Five Years of Fredric

Today is a major milestone for me and my beloved pooch, as it marks the fifth anniversary of that fateful day I brought Fredric home to Happy Valley, where we have lived happily ever since. I don't think I have to tell you, but adopting a dog was easily among the greatest decisions of my adult life. 

Fredric has injected so much joy into every minute we spend together, and I really love the darn mutt more than any amount of words could ever express. And so I wanted to do a little something special to mark this date. 

This morning, after a late wake-up thanks to a bit of bar hopping last night, we headed over to the Race Course Fire Memorial near Hong Kong Stadium, where he loves to play. But the real fun began an hour or so later, when we hopped in a taxi to Stanley.

You probably remember that I was down in Stanley for the Tuen Ng Festival dragon boat races, which fell on a Saturday in 2015, when I first met the dog who would become Fredric at the local SPCA. His name was Hank at the time, but our initial moments playing on the floor of the shelter all but convinced me he was the Fredric I'd been searching for. (I mean, seriously... look how cute—and tiny—he was!)

Since the SPCA makes you "sleep on it" for a night before committing, in order to prevent impulse adoptions, I had to return the next day—like this year, also a Sunday, also, coincidentally, Father's Day—to confirm my decision. 

And, so, it's fallen into a pretty standard tradition that when the timing is right, I try to bring Fredric back to his ancestral family roots whenever this anniversary rolls around. And even though it's now a surf shop, I ensure we pay at least a quick visit to the former SPCA where Fredric and I first met. 

We had lunch today at the Boathouse, a charming restaurant set in an old colonial house situated on the waterfront promenade, its pastel yellow façade perhaps the only attractive architecture along the whole stretch, until you finally come to historic Murray House. 

I feasted on mussels, clams and shrimp in a delectable garlic and white wine cream sauce, all washed down with a crisp draught beer, while the heavenly sea view danced off in the distance. The waiters were friendly, and the weather couldn't have been better! In short, a perfect seaside lunch. 

There was even a pretty lackluster solar eclipse that found its way into the afternoon, which apparently saw the moon taking over eighty percent of the sun just after four o'clock. I was excited when I learned it was about to occur, and gamely looked up to the sky when the event was meant to be nearing its apex.

Alas, to be honest, I couldn't really make out too much of a difference from how the sun normally seems on a glorious midsummer afternoon. But it was still cool knowing this was a pretty rare occurrence.

Fredric and I headed for the sands afterwards, where we made friends with chatty Ash and his dog Abby, plus a few other beach-goers who came across our paths. Fredric isn't a big fan of swimming—in fact, he won't really even get too close to the surf—but, boy, does he love the sand!

He spent a silly amount of time this afternoon digging and rolling and lying in it. And I loved seeing him so obviously overjoyed.

Needless to say, after a spot of market shopping, I squeezed in one final beer at the Pickled Pelican, the pub just next door to the Boathouse—blessed with an equally ethereal view of the ocean, Murray House and Blake Pier—as night descended upon the scene. 

Back home, I ordered a pizza and switched on my DVD of Design for Living, the classic 1933 Ernst Lubitsch comedy starring my pooch's dapper namesake, Fredric March, in addition to Gary Cooper and a scintillating Miriam Hopkins.

It's the movie we watched that very first night together back in 2015, and I even pulled out the old empty bottle of dessert wine I had sipped as we enjoyed our first bonding session on the couch. (Of course I saved it. Are you really surprised?)

What a wild run it's been over these past five years, and I look forward to many more memories with my dear little mongrel. Cheers to half a decade, buddy! Thanks for being such a wonderful, loving bundle of boundless energy.

Weekend at the Pen

Greetings from the grande old dame of Hong Kong. 

That's right. I spent this past weekend at the storied Peninsula Hotel over in Kowloon, a little staycation I planned to counter the frustrations of having had to cancel no fewer than six anticipated holidays (so far) and wanting to indulge in a little splurge to make a pitcher of lemonade out of this new variety of COVID lemons. 

Truth be told, I've longed to spend a night in the Pen for over a decade, since I first learned of her existence. One of my very first weekends in Hong Kong, I ducked into the gilt-age lobby for a double espresso after my first manic exploration of Kowloon. And ever since then, I've been a frequent caller, whether for afternoon tea, a visit to the bars, a wander through the lobby and even extravagant lunches or dinners at some of her swanky restaurants. But being a full-fledged guest had always eluded me. Well, until Saturday, that is.

As one of the world's most famous hotels, the Peninsula counts on a steady stream of well-heeled, deep-pocketed tourists flowing through Hong Kong to keep her well-tended marble polished. Well, as you can imagine, with all that's happened of late, first with the Hong Kong protests that began last June and compounded by the coronavirus, the number of foreign visitors making their way to Hong Kong had slowly diminished and finally stopped altogether when the government banned any non-residents from entering the city in March. All hotels, really, not just this one, had a crisis on their hands, and managers have resorted to crafting enticing staycation packages to lure locals to their lodgings. 

It's been a couple of months now I've been toying with the idea. I've looked at the Mandarin Oriental, and the Four Seasons. I priced up the Ritz-Carlton and even the new Rosewood. I even considered the Tai O Heritage Hotel over on Lantau and the Warwick on Cheung Chau. But there was always a front-runner in my mind. 

And, I mean, how could the Pen not have won out? The deal was downright fantastic. From a Rolls Royce pick-up to daily breakfast in the lobby, from a HKD 500 credit during your stay to an additional HKD 500 credit for future use offered upon departure, to flexible check in and check out times to the ability to select from a unique series of curated experiences, I know I'll treasure the memories of this mid-June reverie for a lifetime.

As I sit here now getting ready to check out, gazing from my twenty-fifth floor window towards the Kowloon hills, I am just so darn satisfied with how the past fifty-one hours have gone. I've really felt like I have been on vacation, which is something I've missed since my return from Thailand back in late February. 

The Pen welcomed its first guests in 1928, and since it's opening, the likes of Charles Chaplin, Noel Coward and Frank Sinatra have been among its most illustrious visitors. Coward even brushed up the manuscript of his classic comedy Private Lives in the hotel, after having completed the first draft at the Cathay Hotel (now called the Peace Hotel) on the Bund in Shanghai. 

My Peninsula adventures began a little before nine on Saturday when—while walking Fredric home after his morning jaunt—I spotted an enormous Rolls Royce stopped at the traffic light on Sing Wood Road.

I knew it was my ride, and excitedly dragged the little guy home, finished packing and rushed down the stairs again to step inside. It was a huge boat of an automobile, easily the most spacious I've ever been inside. And although it was only a short experience—the chauffeur closed the car door at 8:52am before whisking me off on the journey and the doormen at the hotel opened it again to escort me inside at 9:09am—it made for an immaculate first impression. 

And from those very first moments on, every instant of this experience has been flawless. 

Check-in was swift, and took place in my room on the twenty-fifth floor of the tower, looking towards the Kowloon hills. Yes, a harbor view would have been nice, but I'm actually just as thrilled with my airy panorama of the bustling peninsula from which the hotel has taken its famous name. And if I sit right up on the window-ledge, I actually can see the harbor to both the left and the right. No amount of panos on my iPhone has fully captured to grandeur of the scene, but that hasn't stopped me from trying. 

And my room is luxe... From the high tech tablets from which you control lighting, temperature, privacy settings, the television screens and even the window curtains, to the impossibly comfortable bed, to the complimentary coffees and teas, the design and amenities are all you'd dream they could be. 

Upon settling into my room, and after a little obligatory exploration of the new digs, my first major act was to shower and change into presentable attire to indulge in a gluttonous lunch at Michelin-starred Gaddi's, said to be Hong Kong first fine dining establishment, opening all the way back in 1953. When I reserved my room a little over a week ago, Gaddi's was unfortunately fully-booked for Saturday lunch. But I put my name on the waiting list and was absolutely over-the-moon when I got a call the other day that a spot had opened up.

"Are you still interested in dining with us?" someone on the other end of the line inquired. 

"Absolutely," was my immediate reply. “You’ve just made my day.”

This was only my second time at Gaddi's, because it's a real special occasion kind of a place. But if spending a weekend at the Pen isn't a special enough occasion to warrant visit number two, I don't know what could be. And there's a set lunch deal of phenomenal value, with four courses plus an amuse-bouche to start and petit-fours and coffee to finish. 

And I veritably feasted that afternoon. After the sweet corn amuse-bouche, I had a burrata, broccoli and octopus panna cotta for my first appetizer, a Brittany langoustine ravioli with coconut and lemongrass foam for my second appetizer, and an incredibly presented cut of Scottish salmon with mango salsa and pepper sauce for my main. 

For dessert, I selected the Honeycomb, an impeccable slice of home cooked banana bread hidden beneath a luscious covering of ginger and honey cream. And with the impeccable service (every member of staff addressed me as Mr. Parisi from the moment I arrived until my departure) and the divine setting, I was in seventh heaven. 

Each course was perfect, and I'll be dreaming about that meal for a long time. I hope I have a sufficient reason to return to Gaddi's soon. 

Post-lunch, I brought my book to the sundeck, where I soaked up an hour or so's worth of rays before the Typhoon Three Signal was officially hoisted by the Hong Kong Observatory. As a precaution, the hotel shuts the outdoor space for safety's sake when the Observatory takes such action, so I didn't have much of a choice but to return inside. 

But down in the Peninsula Arcade adjoining the lobby, there's a camera shop-cum-photo space called F22, where they have some classic Leica specimens on display, plus a current series of Bob Willoughby portraits of Audrey Hepburn, which helped kill a nice half hour or so until the rooftop bar, Felix, was slated to open.

And what a rooftop it is! 

Felix opened when the tower extension was completed back in 1994, designed by French avant-garde master Philippe Starck, who somehow convinced the owners of the otherwise conservative hotel that his wiggy style would be a good fit for the new showstopping space nestled a few floors beneath the twin helipads that crown the rooftop. 

Would you believe that in spite of its heavenly view over Kowloon to one side and Victoria Harbour to the other, that the view is secondary to the decor? Well, it is...

There are twin snail-like structures hiding private dining rooms and mini-bars, there's a huge interior dining room where every seat's back is covered with the face of many of the hotel's longest-serving staff members, and the men's room is justifiably famous for the placement of its three urinals, whose users have unparalleled views towards the Kowloon hills as they, um, use the facilities. 

I perched myself at the harbormost seat at the long marble bar, where I quickly struck up a conversation with Taki, one of the three resident mixologists. She whipped up cocktail after delectable cocktail for me, making liberal use of intriguing ingredients, like champagne foam, truffle oil and unique bitters. And she took great relish in explaining the combination of flavors in each glass. 

I also had a great chat with the affable general manager, Leo, who implored me to become a more regular visitor, even if I'm probably not going to splurge on booking a room again any time soon. As if I needed any further convincing, a picture perfect rainbow appeared over Wan Chai as I sipped and chatted away. 

But the surprise of the night came when I felt a discreet tap on my shoulder, followed by a "Hello, Stranger." It was Christina and her boyfriend, Matt, who, in anticipation of her birthday (which happens to be today) had planned a little staycation of their own. 

We had a round of cocktails together, and it was so good to catch up. Of course, we had to document the sheer improbability of the encounter with a quick photo shoot. They had a celebratory dinner planned in the nearby dining room, and I had some plans of my own, so we went our separate ways. But it was such a sweet little moment, half an hour at the most, that I'll never forget it. 

The plans of my own that I just referred to made for possibly the least social Saturday evening of my adult life. But Private Lives is perhaps my favorite comedic play ever, and the 1931 film adaptation starring Norma Shearer and Robert Montgomery has a high place on my list of top movies.

So, of course, I couldn't resist the temptation to bring a long my DVD copy and pop it in the player, content to savor a private screening in the secluded luxury of my room.

But Saturday, as great as it had been, was just a prelude to Sunday, one of the fullest, most fun days of my adult life. And one I'll remember for ever and always.

It started early with a dip in the Peninsula's swimming pool, which was pretty quiet at that hour. Perched on the hotel's eighth floor, the indoor space is so light and airy, with floor to ceiling windows facing Victoria Harbour, that it almost feels like you're outside. With Roman flourishes like be-freized columns and discreet jazz melodies that can only be heard when underwater, the pool is as tony as you'd expect at such a hotel.

One of the nicest features of this staycation deal was that it included breakfast for two each morning, which you had the option of having served in the sumptuous lobby, beside the pool or in the glamorous seclusion of your room. I opted for the opulent conspicuousness of the lobby, inviting Danijela to join in the fun. And it was a breakfast to remember.

After taking her around to some of my favorite spots in the hotel that I had discovered during my Saturday snooping, plus a return to the Audrey Hepburn photography exhibit, it was time for a really special treat: a visit to the China Clipper, the private penthouse lounge which normally serves as the disembarkation point for helicopter tours.

You see, as I mentioned, the package I booked also included one of eight specially-designed activities, which ranged from a cooking class in the state of the art kitchens, to a photo shoot in vintage clothing, to a private film screening in what was previously a bar but has since been turned into a ritzy, intimate cinema. And although I must confess it was the movie option that first grabbed my attention, I was ultimately drawn to a guided tour of the China Clipper, which also included a visit to the helipad itself, normally off limits unless you're actually boarding your chopper.

Skyward we rode in the exclusive carpeted elevator, accessed from a hidden corner on the twenty-seventh floor, with express service straight on up to the thirtieth, the doors opening with a ding, granting rare access into a world of wonder. Nerd that I am, I even donned a special Pan Am t-shirt I had brought just for the occasion. The reaction of the guide who met us as the doors of the elevator opened was practically immediate. "Great shirt," he remarked.

Boy, was this place, incredible!

For starters, the first thing you realize when you step out of the elevator is that part of the wall is a genuine section of the fuselage of an old Douglas DC-4, which has been incorporated into the design, window and all—looking down on 1881 Heritage, the Star Ferry Pier and all the way across the harbor to Central!

There's also a gleaming chrome propeller embedded into the left side of the wall of the main hallway, while the right half is dominated by a twenty-foot long display case showing off priceless artifacts from the legendary Golden Age of Aviation.

There are old postcards and plane models and letters carried on the first clipper flight, which saw mail delivered from North America to Asia. But I think I was most impressed with the travel case of an American salesman named Al Rabin. You see, Mr. Rabin had a penchant for collecting seals at the various hotels where he stayed during his voyages, and every square inch of leather on this case was covered—layered, really—in vintage travel stickers. It was a sight to behold!

"I would recommend you guys go up to the helipad now. It has stopped raining," one of the attendants told us, "and if it starts up again, you might not get to visit."

So, up we went, for one of the most stunning views of this city I've yet been fortunate to discover in my ten plus years here. And I have to confess, we were damn lucky. The helipad is closed for safety reasons whenever the Hong Kong Observatory hoists the T-3 signal or higher. As you'll remember, they had taken that step the afternoon before, but less than a half hour before our scheduled tour, they dropped it back down to T-1, allowing us to ascend to the very rooftop of the hotel's tower.

It might sound silly, but Danijela and I spent a full half hour drinking in the dreamy view, asking questions of the friendly helipad manager—yes, that was his actual job title—and snapping an endless array of photographs from this fabled perch.

There were a few other participants in the tour, but they didn't seem to have the same level of interest that we did, so before long, they had gone back down to the lounge, leaving Danijela and I to wander about the twin helipads in tranquil, breezy solitude. (Yes, she almost lost that hat on multiple occasions.)

Back downstairs, we began a closer examination of the mini-museum of aviation history that's housed in the China Clipper, with our trusty helipad manager explaining the most noteworthy items. And when he unlocked and opened the display case to remove Mr. Rabin's fragile suitcase to give us a closer look, I relished the opportunity for an intimate inspection.

Still, I could scarcely believe he indulged my request when I asked if I could hold it. "Quick, Danijela," I muttered. "Please take a photograph!"

We were even escorted into the pilot's lounge, a small room lined with local maps and connected via direct radio to Hong Kong International Airport's control tower. At the flick of a switch, we could suddenly hear airplane captains and air traffic specialists requesting and granting permission for take-offs and landings. All from the comfort of the Pen!

Back in the lounge, a small buffet had been set up with complimentary cookies and biscuits, along with a mini-bar consisting of sparkling water, orange juice and ice tea. So we made a few plates, filled a couple of glasses and plopped down on a low black leather couch to milk the experience to its utmost potential.

Ultimately, Danijela had to leave in order to attend to some urgent Sunday work tasks at her office in Kowloon Bay, but I had another friend who was keen to spend part of her weekend in the storied hotel. So not long after Danijela's departure, I welcomed my pal Hana to the opulent lobby, quickly heading up to the pool, showing her the room and taking her around to some other favorite spots in a place I was now starting to feel was like my own house.

And then I had a brilliant idea. Faithful readers of this blog must be aware of my habit of collecting Starbucks mugs on my world travels. Since I brought home that first mug from Cebu in the Philippines on my Chinese New Year trip back in 2011, I'd amassed a whopping twenty-six of the suckers, but never quite liked the idea of adding Hong Kong's to my collection.

I don't know why, but when I look at my shelfful of mugs, there's a special nostalgia of travel memories that invades my brain. Each mug was purchased on a trip in a foreign place, during a friend's wedding or a summer vacation or business travel or even, in some cases, a simple day trip. So something seemed wrong about just popping into a local Starbucks to procure the Hong Kong version and putting it alongside such memories.

But this staycation proved the perfect opportunity to change that.

By this point in the weekend, I really felt like I was on a bona fide vacation. The swankiness of the hotel, the amazing meals and drinks I'd enjoyed over the past twenty-four hours, the exceptionalism of pretty much every aspect of this experience so far... I was having more fun than I'd had on many a holiday. So why—I thought to myself—not?

Hana gamely tagged along as we made our way to the nearby Starbucks on the Avenue of Stars, nestled between statues of Hong Kong icons Anita Mui and Bruce Lee, with a heavenly view across Victoria Harbour towards the towers of the city beyond. And as I sipped that black iced coffee, my new mug by my side, it all felt right. I was glad I had waited for such an opportunity and hadn't cheated it years earlier.

We spent some time in the tony Peninsula Arcade upon our return to the hotel, where Hana tried on a few emerald rings in a ritzy jewel boutique, but we wanted to spend the bulk of our time leading up to dinner by—or in—the pool.

So up we went to the seventh floor, where the spa and health center are situated, from which an internal staircase leads you up one floor to the airy natatorium. Of course, we couldn't resist the opportunity to do a little snooping on seven before ascending to the pool. I'm not a spa connoisseur myself, but the space was subtly elegant and under the right circumstances—i.e. with a little pushing from someone who was keen to indulge—I'm sure I could spend a lovely afternoon here.

But even more, I was taken with the fitness center. Not because of any high-tech exercise machines, of course. Not by a long shot. No, but because the outdoor deck abutting the workout room had what was quite simply the best view, since it is nestled at the front edge of the Peninsula's west wing, meaning it affords a view both across the harbor and also back towards the noble façade of the hotel itself.

A dramatic rain seemed about to arrive, which prevented any further preening on the sun deck, but while Hana lingered in the Jacuzzi, I snagged a window table and ordered a screwdriver. There's a bit of a back story here.

You see, the Peninsula, having opened in 1928, has seen its fair share of legendary guests, Clark Gable being perhaps the most illustrious. When he stopped by the lobby bar during the filming of Prisoner of Fortune in 1955, he asked the young bartender, one Johnny Chung, for a screwdriver. At first, Johnny was confused and started to call down to the maintenance department to ask for a tool.

"No, no," Gable told him. "A screwdriver is a drink."

He then proceeded to teach the young bartender how to prepare one, declaring the end result "delicious." A full sixty-five years later, not only has the screwdriver become the hotel's signature drink, but Johnny Chung—now in his eighties—still reports to work every day, although COVID-19 has seen him minimizing his interaction with guests.

Alas, I guess I'll just have to return again when this is all over to savor a screwdriver prepared by the legendary bartender himself. But sitting poolside with an atmospheric storm rolling in, screwdriver in hand, made for a lovely interlude.

And when I sent Christina a message to see what she and Matt were up to, I successfully coaxed them down for a round or two of drinks themselves. Hana had never met these guys before, and of course, our brief reunion at Felix the night before just wasn't enough for me, so it was great to continue catching up in the leisurely setting. But before long, the dinner gong was about to ring.

Of all the restaurants in the Peninsula, perhaps the most surprising in Chesa, the Swiss chalet-themed eatery on the first floor. Why on earth would Hong Kong's leading hotel have an alpine dining room serving specialties like fondue and raclette? Of course, there's another great story behind it...

When Cathay Pacific began flying direct to Zurich in 1963, the Peninsula opened what was intended to be a temporary addition to the hotel's culinary scene, designed to promote the new air link. When the local population went gaga over the fare on offer, it was decided the restaurant had earned a permanent place on the litany, and Chesa has stood proud ever since.

Now in service for over fifty-five years, the intimate restaurant is one of the best spots in town to transport yourself faraway from Hong Kong. You really feel beamed to a little wooden hut in a high mountain paradise, right down to the in-your-face aromas of melted cheese wafting through the air of the impeccably decorated space.

And, oh, what a meal to remember!

Just like my visits the day before to Gadddi's and Felix, this was, perhaps surprisingly, also only my second call on the friendly folks at Chesa. I had organized my birthday dinner here back in November last year, and I was seriously wowed by the whole shebang. And this subsequent feast proved that my introduction hadn't been any anomaly. It was a pitch-perfect meal from start to finish.

After significant study of the menu, we settled on the signature fondue moitie-moitie and Swiss veal sausage with rich onion sauce, all washed down with a heavenly bottle of fendant. And we finished things off with two desserts: a decadent meringue and Swiss roll. In the midst of this global pandemic with actual travel all but impossible, a visit to Chesa is about as close as I'll possibly get to re-visiting the culinary joys of last summer's wildly successful trip to Switzerland. And, for the record, it was pretty damn close.

As we'd been enjoying our meal, the sounds of live music from the lobby were emanating upwards towards our table. "Oh, yes," the waitress informed us. "There's a band complete with a vocalist performing every Sunday evening until eleven."

Well, I guess you know where Hana and I headed after wolfing down the complimentary petit-fours that cap off any meal at Chesa. After a quick pop to Spring Moon, the Cantonese restaurant where Christina and Matt were having dinner, to say a quick goodnight, we made a beeline for the nearly deserted lobby, where, sure enough, a group of musicians were serenading a thin crowd.

I ordered a double espresso and, during a pause in numbers after New York, New York, I called up to the singer. "Do you take request?"

"Sure, what do you want?" was her immediate reply.

With only a second to think, and sitting in the Peninsula's historic lobby, I blurted out the first title that came to my head. "How about Slow Boat to China?"

"O.K." she said, and a few moments later the music had started. I almost immediately ordered a Grand Marnier.

For the rest of the evening, she indulged pretty much every request Hana and I threw out there.

Valerie.

Fly Me to the Moon.

Strangers in the Night.

And a poignant rendition of Love is a Many-Splendored Thing. What could have been a more appropriate selection to draw this magical day to a finale?

From the earliest stages of its planning, I knew this weekend's dream was to be but a brief reverie. And I was O.K. with that—or, rather, I had to be. But I was still not quite prepared to awake on Monday morning to the realization that things were coming to an end. Enter the heroic Peninsula front desk clerk, who informed me as I headed towards the elevator up to my room on Sunday evening that my 9am check-out time was pushed back to noon.

That ensured that my final hours were leisurely, a most welcome extension of the two days that had preceded them.

It began—as most good days do—with another hearty breakfast in the ornate lobby. Originally, I had invited a friend to join me, because, as you will remember, my package included breakfast for two each morning. A last minute cancellation left me flying solo, but even this cloud turned out to have the silverest of livings.

"The way the breakfast works is that each table can spend up to HKD 400 per person in the booking, and since you're booked for two, that means your table is comped up to HKD 800. If you go over that, you'll only need to pay the difference," the friendly waiter explained.

The day before, Danijela and I had each ordered the signature Peninsula breakfast set, but today I oped to explore the enticing a la carte options, starting with a hearty breakfast burger, with molten cheese, caramelized onions and perfectly fried potatoes. It came out perfectly rare, just as I always order—but so infrequently, or, if you'll pardon the pun, rarely, receive—my meat in Hong Kong.

It was utterly fabulous, and I was so glad I had decided to go down a different route than the standard onslaught of fresh fruit, granola, eggs and bacon that we'd savored the day before. And there was another item on the menu that really piqued my interest, that I just had to try. Truffle and lobster sausage. Yes, you read that right. Truffle. And lobster. Sausage. Well, I had a little bit left in my breakfast budget, and the waiter veritably urged me not to miss out.

Let's just say, I may have never heard of lobster sausage before, but I'm not quite sure why this isn't a breakfast staple. They say Wheaties is the breakfast of champions. What madness! Truffle and lobster sausage is the true breakfast of champions. I vow to become a frequent champion.

Even eaten in a hovel, this was a breakfast fit for a king. But taken in the palace-like surroundings of the Peninsula's 1928 lobby, it was one for the ages.

Between finishing meal and now, I squeezed in a bit of shopping and even found Matt down on the sun deck, where a most glorious Monday sun was shining over the city. He and Christina—the lucky devils—are staying the whole day, having taken off from work to celebrate her birthday. But I have to be making tracks, catching that Star Ferry across the harbor to the office.

As I get ready to check out now, packed to the rafters with souvenirs to remember this monumental weekend, I feel so fortunate that I've finally achieved a major life goal. Let's hope this first stay at the Pen isn't my last. But if it must be, I'm comforted in the memories of a pretty near perfect weekend, filled with food, friends and fun.

Long live the grande dame!