Hotel Huntington and Nob Hill Spa in San Francisco

A Merry Christmas Fit For A Princess

by Rubin Carson

Taryn's Mom was spending last Christmas in the hospital, so what is a doting grandpa supposed to do? Easy. Take 8-year-old grandaughter to my favorite 135 room chateau - - Hotel Huntington and Nob Hill Spa. Problem? When we arrived, it was raining cats and dogs and throw in horses. Typical San Francisco. The storm-swept doorman greeted us with news that it had been raining for ten straight days and no relief in sight. Oh, yes. Merry Christmas.

The next morning I can hear the rattling of the cable cars on California Street, but it is still raining---time to deep six plans to take the ferry to Sausalito, watch sea lions barking at each other at Pier 39, or hit the charming tea house in Golden Gate Park which is probably under water. Instead, I wake Taryn up and give her the good news. "You've been appointed Queen of San Francisco and this is your palace. Act like a princess."

She's barely awake but says: "What does a princess do, pops? "Think Marie Antoinette. Call room service and order breakfast in bed.

Once she discovered room service, it was difficult to pull Taryn out of her palatial digs. I forced her to meet Cynthia Reid, the blond Concierge who's been at the Huntington for eons. Cynthia regaled her with stories of favorite guests. (a) Aging Rex Harrison had to have milk and cookies served to him at bedtime because his wife was called home on an emergency and he was afraid to sleep alone. (b) A nervous Tenor from Milan was filling in for flu-ridden Luciano Pavoratti and became smitten with Cynthia. His agent insisted she sit in the front row at his debut so he could sing to a familiar face. (c) one time she arranged for a "WELCOME HOME DARLING" sign to be hung across Golden Gate bridge for an Australian guest whose husband was returning from a record-breaking round the world sailboat race.

The only other time we left our room was for Christmas Eve dinner in the Big Four Restaurant (named after the silver and railroad zillionaires, Huntington, Crocker, Stanford and Hopkins). The setting takes your breath away; all carved Victorian mahogany and green leather. I wanted to surprise Taryn by pre-ordering a Christmas Goose instead of Turkey but the lady executive chef Gloria Ciccarone told me all vendors were closed for the holidays. Oh well, my only disappointment.

After a few eggnogs and Christmas carols, the waiter glides in and places a covered plate in front of us. He removes the domed silver cover. And there, lying in a bed of wild rice, is a Peking Duck, fresh from Chinatown. We take our first bite, crisp, succulent, delicious. "Compliments of the chef and Merry Christmas", says the waiter. "Merry Christmas," says Taryn. "And please tell the kitchen it was fit for a queen".