The Aster

Some people go to LA to chase their wildest dreams. Hopefully spot a few stars (or at the very least, to stand on some of the pink ones on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame). I travelled there to eat, and to experience some of LA’s vast network of edibles peppered across its gigantic sprawl, whether high-end sushi, Korean barbecue, or one of the best things you’ve ever eaten out of a truck (a carnitas taco). Location is key. So Hollywood it was. 

The Aster, which double acts as a members’ club, is the kind of hotel that draws you in and has you spending more time than you’d intended inside its doors. When I wasn’t Ubering across the city chasing deliciousness, I explored the immediate environs, encountering Billy Joel’s star, and unexpectedly spending hours in super-record store Amoeba Records — stumbling into a free live acoustic gig from a very compelling artist called Magdalena Bay, and then perusing the enormous collection of jazz, classic rock, post-punk, hip-hop and more. I left with a few records that met my record-buying criterion (£10 and under, not available on Spotify), including an early hip-hop LP from Chris Rock by the name of Champagne. 

On the topic of champagne, it’s common to see guests and members sipping on it within the Aster’s grounds (this isn’t a prosecco sort of place…). I got talking to an extremely friendly couple by the outdoor pool on the third floor, one a music producer, and her wife an investment banker, who thought of the Aster in different terms. ‘Soho House is where everyone is trying to make it,’ the producer told me. ‘The Aster is for people who have already made it.’

Yes, it is cool. It’s understated. It’s also incredibly chic and tasteful. I’m a sucker for great design and the Aster has really nailed it. The entry is brooding and sexy, with compact black stairs, and dark panelling across the walls. Each time I took the lift to the third floor and began walking to my room, my eyes darted around admiring the idiosyncrasies in each nook and cranny. The room itself was spacious and, once again, full of intriguing texture and details: the tribalistic lamp – with its brown and black geometric patterns – that warmly lit the corner of the room next to the couch; the slate, wicker and golden ornaments above the television; and the tufted fabric of crimson red, burnt orange, mustard yellow and olive green chevrons lining the back of a mirror.

But it wasn’t all style over substance. Comfort was also key (see: the sumptuous velour sofa). As for the bed, it was fighting intense jet-lag and excessive food consumption, but it did its best. I felt reasonably replenished given the circumstances. 

And I mustn't forget the amenities. I was very grateful for the state-of-the-art gym that allowed me to at least offset some of my gluttony. I also enjoyed popping up to the rooftop bar for a cocktail or two and a fantastic view.

But what I loved most was that despite being a members’ club, the hotel feels connected to the pulse of the city. To give an example, LA is a great jazz city. There was some suitably smooth jazz soundtracking the lifts, a gigantic mural paying tribute to some of the best jazz artists of all time was on show from my window, and, most importantly, there was live jazz in the lounge. l sat and watched the duo — one on bass, the other on piano — joined by a friend and honorary Angelino. Following their performance, we talked about jazz and the LA music scene, and they invited us to another event they were performing at later. Of course, a hotel should be a space of retreat and relaxation, away from the chaotic pace of urban life, but I find it very uneasy when they feel completely disconnected from their surroundings. I got the sense that jazz is just one way the Aster makes the city feel heard.