If ultimate style is tradition brought up to date, Bvlgari Hotel Paris epitomises success. The brand goes way back, to 1884, when Greek silversmith Sotirios Boulgaris opened a jewellery shop. Today LVMH owns what has become big-brand Bulgari (though the hotels like to be called Bvlgari).
The franchised Bvlgari Hotel Paris is owned by a group of private international investors and, interestingly, it was conceived and put together by its MD, Sylvain Ercoli. French mother, Italian father. The result is a nine-floor building at the junction of avenue George V and Pierre 1er de Serbie, directly opposite Four Seasons George V.
You’re bowled over by wow, even before arrival. Naturally a confident and charming hotel ambassador can meet you at the airport, or, if coming by Eurostar, exactly at the train carriage door. Once at the 76-room beauty, go through the door and Monica Viti – a lifesize portrait, admittedly – smiles. Glide around the ground floor, anti-clockwise, through the lobby lounge, to a bijou terrace, oh so dolce vita. Thanks to standing heaters, you can dine here, year-round. All-round, glorious low-hung trees are highlighted Broadway style.
Food is designed by Bvlgari’s culinary partner, Nico Romito, and gorgeous. Sometimes in other Bvlgaris this Michelin-starred chef only does multi-course tastings but here you can fortunately go à la carte. Feel ecstatic about the antipasti, shared for two. First come three different tantalising tastes, followed by another trio of plates, more exquisite mouthfuls.
Nico Romito’s veal Milanaise, as main course, is essential, no flattened slab but a light-as-air high shape. Follow the many Parisiens dining here and choose Rosé, a 2021 Pétale de Rose from Régine Sumeire, a friend from Sylvain Ercoli’s days in St-Tropez. At breakfast, as well as the usuals there is a Corbeille italienne. Six different breads lie in military order on a hotel-logo wood tray, plus a trio of Niko Romito jams – and Beurre Echiré butter, Ferme de Peupliers yoghurt, and Illy coffee. Bvlgari style, French-Italian throughout.
There’s super-spacious fitness centre, a 23-metre pool, and the spa offers five different products, including the what is becoming Millennial-trendy, 111skin, from London. Everything is minutely considered, for the whole world. In the morning, your newspapers, say Figaro or New York Times, arrive before dawn in a taupe linen bag. Order a salmon sandwich for the ongoing journey and it is delivered, intentionally, five minutes before your car leaves (the sartorialist who brings it might sport a pine green suit from some big name’s next collection and, of course, no socks with his suede mules).
It’s hard not to call Bvlgari Hotel Paris a temple of superlatives. The 1,000 sqm Penthouse, #901, has an amply-stocked Technogym, a piano (French summit-tech Alpange), a flame-look fire, and dining for ten. Its two bedrooms have, as in all the hotel’s bathrooms, a metre-high Lalique-look glass wall panel showing a serpent, a signature shape of Bulgari, the jeweller. Climb the Penthouse’s 20 silk-smooth pale wood stairs to the rooftop. Here is your private arboretum, tennis-court size. Propose up there, in its gazebo. Or simply sip a chilled flute of Dom Pérignon. Or Krug.
Mary Gostelow publishes the daily girlahead.com and a unique weekly 15-minute industry Mary Gostelow Girlahead Podcast, both part of Almont Global.