1/7/2024 0 Comments The tower bar los angelesThe cocktail list at the Butterfly Bar has recently been revamped, including such libations as the “Eastsider” and “Infante,” concoctions mixed with gin, cucumber, lime, mint or tequila, rose water and nutmeg. “It also allows our visitors to be comfortable and uninhibited while they are with us.” It’s a safe zone indeed… if you can get in. “The privacy of our guests and the safe-keeping of their stories is of the utmost importance,” says Kristen Alexandra Daie, Executive Director at Petit Ermitage. During certain hours of the day, visitors can even go topless at the rooftop salt-water pool. The vibe is free-spirited, charming, charismatic, indulgent and warm. Upstairs at the private Rooftop Club and Butterfly Bar, both reserved exclusively for hotel guests and their friends, “Spirit Master” Brian Stewart works his magic, guiding you through a fog of liquors, mists, fruits and more. Security detail guarding the elevator checks names, and permits or denies entry. Inside, the lobby is petite, quaint, adorned with European antiques, original artwork and an empty birdcage. Upon first glance, the exterior could be mistaken for a stylish apartment complex. In a more private setting, off the beaten path sits Petit Ermitage, an 80-suite hotel on Cynthia Street, at Larrabee, that blends delicately into the neighborhood. The private rooftop club at Petit Ermitage, Butterfly Bar. To their dismay, there you are, climbing into a Buick LeSabre, lurching away. After paying the tab you await the young valet boy as dozens of teenagers holding cameras hover over a nearby wall, itching to see a celebrity. When your glass is empty, a hostess promptly appears for a refill. It’s dim, high-end, immaculate, expensive. Handsome middle-aged businessmen are wrapped up in the latest stock prices, young women in slinky dresses giggle quietly over wine. J&B Scotch, lemon, ginger, and mist of Laphroaig warm your insides. On the drink menu, “Penicillin” might cure your ails as you slide into a chair near the marble bar. “What can I get you,” asks a sleek cocktailian at The London, tucked into the corner of San Vicente and Sunset Blvd. At this point, a bartender’s voice is your only salvation. Now that you’ve filled your tank with gas, navigated the mean, honking streets leading to up to West Hollywood and paid $15-plus for parking, you wander into a swank hotel lobby where tourists are checking in, asking for directions and loitering. (Photos by Celia Soudry) Penicillin at The London
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