Brunch At The Plaza

When it came to deciding what my first review should be about, I had a small checklist to keep me on the right track. Firstly it had to be something that epitomized New York. Check. Something that would kick off my blog with a boom. Check. Something that illustrated in some way what kind of person I am. Check. Something that you couldn't read about just anywhere. Check. And finally, something that mixes what my blog stands for; British In The City. Check. 

Perfect. So today, my friends, I want to take you with me on my very first, and hopefully not my last, Brunch At The Plaza. "So what?" you may be asking. Big Whoop, an expensive brunch of eggs Benedict, ridiculously over-priced, in a pink dining room surrounded by pretentious people, when quite frankly the diner over the road does the same eggs Benedict for an eighth of the price. 

Fair enough, and I am not exactly disagreeing with you. 

But I am not talking about just any old weekend Brunch, in the city, in one of the most famous hotels. This isn't just any brunch, where anyone can go. No. This is the famous and fantastic Plaza Brunch that starts exclusively at 2.30pm and finishes at 6pm. This brunch is by invite only (unless you are willing to spend thousands of dollars for a table).

Here is where I will mention that I am not some breeding, socialite of New York where I am exclusively invited to every fabulous event happening in the city. As I have mentioned before, I have been lucky enough to experience all of this quite frankly due to the people I have met. I don't know why God has granted me with such fabulous friends, but I must be doing something right. It is my model-beauty of a best friend who has an endless list of connections who invited me to this brunch along with her. 

Enough of my rambling; let me set the scene for you. 

You walk up the red, velvet carpets blanketing the stairs leading up to the Plaza's main entrance. You glance around you as you carefully try not to fall over on those new heels you bought last week. There's the wealthy, Russian couple in head-to-toe fur stepping into their white Mercedes; over there is an Asian family taking photographs of the immense building, as well as that Russian couple as they must think they are famous. The doors are opened for you in men dressed impeccably in gold and black. You make your way through the palace-like lobby and make your way to the Oak Room. There you see a long, long, line of beautifully dressed individuals. The smell of various colognes and perfumes make you feel rather nauseous (as you haven't even had your morning coffee or bagel in anticipation for today’s brunch). These people are in line for a table and glare at you as you walk past, all the females giving you the up-and-down to analyze and judge whatever designer you are wearing (It’s a mix of Club Monaco, Forever 21 and Zara ,dah-ling, but I can make anything look expensive!). You hand over your coat and in a flurry of air kisses you are suddenly whisked past the line and you've entered the Oak Room. It's straight to the bar. Free cocktails - I'll have your signature Walt Disney, please. Another flurry of air kissing as more people arrive. The air is buzzing with chatter, there's the clinking of champagne glasses and the clonking of Manolo Blahniks on the wooden floors. There are Louis Vuitton bags and Chanel clutches placed on the tables and hanging off the shoulders of an Alexander Wang dress. You are mesmerized by the wealth and the fashion in this one room. And then I spot the security guards blocking the entrance into the back room. Somehow you manage to mesh in with this glamorous crowd and enter this room with pure grace and style (well done me, I deserve another drink for that).  A new sight is upon you. Huge, round tables covered in white and pink tablecloths. In the center of the table are huge buckets filled with Rose, Champagne and other various alcoholic delights. The room is filled with stick-thin models and rich looking men. This crowd is beautiful. The music starts, and you sit and glance over the menu - lobsters, tuna tartar, sweet delights, salmon, lobster again, French toast, eggs Florentine... you name it, it's there. Taking advantage of the fact you are not paying a dime, you order the most expensive thing on the menu (don't judge me, who wouldn't do that?!) The music gets louder, the lights get dimmer and you notice a huge DJ Booth in the corner of the room. This is the Plaza, people; a Royal Family, elderly aristocrats, Upper East Side princess’s maybe.... but a DJ Booth?

Scantily, but elegantly clad, waitresses carry ridiculously sized bottles of Rose on their shoulders, quickly intoxicating the happily, munching crowd. You're diving in to your Lobster Salad, just listening to the chatter of skiing, runways, fashion shows and clubbing stories all around you. A man and his girlfriend sit down next to you. You notice his accent is British and decide that this is an opportunity to make some conversation rather than just sit there pigging out on the food. You introduce yourself and ask small talk about where they are from. The girlfriend happily chats along, while the boyfriend with his velvet blazer and slicked back long hair looks like he's bored. "And what's your name, again?" I ask politely. "Philippe" he replies in this terribly pretentious English drawl. "Phillip" I repeat, the Rose beginning to kick in to my mischievous side. "No. Phill-iiii-pe", he says again and then turns his back to me. 

You turn to the rest of your table and slowly build confidence. It is then you realize that all the girls on this table are struggling individuals with lucky contacts and they too are reaping the rewards of Promoters, (although you do get the impression that this isn't their first Plaza brunch and they are more than used to this luxury!)  Then a rather handsome man has stood up on the stage by the DJ. He announces a very exotic female name and a dark-haired, tanned beauty appears with her electric violin. This was my first experience of House music being played over violin. It was incredible. I couldn't even dance. I just stared in awe. 

The eating stops. The dancing starts, and for the next couple of hours you are dancing wildly like it's 3am in the meatpacking district. 

Its now 5.30pm and the Plaza needs to get ready to go back to their sophisticated, traditional, quiet self for dinner and the sweating and hyped up crowd leave the Oak Room entrance. You expect it to be dark outside and a struggle to find cabs. But it's light out, the day is young. You still have a whole evening ahead of you.http://www.oakroomny.com/ 

And with that, I slip off my shoes, get into my Uggs and head to the subway!