the habit of a tertiary member of the Franciscan order, for Mr Day is a devout Catholic and a generous supporter of many worthy causes. The Ritz now serves hundreds of afternoon teas each day at several sittings, but never does the atmosphere suggest anything but the leisurely enjoyment of a soothing ritual. For this daily miracle the main credit must go to Michael Kotb. He sees all; he directs all; he perfects all. He is one of the chief assets of the hotel. And, of course, he is always immaculately dressed, with a tailcoat and a separate, stiff collar. This goes yet again to prove my rule of life: those who dress best are those with the highest standards in every aspect of their endeavours. In other countries men such as these would receive public recognition. If I had a say in the matter, they would both be knighted. Until such a happy circumstance, I can merely salute my two heroes at The Ritz: the Two Michaels.
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ADDRESSES THE RITZ
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© Francis Bown 2003