A little over 10 years ago, I called my friend Plum for some advice on where to stay in Madison, Wisconsin. He told me that the Edgewater would be my speed. "It's what a third-world country would have as a four-star hotel" he said. That IS my speed.
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I am writing this all as a memorial. Soon, the hotel will be gutted and rebuilt. The development plans have been a political topic in Madison for a the past few years, but it is moving ahead. I was at least able to confirm that the new window designs will still open to fresh lake air.
The patina and the vibe there is one that is dying out. Bars where well-dressed men and women drank Cutty Sark and a dinner-jacketed crooner smoked and drank his way through a night-long set-list. In those days, you ordered your drinks and food by type, and not by brand. Nobody said "I'll have a martini with Bombay", they just said "We'll have martinis". "Whiskey, please" was a complete order, and no further details were solicited.
Years ago, I sat in the comfortable chair at the large floor-to-ceiling windows, high above the water's edge. The landscape was overcast but in the peak of autumn, and I drank hot tea alone in the empty restaurant, and watched a storm slowly work its way across the lake from the north. When the squall line began pattering the windows and the view went opaque, the Scandinavian manager sent over some white wine and a small dish with chunks of pickled herring. "I thought this would go well", he said. Of course it did.
A decade ago, I was a young businessman able to sweet-talk my way into using one of the university boats to sail around the lake for an hour or so. The bellman always drove us to the Tornado Room for well-drinks, and I half-expected to see Bill Murray's character Nick Summers singing his heart out and working the crowd.
A pseudo-deco exterior and an early 90's interior. It reminds me of those old has-been hotels with a billion great stories and a lot of charm for those willing to ease up a bit. All of the windows open wide, and the bar and restaurant overlook Lake Mendota. It's kooky and worn out, but I still love it.
The bar has a fantastic view, an out-of-date interior, and dirt-cheap drinks.
The walls are covered with the framed headshots of stars who have passed through over the years. I found a few I liked.
Apparently, the University of Wisconsin had a mermaid team.
I am writing this all as a memorial. Soon, the hotel will be gutted and rebuilt. The development plans have been a political topic in Madison for a the past few years, but it is moving ahead. I was at least able to confirm that the new window designs will still open to fresh lake air.
The patina and the vibe there is one that is dying out. Bars where well-dressed men and women drank Cutty Sark and a dinner-jacketed crooner smoked and drank his way through a night-long set-list. In those days, you ordered your drinks and food by type, and not by brand. Nobody said "I'll have a martini with Bombay", they just said "We'll have martinis". "Whiskey, please" was a complete order, and no further details were solicited.
Years ago, I sat in the comfortable chair at the large floor-to-ceiling windows, high above the water's edge. The landscape was overcast but in the peak of autumn, and I drank hot tea alone in the empty restaurant, and watched a storm slowly work its way across the lake from the north. When the squall line began pattering the windows and the view went opaque, the Scandinavian manager sent over some white wine and a small dish with chunks of pickled herring. "I thought this would go well", he said. Of course it did.
A decade ago, I was a young businessman able to sweet-talk my way into using one of the university boats to sail around the lake for an hour or so. The bellman always drove us to the Tornado Room for well-drinks, and I half-expected to see Bill Murray's character Nick Summers singing his heart out and working the crowd.
