Tolhouse Part 1

I’m in a linen blazer, mauve melange, with a crisp cerulean shirt and dark jeans. A silk square peeks from my breast pocket in blue paisley. My feet are riding in Oxford boots. But, as my wife and I are ushered into Tolhouse, I have the sense that I’m underdressed. 

From the entryway, there’s a view of the kitchen working busily; tonight, a member hosts a private party and we’re invited to walk around. 

Dapper men are wearing layers: sport coats in herringbone and plaid, woolen newsboys, fedoras, grey tweeds over ivory turtle necks. They move around, languid, drinks in hand, enjoying themselves at an event that is expressly “members only.”

The women have style too, fitted into slip-dresses and backless jumpers. Light-colored slacks drape over long legs, gracefully, with calculated sway. Hair is carefully coifed. Gold hoops twinkle, bangles floating on delicate wrists. Manicured toes are exposed in stilettos, flat sandals, and platforms with ankle straps. 

It’s not just pretty people here, but also beautiful spaces—each unique and intriguing. A room near the entrance has bubblegum-pink walls. In the center of the room is a velvet, tufted couch, midnight blue, with arched ends—contrasting elements, showpieces that command attention. 

The upstairs bar is contemporary with white walls, bright lights, and metallic fixtures. Dark, hardwood shelves are stocked with top-tier spirits.

A staircase leads down to the Earth bar, a large, open area with another working bartop and small tables and chairs. The space is softened by a neutral index wall, rife with greenery, waxy leaves cascading from potted plants. Beyond the wall is another interesting space: a seating area with a rug and butterscotch studio sofas. Dark, vintage bookcases make everything warmer, stacked with ceramics and old tomes.

I imagine myself in the billiard room with its vibrant, red walls. I am shooting pool or siping a drink, lounging on the stunning leather chesterfield. More canapés are tucked into small corners making even unused spaces feel refined. And, on every wall hangs fine art, glittery pieces that drip with urbanity and large modern paintings that might have been inspired by Francoise Nielly. 

Tolhouse is chic with butter-soft squabs and velvet chairs. Every space is equally inviting. But there is a secretive feel to the place, the vibe of an underground speakeasy, and the signage makes it explicitly clear: no photography allowed. 

But finally, within the walls of Tolhouse, we are at our destination: Lucille’s Jazz Lounge.