52 Travel
entire length of one wall, pa-
trolled by white-jacketed mix-
ologists who rattle their
cocktail shakers so vigorously,
they might register on the
Richter scale. Overhead, four
elaborate chandeliers by Ma-
thieu Lustrerie, whose crea-
tions adorn the Élysée Palace
and Versailles, provide some more
all-day sparkle.
The people-watching is straight
from a Netflix casting couch, a convivial
fusion of Call My Agent! socialites, Emily
in Paris creatives and a smattering of
well-heeled tourists including, if I’m not
mistaken, Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne
over in a crepuscular corner. The scene is
as intoxicating as being swirled around
in a glass of Rémy Martin’s Louis XIII
cognac, and I learn more about the city
from joining this crowd than in a queue for
the Eiffel Tower.
Some things don’t change, though —
like the gallic lachanophobia (fear of vege-
tables). So my chicken may be plump and
Madame Rêve:
Paris’s latest
grande dame
The French capital’s hottest new hotel
sweeps Susan d’Arcy off her feet
I
had heard rumours that Paris had
changed, but when I first experience
its new, more relaxed attitude, it’s still
a shock. Not only is my waiter smiling
rather than surly, he understands my
order. And I’d asked for the chicken
with riviera vegetables in French.
My A-level franglais is as believable as
Dick Van Dyck’s Cockney accent, but it’s
good manners to attempt the local
language, so I persist. Almost to an apron,
the hospitality industry of France wishes
I wouldn’t and my efforts are usually
greeted with pained expressions.
But this time I’m at Madame Rêve, the
capital’s hottest new hotel, where the
modus operandi is groovy not grand. It
opened last month and occupies a con-
siderable chunk of La Poste du Louvre, the
historic central post office in the 1st arron-
dissement.
Parisians have watched with interest as
this much-loved Haussmannian master-
piece has undergone an eight-year reno-
vation, creating a smaller post office, a
police station, offices, and a hotel from
Laurent Taïeb, the rule-breaking hotelier
and restaurateur who brought sushi to
Paris in the 1990s and who is
intent on disrupting the city’s stuffy luxury
hotel scene.
His strategy is simple: get locals
mingling with tourists. So far, so good. The
main Mediterranean restaurant is packed
every night and anticipation is at fever
pitch for the November 25 launch of
La Plume, the hotel’s Japanese dining
room overseen by the former Zuma head
chef Benjamin Six.
“Parisians don’t want formal dinners
any more,” says dapper general manager
Frédéric Le Gallois, who earned his stripes
in historic palace hotels such as George V
and Le Bristol. “Until about four years ago
you couldn’t really get takeaways in Paris.
We thought they ruined the food. Covid
has changed the way we eat. Going out
is more about connecting with family
and friends now. People want to engage
with waiters, not have the traditional
distant service.”
It doesn’t hurt that, despite the country
experiencing a hospitality recruitment
crisis as serious as the UK’s, Le Gallois has
assembled a team of waiting staff who are
not only friendly but in possession of such
godlike good looks that they might have
stepped down from a plinth at the Louvre,
which, incidentally, sits at the other end of
the street. The grandeur of the building
plays its part too. The main restaurant-
cum-lobby is in the old dispatch room,
although apart from its soaring
8m-high ceiling and skyscraper
black pillars, Postman Patrice
wouldn’t recognise the place.
The decor is a delightfully
louche canvas of golds, apricots
and coppers with luxuriant
velvets and silks by Pierre Frey,
the super-posh textile house.
Taïeb has designed the sofas and
club chairs in the beaux-arts style
of the building’s era but with a
contemporary tweak. They look inti-
mate and inviting, set around onyx and
oak tables. For unnecessary extra drama,
a runway bar stretches down almost the
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The
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PARIS
Hôtel
Madame
Rêve
700 yards
A bedroom at Madame Rêve
The roof terrace at the hotel
Madame Rêve Café