My recent stay at the landmark Beverly Hills Hotel located on Sunset Boulevard provides an exclusive glimpse behind the doors of the famed bungalows. Generally, these luxurious suites are sold out and toting a camera around the grounds is tantamount to committing a petty crime. Guards patrol, although they may appear as guests. I feel like a spy here, although without my hotel colleagues leading and lurking with me, I am honestly oblivious to the stars and deal makers tucked away in the posh bungalows or nibbling at the Polo Lounge, seated discretely in the secret alcoves – as some always sit at their table. I’ve always waited to see the Pink Phone delivered to a table.

The bungalows, concealed in the dense garden utopia, have several impenetrable layers of gated terraces before you reach an entrance. Strolling amid the sumptuous gardens, truly a botanical paradise, a massive door cracks open and a handsome, exotic gentleman with a deep olive-complexion peers out and quickly slams the door, barely a peek at the young woman in the shadows. The kitchen terrace door is ajar; several chefs are feverishly sautéing, tangy aromas waft over the bougainvillea clad walls. A mere glimpse of a clandestine afternoon, use your imagination.

I took a peek at Bungalow Five where Elizabeth Taylor enjoyed six of her eight honeymoons! Sumptuous and elegant with a large living room with fireplace and a beautiful private pool and terrace – a mini home away from home with full staff at beck and call. Academy award worthy soaking tub, schedule at least an afternoon immersed in bubbles.

Years of narrative legends are stored in the vaults, most will tell you a side street is the main entrance – no bungalow visitor of importance ever strolls the iconic red carpet hotel entrance.

At the Polo Lounge, one can be certain of apprehensive glances if you photograph lunch – diners appear discernibly skittish. Respectful of their anxiety, I usually avoid using my camera during lunch. VIP’s are accommodated at private tables secreted in the deep nooks of the garden grotto, casually dining in the ubiquitous Beverly Hills sunshine. Had I not asked, who is here? I wouldn’t have recognized one of the TV BH Housewives or the heavyset, pockmarked gentleman wearing the look at me orange straw chapeau – apparently, he is a regular thug character in filmdom. Nancy Reagan’s funeral on Friday was marked by a silver framed photograph of her and a bouquet of white roses displayed on her table, the Reserved sign prevented diners from occupying her prime real estate booth.

Despite the hullabaloo over the recent refurbishing, the Polo Lounge, looks exactly the same as ever, the timeless piano player tinkles the ivories, the LWL are always at the center round table, bearing smartly wrapped gift bags, in a perpetual celebration of life. The lobby bar hosts small tables with phones, it’s timeless, as are many of the diners.

I love the slice of life, the intrigue of the unknown, dining service is old-school classy, lunch and dinner menus are scrumptious. Highly recommend the filet and frites for a late night supper. Breakfast frittata is the dealmaker standard order. There is a certain casual elegance, a je ne sais quoi, never knowing whom you might see hiding behind the palm fronds. Excellent cuisine in a distinctive setting, get thee to the Polo Lounge. Nothing like it to the north. Say yes to the Chocolate Souffle!

The service is impeccable and if you need a change of pace, take the hotel car to the Dorchester sister property, the Hotel Bel-Air. Highly recommend and can’t wait to return!Did I mention the underwater music – synchronize your strokes.

And no, Warren was nowhere to be seen, next time!