The Mercer

The Mercer is a swish hotel, in a funky part of town. The common spaces are tastefully done and the rooms, small, but well-thought out in buttermilk and black. Bathrooms are to a high standard with perhaps the best hotel shower I have encountered. The associated Mercer Kitchen is busy, buzzy and full of people who seem incredibly pleased to be there. Although judging by physique, they don't seem to to be the sort of people who eat much. The restaurant produces skilfully done, subtly flavored food and is to be wholly recommended. Service is not up to the same standard and significant numbers of staff spend their time talking to each other, while aperitifs go on hold, ice and lemon is absent from mineral water and you have to pour it yourself from the large Pelligrini bottle plonked on the table. And there you have the place in its essence, high quality infused with benign indifference to guests. It's a boutique hotel with some 76 bedrooms, so perhaps no more than 100 guests at a time. However, while perfectly competent and amiable, you never got any sense they were interested in their guests. At no point in my 4 day stay, which involved a lot of lounging about the lobby, did anyone from front of house to floor manager, to waitress, to concierge ever inquire as to whether I was enjoying the hotel, whether things were meeting my expectations or whether they could do something to improve my stay. It's a luxury hotel with $600/night cheapest rooms, it's a boutique hotel which allows you to focus on your guests as individuals, it's part of Ian Schrager's hotel group so they have a track record in looking after guests. But not here. They were not rude, they were not obsequious, they just exuded an aura of benign indifference to their guests.