LET THE SUNSHINE IN
Ladies and gents,
The recent cold snap in New York motivated me to pack my steamer trunk and hop the first JetBlue flight to Palm Beach International. There is no tonic quite like this manicured paradise of pink stucco, swaying palms, and vintage glamour. I’m staying as the guest of an old friend — something of a behind-the-scenes show biz legend who insisted on anonymity. Said legend has just kitted out a waterfront two-bedroom condo in full Palm Beach style. Picture lacquered furniture, upholstery in the boldest pinks and greens and oranges money can buy, and more coffee table books than a Benedikt Taschen fever dream. Even the bath products are brightly hued (Acqua di Parma yellow, to be specific).
A slender island barely sixteen miles long, Palm Beach is steeped in history and exclusivity. This time of year — when the snowbirds flock down and the traffic is slow — is known as “The Season” (or, as my host insists those in-the-know call it, simply, “Season”). The island’s private clubs are the stuff of legend. The Everglades and The Bath & Tennis (known to insiders as simply “The B&T”) remain as coveted — and bigoted — as ever. But I prefer taking my meals on the other side of the intercostal — The Palm Beach Yacht Club has some of the best food in town, and doesn’t restrict access based on race, religion, or sexual orientation.
Of course, I’d trade even the most exclusive club membership for one more night at Taboo, the legendary haunt that once ruled Worth Avenue. The strawberry daiquiris there were potent little works of art, full of fresh strawberry puree and (if for those who knew to ask for it) contraband Cuban rum. I still hear the whir of the blender in my dreams. Its closing left a hole in the fabric of Palm Beach nightlife, and I hold out hope that some enterprising visionary will reopen it and restore it to its former glory. I’ll be first in line for one of those glorious frozen cocktails.
The scene has since moved to the storied Colony Hotel, more vibrant than ever. This candy-pink jewel is suddenly the beating heart of Palm Beach’s social life, and its poolside events are always a hoot. Sunday bingo and Monday trivia — both administered poolside — are weekly highlights. The indoor/outdoor eatery — Swifty’s — reminds me of a miniature Polo Lounge, with equally good people-watching and similarly eye-popping prices.
If you don’t mind noisy environments and harried service, the inventive menu of sharables at Buccan is stacked with arguably the finest food in South Florida. For dessert: get an entire Key Lime Pie (with shortbread crust) from Ganache or stop by Sprinkles for an ice cream sundae.
Now, we can’t ignore the orange elephant in the room. Yes, this is the current favored residence of the current president. Yes, the crowd here has gotten increasingly MAGA-fied and the state of Florida as about as regressive as North Korea. But let’s not forget this was John Kennedy’s playground long before the Cybertruck set moved in. One day, I expect the fever will break and things here will return to a more traditional version of abnormal. Until then, I’ll go right on sipping my strawberry daiquiris and shouting “Bingo!” by the pool. Living well, dear reader, is the very best revenge.
Tidbits from around town…
Spotted Kris Jenner browsing Lilly Pulitzer kaftans at C. Orrico.
Caught the legendary steak slinger known as “Frankie Meatballs” — formerly of Smith & Wollensky fame — working the room at the new Gallagher’s location in Boca Raton.
Saw Katie Couric breaking a sweat at Palm Beach Fitness.
As always, a toast of something sparkling to you and yours!
Kisses,