The 14th Floor, the space that sits atop the Library Hotel, is my favorite outdoor space in New York right now.
Now that the scarily oversponsored New York Fashion Week is out of the way, Indian summer can truly be enjoyed in Manhattan. If you're planning dinners or last-minute outings in the city, here is my list of locations where the outdoors can be most thoroughly enjoyed and guest complaints kept to a minimum.
I have a lot of rules about dining and entertaining outdoors. For starters, in Manhattan, sidewalk cafés are verboten, and three short words explain why: It ain’t Paris. There, 40-foot-wide sidewalks provide the necessary buffer between exhaust fumes and wine bouquets.
I also don’t like pseudo-outdoors places where you can’t smoke. That’s not outdoors to me; that’s just a restaurant with a better airhole.
I had heard good things about the terrace of the 14th Floor, the space that sits atop the Library Hotel on East 41st Street. Good Midtown hotel rooftops are all too rare. There’s the Peninsula, which has a smoky glass atrium, and a mini outdoor patch with indoor-outdoor carpeting, which I think is a Manhattan no-no, although I used to go there a lot. For bigger parties, you can rent one of four magnificent suites at the Palace Hotel, where the views are staggering from 50-plus floors up, but vivid and occasionally hideous upholstery must be endured to access thoses oases.
The Library space has so many things going for it. There are three distinct indoor spaces, a bar, and two outward-looking, deck-style rooms, all with high ceilings and tons of glass, so that even the indoor spaces feel skybound.
The Library is part of HK Hotels, a small luxury chain that includes the Giraffe Hotel, the Hotel Elysee, and the Casablanca Hotel. Wisely, they recruited Gil Rubenstein (formerly of the Essex House) and Guy Heksch (from Daniel) to make the most of the 14th Floor’s southwestern exposure.
Mirrors help make this space feel bigger than it is. The two outdoor decks are perfect for a 12-person cocktail party or after-theater regrouping. It looks down on Madison Avenue, but it’s not too removed—you can see what the people below are wearing.
A modest menu of panini-type food is on hand, not trying too hard, but the real thing you notice is the buzzing and attentive staff. Both Gil and Guy are accomplished young restaurateurs, and most of the staff reflects that.
The way the space is broken up means you could use all or parts of it, and that when it gets chillier, there are still good options. This is my favorite outdoor pace in the city right now.
Conversely, my least favorite these days is the Yard, located alleylike alongside the Soho Grand Hotel. It's such a disappointment from a well-appointed hotel.
You enter from the street onto a barren strip, bar on your right, grim concrete on your left. A black staircase that leads to the hotel lobby looks and feels like a fire escape. In the back is a postage stamp-size lawn and pool, with like two chaise lounges resting akimbo, as if to say, “We just dare you to try and sunbathe here with a straight face.”
I’m here on a bearably hot evening and the place is only half full. Why won’t anyone serve me a drink? Forget getting something to eat—I get the sense it will take an hour. Going upstairs into the cool, dressy, and dark lobby to use the restroom doesn’t help. Instead, the gap between good and bad seems ever more clear.
Every time I go someplace bad and new I think, “Never again.” Why go someplace you’re not sure of and risk ruining a perfectly good evening? In that spirit I recommend two perfect outdoor dining options, Barolo and Provence.
I’m indifferent to Barolo all winter—I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with it. But when the weather is good, this giant outdoor courtyard (hundreds can fit) never disappoints. The food is predictable Italian, in a good way. You can have carpaccio or pasta with lemon and not worry. People linger here over espresso.
Awnings, trees, and tables are all used so smartly, it doesn’t feel like a giant square, but a series of small cozy areas, each with a different feel. I have been there dozens of times, but I still feel like there are spots I haven’t sat in I’d like to try. I can’t say that about many places.
For small groups (about 20 at $100 a head for a generous cocktail party), nothing beats the tented and air-conditioned but still outdoorsy garden at Provence.
It has those French slatted folding chairs that look great but honestly aren’t so comfortable after a while, but who cares? You teeter on bricks and stone around a circular fountain. Proprietors Michel and Patricia Jean have very green thumbs—the flors are always different, exquisite, and abundant. Here you are truly transported out of the Manhattan grime. I can’t think of a room farther away from that Page Six, need-a-moist-towelette feeling—you know what I mean.
It had been a few seasons since I last trekked to the Loeb Boathouse (all stationery now reads the Boathouse in Central Park, so I guess the Loeb name has been jettisoned). This is one of those places that seems like it's always upgrading.
You know how you go to some people’s houses and they're never the same? There’s always a new walkway with solar light fixtures, or a raised seating area with a mini fridge? When I started coming to the Boathouse 20 years ago for Cooper-Hewitt benefits, it was an events-only pink elephant kind of place, where parties under the awning took place rain or shine. When it rained, or worse, blew, it was a wild wet scene that left partygoers dripping mad. We loved it.
Now every inch of the place has been winterized. The giant deck has formidable glass doors that pull shut; they're half the length of a football field. There is forced air, both hot and cold. I guess because of this air control, the bar is clubby and upholstered, with lots of rugs too.
I think they’ve gone too far, and the big party room feels like it could be in any hotel. But on a nice night when the glass is open, this is still a good spot for a party.
Posted 09.21.05
Columnist Ted Kruckel is an experienced and opinionated former event and PR pro who ran events for 20 years for high-profile clients like Vanity Fair, Elle Decor, Christian Dior and Carolina Herrera. He shuttered his firm, Ted Inc., in 2003. You can email him at [email protected].
I have a lot of rules about dining and entertaining outdoors. For starters, in Manhattan, sidewalk cafés are verboten, and three short words explain why: It ain’t Paris. There, 40-foot-wide sidewalks provide the necessary buffer between exhaust fumes and wine bouquets.
I also don’t like pseudo-outdoors places where you can’t smoke. That’s not outdoors to me; that’s just a restaurant with a better airhole.
I had heard good things about the terrace of the 14th Floor, the space that sits atop the Library Hotel on East 41st Street. Good Midtown hotel rooftops are all too rare. There’s the Peninsula, which has a smoky glass atrium, and a mini outdoor patch with indoor-outdoor carpeting, which I think is a Manhattan no-no, although I used to go there a lot. For bigger parties, you can rent one of four magnificent suites at the Palace Hotel, where the views are staggering from 50-plus floors up, but vivid and occasionally hideous upholstery must be endured to access thoses oases.
The Library space has so many things going for it. There are three distinct indoor spaces, a bar, and two outward-looking, deck-style rooms, all with high ceilings and tons of glass, so that even the indoor spaces feel skybound.
The Library is part of HK Hotels, a small luxury chain that includes the Giraffe Hotel, the Hotel Elysee, and the Casablanca Hotel. Wisely, they recruited Gil Rubenstein (formerly of the Essex House) and Guy Heksch (from Daniel) to make the most of the 14th Floor’s southwestern exposure.
Mirrors help make this space feel bigger than it is. The two outdoor decks are perfect for a 12-person cocktail party or after-theater regrouping. It looks down on Madison Avenue, but it’s not too removed—you can see what the people below are wearing.
A modest menu of panini-type food is on hand, not trying too hard, but the real thing you notice is the buzzing and attentive staff. Both Gil and Guy are accomplished young restaurateurs, and most of the staff reflects that.
The way the space is broken up means you could use all or parts of it, and that when it gets chillier, there are still good options. This is my favorite outdoor pace in the city right now.
Conversely, my least favorite these days is the Yard, located alleylike alongside the Soho Grand Hotel. It's such a disappointment from a well-appointed hotel.
You enter from the street onto a barren strip, bar on your right, grim concrete on your left. A black staircase that leads to the hotel lobby looks and feels like a fire escape. In the back is a postage stamp-size lawn and pool, with like two chaise lounges resting akimbo, as if to say, “We just dare you to try and sunbathe here with a straight face.”
I’m here on a bearably hot evening and the place is only half full. Why won’t anyone serve me a drink? Forget getting something to eat—I get the sense it will take an hour. Going upstairs into the cool, dressy, and dark lobby to use the restroom doesn’t help. Instead, the gap between good and bad seems ever more clear.
Every time I go someplace bad and new I think, “Never again.” Why go someplace you’re not sure of and risk ruining a perfectly good evening? In that spirit I recommend two perfect outdoor dining options, Barolo and Provence.
I’m indifferent to Barolo all winter—I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with it. But when the weather is good, this giant outdoor courtyard (hundreds can fit) never disappoints. The food is predictable Italian, in a good way. You can have carpaccio or pasta with lemon and not worry. People linger here over espresso.
Awnings, trees, and tables are all used so smartly, it doesn’t feel like a giant square, but a series of small cozy areas, each with a different feel. I have been there dozens of times, but I still feel like there are spots I haven’t sat in I’d like to try. I can’t say that about many places.
For small groups (about 20 at $100 a head for a generous cocktail party), nothing beats the tented and air-conditioned but still outdoorsy garden at Provence.
It has those French slatted folding chairs that look great but honestly aren’t so comfortable after a while, but who cares? You teeter on bricks and stone around a circular fountain. Proprietors Michel and Patricia Jean have very green thumbs—the flors are always different, exquisite, and abundant. Here you are truly transported out of the Manhattan grime. I can’t think of a room farther away from that Page Six, need-a-moist-towelette feeling—you know what I mean.
It had been a few seasons since I last trekked to the Loeb Boathouse (all stationery now reads the Boathouse in Central Park, so I guess the Loeb name has been jettisoned). This is one of those places that seems like it's always upgrading.
You know how you go to some people’s houses and they're never the same? There’s always a new walkway with solar light fixtures, or a raised seating area with a mini fridge? When I started coming to the Boathouse 20 years ago for Cooper-Hewitt benefits, it was an events-only pink elephant kind of place, where parties under the awning took place rain or shine. When it rained, or worse, blew, it was a wild wet scene that left partygoers dripping mad. We loved it.
Now every inch of the place has been winterized. The giant deck has formidable glass doors that pull shut; they're half the length of a football field. There is forced air, both hot and cold. I guess because of this air control, the bar is clubby and upholstered, with lots of rugs too.
I think they’ve gone too far, and the big party room feels like it could be in any hotel. But on a nice night when the glass is open, this is still a good spot for a party.
Posted 09.21.05
Columnist Ted Kruckel is an experienced and opinionated former event and PR pro who ran events for 20 years for high-profile clients like Vanity Fair, Elle Decor, Christian Dior and Carolina Herrera. He shuttered his firm, Ted Inc., in 2003. You can email him at [email protected].
