Beach House (Are they still in business?)

MIAMI BEACH-- I downed another glass of Brouilly and figured I'd better buy the bottle before it was shared with another guest. Not that the pool bar was overflowing with thirsty sunbathers, I just wanted to save a few pennies and establish ownership of something so easy to achieve. The wine was to be joined momentarily by a bowl of fresh cherrystone clams steamed in the garlicky south-of-France broth I had been working to perfect at home. This entire inexact plan hatched on the firm but entirely thoughtful recommendation of Lucia, a 25ish expert in all things culinary, who happened, so it seemed, to be the bar hostess for the day.

So my stay at the Beach House Bal Harbour began. In five days I came to respect the precision with which the Rubell group honors its laid-back, homey beach house hotel concept-place. At first I maybe expected the well-taken-care-of feel familiar to Ritz resorts, and was disappointed when the pool attendant merely handed me three towels and a smile rather than making up a chaise for me. Likewise, the refrigerator in my junior suite was empty and the green apples sitting in a bowl atop the bar were fakes. Disappointed too I was by the size of the Holiday-Inn bathrooms, the worn painted furniture and water-stained lampshades in my Polo by Ralph Lauren linen-adorned room.

Having pre-paid the reservation at a nice discount, I imagined several things I could do, but took the path of least resistance and decided to make myself comfortable. This was easy. Humorous little signs and notes are everywhere urging you to succumb to the Beach House concept. There's a hotel directory entitled "How to Live at the Beach House" that instructs you to wear the provided honeycomb bathrobe EVERYWHERE. It quickly explains that the mini-bar has been outmoded here by a pantry store in the lobby, and your first order of business is to stock up on cookies, penny candies, juices, ice teas, and whatever fortified refreshments you like. Even the sticker on the in-room safe warns that failing to remember your secret code will cost you $200 and "a huge mess" if they need to drill-out the lock.

As I tried to open my window overlooking the pool, a passage under "W," in "How to Live" points out that I can't. "Press the fresh air button on your air conditioner if that's what you want," it says. No sooner than realizing the Sony CD-clock radio was too complicated to program, I saw the Rubell's devoted an entire schtick to telling you how.

If you haven't gotten the "Beach House IDEA" by the time you read through their little instruction manual, the latest Christie's magazine and coffee table books about mermaids and sea shells provide good hints. And it is the whole Beach House IDEA that works, even if my plumbing didn't.

After a night punctuated by a self-flushing commode, I took a lukewarm shower in my cramped bathroom. At first I thought the building had run out of hot water, but after about ten minutes of flow it reached a childproof temperature. I pulled the little thing on the snout to activate the showerhead and a trickle began. As I showered patiently it occurred to me that this, too, was just another element of the big IDEA…who ever heard of a beach house in such good repair that the water worked like home? Yes, I decided, this was authentic to the core, and quickly dried off on the smaller-than-expected Ralph Lauren bath towels. It was the IDEA I was getting, and that was the single most important thing I could get other than a warm weather cold.

One thing the Beach House isn't is cliché. There is no attempt to package the IDEA in tired phrases like, "casual elegance" or "understated ambience." Your keys are handed to you in a folder that says in plain blue and white, "What we are: Sincere, Low-Key, Unpretentious, Smiling, Human; What we're not: Arrogant, Formal, Intimidating, Robotic, Snobby." (So there!) It's clear they make no pretense of selling you, but like the foot-deep bowls full of fresh pistachio nuts laid about the Sea Horse Bar, the Rubells provide every ingredient for a guest to make their own vacation dream come true.

In keeping with the IDEA, the front desk is aptly named the "help desk." They're there to help and they do, but not in the "I'm doing you a favor" sort of way. I think by my second day I had gotten the IDEA so good I just though it would be a nuisance to tell 'em about the plumbing. Other people might have taken my situation as inattentive service in a somewhat run-down property, but since I was determined to get the IDEA, I wasn't going to let that get in the way of another great day doing absolutely nothing at the Beach House pool.

Lucia (pronounced LOO-CHEE-A) greeted me when I scouted out the chaise lounges, and we immediately began talking about the food she knew so much about. The day before (those fantastic clams!) she rather quickly confided she was finishing grad school and would be looking for a new career, but as the conversation wended back to her innate expertise in foods and wines, I advised her to pursue her obvious passion. She advised the mussels. Strongly, and with again with the Brouilly, only this time slightly chilled. Insightful again: They were PLUMP, HUGE and wonderfully tasty. "They're from Prince Edward Island," she knew of course, "and nothing like any you've had before," she somehow knew, too.

Whatever shortcomings I might note about the Beach House and the terrifying thought that other guests might be either resistant the IDEA, or worse, be accustomed to the brand of quality and service expected at these prices, the food and the people here make up for EVERYTHING. As the week went on, I sampled the peppercorn crusted fatty Tuna filet, which I was told by Selena, (the bar hostess inside) was the best piece of fish the chef had seen in a long, long time. From what I had eaten so far, the Chef and Selena had to know what they were talking about and I bit. The triangular medals of tuna, floating in a rich brown green peppercorn sauce, were maniacally fresh and tasty as if to make their own stand against the sauce. This is not to say they were fighting, only boasting to one another. Which brings me to their guests on the plate, fresh steamed haricot verts and a potato whatchimacallit that was out of this world. I believe the menu gives this puree-filled cheese-crusted beignet a name, but forks of it were most pleasing as mops for the zesty peppercorn sauce.

How many times I can remember the sugar-sweet friendly waitress or waiter, a Suzy or a Chad, who just never knew anything no matter what we asked about, who couldn't say what their favorite thing on the menu was, but cheerily insisted everything was good. However the Rubells train their staffs (they own two other hotels in Miami on South Beach) they don't seem welcome to stick around long without learning a lot about everything they, the Rubells, and Miami Beach, have to offer their guests. The are confident as facilitators of their guests wishes, including in my case, intelligent conversation.

This is a razor-sharp tightrope to walk in the hospitality business, which beckons friendly, people-oriented folk to serve at the risk they'll get either too friendly for their guests' liking or grow solicitous for tips, two big turnoffs you can find when the help pours it on. At the same time, if you leave the guests alone, unguided, and under-served in this perfectly laid-back environment you've created, the risk is losing those added sales of goods and services won by more just slightly more eager help. For instance, the Beach House cleverly stands up its spa facilities outside in colorful tents by the pool, where I spent most my time in residence. No promises here, but I just might have gone for a rub or a manicure if only asked if or when I'd like it. As one who got the IDEA, it actually felt inimical for me to inquire about these services.

As I pondered these thoughts over the remains of my second bottle of Brouilly and a Caesar Salad by the pool, I was treated to another model photo-shoot for People en Espanol. Conversing with Andy, the third extremely engaging and knowledgeable member of the Rubell family to treat me like a visiting cousin, I was once again astonished by thoughtful candor and sincerity on every topic from the stock market to the pre-construction boom in condo sales to renaissance painting. The shoot was a wonderful accompaniment to this sunny repast, as the model, a Spanish actress I could not know to appreciate, beamed perfect smiles at the Hasselblads, while a half-dozen grips paraded around, teetering on the edge of the pool, holding reflectors, checking light levels and videotaping the scene. So impressed I was by her effortless glam, I ordered the warm chocolate pudding topped by vanilla Hagen-Daz ice cream. The pudding was so hot and its cocoa level so high, I again congratulated myself on having gotten the IDEA and treasured the realization there would not be another afternoon like this any time soon.