A cowgirl’s review of the Padre Hotel
Padre Hotels opens from Bakersfield Express on Vimeo.
Diners lunch in the Belvedere Room on the first day of business at the Padre Hotel. Photo by Jeff Nachtigal
Cowhide chairs and a leather couch provide seating in the Oil Baron suit on the eighth floor of the Padre Hotel. Photo by Jeff Nachtigal
The coffee shop in the Padre Hotel plays with a farm theme. Photo by Jeff Nachtigal
Farm animals peer down at customers from the ceiling in the Farmacy Cafe. Photo by Jeff Nachtigal
By Jennifer Baldwin
I have seen the pole. Whether Padre Hotel guests use it as a stripper pole is up to them. It’s not in the middle of the room with a mirror above it or anything. But it is in the shower, in one of the eighth floor suites called The Farmers’ Daughter.
Some might view it as simply a piece of plumbing – a floor to ceiling pipe, if you will, with two shower heads attached at the top. The shower is enclosed by glass doors, making for quite the view for, you know, a couple celebrating an anniversary. Or bachelor partiers.
As I toured the Padre Thursday afternoon, the first official day of business, I couldn’t help but to imagine all the parties that are going to take place there. It seems every corner is made for a party – even an exposed corner rooftop on the second floor, which will house an outdoor bar called Prairie Fire. Right now it’s a concrete patio with a wood-slatted wall, a bar, and an empty basin that will eventually contain a water-and-fire feature. (The “cabana,” as hotel manager Alex Shelton calls it, is the Padre’s answer to not having a hotel pool.)
One thing’s for sure, this is a man’s hotel. Men run it, men designed it, and male business travelers will likely make up the majority of guests.
Even though The Farmer’s Daughter is supposed to be the “more feminine” of the suites, as Shelton puts it, it’s not this woman’s idea of a romantic room. The hardwood floors, velvet embossed custom wallpaper and leather couch look nice, don’t get me wrong. But when I think of a boutique hotel, I want plush carpet, soft upholstery and privacy. Not a glass-door-enclosed shower visible to the whole room and cowhide chairs.
The hotel wants to cater to women, too. Shelton explains their Valentine’s weekend deal: $399 per night includes a $100 dining credit and, while you’re dining, the staff will run your bath, decorate the room with candles and rose petals, and bring dessert to your room. OK, now that sounds nice.
Shelton describes the hotel’s theme as “cowboy punk” or “cowboy glam.” You can see it in everything from the custom wallpaper (featuring ladies fish-net-stocking-clad legs and pistols, oil derricks and mustaches) to the do-not-disturb signs hanging on door handles (“Whoa!” for do not disturb and “Giddy Up” for tidy up the room).
You can certainly see the fun designers have had with the theme. But I do wonder what exactly is the meaning of the mural behind the front desk, which features a larger-than-life cowgirl in a sequined hat and the words “That dog’ll hunt?”
Maybe I’m not the target market for a night’s stay in the hotel. But I definitely plan on spending some time on the first floor.
On the tour, at 2 p.m., people were already bellying up at the Brimstone Bar for a draft beer. TVs lining the walls above the windows are poised to show the Superbowl this Sunday. On special will be “The Works” burger with a bloody Mary for just $10. (The best bloody Mary in town, says hotel owner Brett Miller.)
At the same time, workers were hanging the sign for the Farmacy Café – a metal tractor attached to a pitch fork. Murals of giant farm animals peer down from the ceiling. I swear that chicken’s got its eye on me. I can imagine First Friday art walkers ending up here tonight after the galleries close, and ordering a spiked coffee and dessert.
Meanwhile, a small contingent of lunchers dined in the fancy Belvedere Room, the menu for which includes house-made ricotta ravioli for $16 and a grilled, bone-in, 16-oz ribeye for $32. Did I mention I didn’t eat lunch before the tour? Not a good idea.
One hazard struck me as I descended the original marble stairs to the basement, where a communal wash station is flanked by men’s and women’s restrooms. I was not concerned by possible confusion about men and women sharing sinks. But my motherly warning signal went off as I, very soberly, felt close to losing my balance on the stairs. Ladies in heels after a few drinks: Take the elevator.
We ended the tour on the balcony of the Prospect Lounge, a Vegas-style nightclub with seating that requires a $50 minimum tab to reserve. That’s where Bakersfield Express videographer Jeff Nachtigal and I sat down with Miller to talk about his visions for the hotel.
After 20 years of hotel and restaurant successes in San Diego and elsewhere, Miller (a Visalia native) chose Bakersfield over bigger cities for his latest project because there was no competition.
“I like to go to secondary markets with a population of 350,000 to 750,000. Bakersfield was not on the top of my list until I walked into the Padre. It was the bones, the structure, the history,” Miller said.
He sees the renovation of the 90-year-old building as helping downtown Bakersfield take a giant leap toward redevelopment, much the same way San Diego’s Gaslamp District went from a crime-ridden, empty-at-night downtown area to a thriving restaurant and nightlife scene. (And he’s disappointed he doesn’t actually have a property in that area of San Diego.) In answer to some who fear the Padre will steal customers from other local establishments, Miller says he sees the exact opposite happening.
“We’re adding a little more variety. We want to help make downtown better. We wish that everybody’s boats can ride with this tide,” he said.
Personally, as a transplant myself to Bakersfield from San Diego and the Bay Area, I wish nothing more than for the Padre to inject some class into downtown Bakersfield. And since, as manager Shelton points out, the hotel caters to both suits and jeans, this jeans-clad 30-something can definitely see herself shooting a round of pool at the Brimstone Bar or kicking back with an Irish coffee in the Farmacy Café. But I won’t be wearing a sequined cowgirl hat or fish net stockings. I’ll leave that for the, uh, bachelor party “entertainers.”
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In the video that goes along with this story, Padre owner Brett Miller said earlier in the week that the Padre was going to open its doors for February’s First Friday (2/5/10) and let everyone in to see the hotel. Well, I was almost kept out–because I was wearing a hoodie.
I had finished saying goodbye to some friends with whom I’d just had an enjoyable evening at Surface Gallery, Metro Gallery and the baby store next to Metro (some of my friends have a baby). Then we decided to go take a peek inside the Padre lobby. My friends thought looking in through the glass doors was enough, given all the people traffic. But I had to go in for a short walk-through. I’m a curious person, what can I say?
I walked in the doors to the hotel on H Street, and one of the greeters, who had just a second before said, “Good evening, Sir,” tapped me on the arm and asked, “Excuse me, Sir, is that a hoodie you’re wearing?”
Here’s what I had on: a brown hooded sweatshirt underneath a checkered blue, brown and tan light flannel zip-up jacket, jeans, Skecher casual leather shoes, and a Buddha necklace. The hood was behind my shoulders, not over my head like a scary Grim Reaper. Nothing out of the ordinary for a mild California winter evening. I had gone unnoticed at two of Bakersfield’s trendiest galleries, but at the Padre–oh, noooo!
The greeter then asked if the hoodie was part of my jacket. I told him it was a separate piece. He asked if it would be possible for me to go out and leave it in my car. No kidding.
I looked through the glass wall (lots of glass at the Padre) of one of the bars and pointed to a guy in jeans and a tucked out shirt and remarked that he was no less casually dressed than I was. The greeter said it had to do with the hoodie.
When I had left the house that morning, I had consciously put on my Buddha necklace because I had a feeling I needed a reminder that day to stay in tune with my divine nature/conscience, whatever you want to call it. It was now telling me to just be cool.
I told the greeter that I wasn’t going to stay long and just wanted to do a walk-through and would be out in five minutes. That seemed to appease him and he left me alone to wander around.
I did. Here’s what I found: It’s a hotel. It has new, chic bars whose novelty will wear off eventually. Because of the crowd that was there, it just looked like the inside of one of those trendy places on the west side–except it’s downtown.
And then, I stopped dead in my tracks: Two guys IN KILTS and T-shifts were talking to each other just outside the cafe. Two guys in MAN-SKIRTS had been let in, and I was almost kept out because I was wearing a hoodie underneath a tame zip-up flannel jacket?! (Okay, forgive me, but I wondered about the racial variables that might have been at play in all this, so here they are, although I’m not sure they matter: the kilted guys were white, I am Latino, the greeter was black. Like I said, I’m not sure racial variables matter in this situation, but I couldn’t help but wonder if a person not of color would have been asked if they could leave their hoodie in the car. What if one of the kilted guys had been wearing a hoodie? Would he have been told to go and leave it in the car and come back in all his skirted glory?)
I turned on my heel. If I’d been wearing a kilt, it would have fluttered femininely around me. My manly hood stayed put.
I found the greeter, tapped him on the arm, and calmly said: “I’m leaving. You spoiled it for me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said.
I continued: “There are two guys over there in kilts and they were let in, and I was almost kept out because of my hoodie?”
“Look, sorry, let me give you a tour,” he said.
Yeah, now you want to give me a tour, I thought.
“No,” I said. “You spoiled it for me,” and left.
It really was an unfortunate and, from a business standpoint, very unwise end to what had otherwise been a charming evening hanging out downtown in several welcoming venues–except for one–on a First Friday.
Sorry, Padre. You lost me at hello.
– Eversmile