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PHOENIX REBORN (p. 2 of 3)
1 | 2 | 3 | MAY '04
If the Biltmore is Phoenix’s grande dame of architecture, then our second hotel, Sanctuary on Camelback Mountain, is the hot new supermodel. Phoenix’s first luxury boutique hotel and spa wends its way up the mountainside with a series of ultradeluxe casitas with panoramic views of Paradise Valley. Designer Judith Testani wanted to "get away from the predictable southwestern interiors." That means no turquoise, no faux cacti. Instead, we find a fusion of Asian Zen, concrete desert cool and 1960s mod. (The look may soon be coming to a location near you: The president of Elizabeth Arden was so impressed with Sanctuary’s soothing yet chic quarters that the company recently enlisted Testani to design a new prototype for its future spas.)
At Sanctuary’s Jade Bar, the Jetsons-meets-rec room vibe creates one of Phoenix’s hippest watering holes. The low, tufted black leather furniture looks sleek, but feels La-Z-Boy comfortable. Barflies flit on metal stools that look like Devo helmets encased in leather, their feet resting against the backlit Plexiglass panels of the bar. Jade makes a perfect sidecar cocktail (a rare thing indeed), even though Phoenix’s irreverence for tradition means that the barroom peanut has morphed into yummy wasabi-encrusted edamame.
Yet McCoy’s warning that we might have trouble uncovering Phoenix’s contemporary niches proves prescient. The next day, we head out into the sea of Flintstone-like adobe and peach stucco construction that stretches as far as the eye can see. We’re nearly despairing by the time we find Lux Coffeebar, smack in the middle of a wasteland of uncool. (Among its neighbours are a pawnshop and a laundromat.) The much-hyped coffee is worth the wait, as the café’s jam-packed tables and white leather couches attest. It’s seriously chic – right down to the house coffee beans packaged in neat IV-style bags. But the place still feels comfortable and welcoming – unlike Pane Bianco next door. We get a serious helping of New York-style acerbity from the owner’s Ivana-like wife along with our market sandwiches. Clearly, the glowing food reviews have inflated a few egos. Everything I’ve previously seen and heard about Phoenix hospitality is contrary to the treatment we receive there. Is the arrival of urbanity bringing urban-style rudeness? I hope not.
Old-town Scottsdale is a misnomer (old is relative here 0 if it were a person, Scottsdale wouldn’t qualify for a senior’s discount), but it’s also the surprising home of another fashionable pocket. As we wait to be seated for dinner at the popular AZ 88, I ask whether the restaurant’s name derives from its address. Bartender Stacy tells us it’s the year the restaurant opened. The place feels newly minted. The gallery-like white-walled room buzzes with people at 10 o’clock on a Monday night. What feels refreshingly different from the latest L.A. hot spot is the conspicuous absence of snob factor. Yes, there’s plenty of black clothing, artful coiffuring and cosmetically enhanced hotties sporting the latest fashion dictates. But there’s also a couple toting a baby seat, an elderly couple talking in quiet tones and two young teens, clearly on their first date. Everyone looks at home.
On our wanderings, I’ve picked up a postcard promoting a Martinis and Manicure Night at a new Scottsdale hot spot, Furio. Both a martini and a manicure for 10 bucks? We’re in. Faux suede panels divide the bar from the restaurant, bubble mirrors dot one wall and fake fur-covered seating gives a decidedly whimsical, retro-sexy feel to the place. Thankfully, clichéd hot tamale southwestern cuisine is absent from the modern Italian menu. Our friendly server Amber doesn’t look old enough to drink the martinis she’s serving, and it occurs to me that Phoenix’s flowering may just be driven by the influx of Amber’s generation – young arbiters of hip and cool. The median age of Greater Phoenix is 32.9 – lower than the national figure, which is no mean feat considering blue and blond run neck and neck for most popular hair colour. Phoenix boasted a phenomenal population growth of 44 percent in the 1990s compared to the U.S. average of 13 percent.
The upside of all this growth is an architectural tabula rasa that’s still malleable and growing. But Phoenix’s growing pains are evident: It’s clearly still struggling to define its own style, and the presence of architectural masterpieces is tempered by the pressing need to house a burgeoning population (usually in stucco and adobe compounds). Even architect Will Bruder tells me that he believes adobe will never be eradicated. Yet I can see Phoenix’s radical take on desert chic – audacious use of glass, leather, fur and copious light – shining here and there like gems glinting in the hot desert sun. All harbingers of a future style that is still being minted.
The blazing desert sun wakes me up the next morning, and I don’t feel so hot from my four-manicure night. I step out onto the balcony and gaze out on the sprawling valley: Phoenix is growing up. A new desert design vernacular is taking root in a previously inhospitable climate. Whether it’s embracing the desert condition or laughing in the face of it, I’m not sure. You can still bring your golf clubs and plaid pants, of course. But how to embrace the full Phoenix experience? Well, I’ve glimpsed the future, and I think it might just involve packing black Prada outfits and a copy of Architectural Record. [ ]
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1 | 2 | 3 | MAY '04
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