Editors' Picks 2018: Richard Bradley

4ocean

A new company takes on a pressing problem.

When I’m not being a dad or editing Worth, I prefer to be scuba diving. It’s the most relaxing and therapeutic, yet simultaneously challenging and educational, thing I know.

But during the 20 years that I’ve been diving, I’ve witnessed stark changes in the world’s oceans due to climate change, pollution and overfishing. The Great Barrier Reef, site of my first dives, is dying. Grand Cayman, Belize, the Florida Keys—all are over-fished and under assault from warming and increasingly acidic waters. The Gulf of Mexico, where I snorkeled with majestic whale sharks, is being consumed by a massive dead zone so toxic, it kills everything that swims into it. In the summer of 2017, this runoff of fertilizer and pollution was almost 9,000 square miles in size. And through it all runs the problem of plastic, which is filling the world’s oceans and killing their inhabitants.

The situation is dire, especially with an American president who supports fossil fuels and coastal drilling and is slashing EPA restrictions and scientific research. Still, there are glimmers of hope. One for me is a group called 4ocean, a two-year-old for-profit ocean cleanup company founded by a couple of American surfers who found themselves paddling through trash while trying to surf in Bali. 4ocean, whose U.S. headquarters is in Boca Raton, Fla., does two things. Its employees and volunteers actually pull trash from the ocean—about 2.7 million pounds of it as of this writing. But the group, which has worked in 27 countries, also tries to stop the pollution at its source by educating local populations about the impact of plastic pollution on the waters we all depend upon to survive. For $20, you can buy a 4ocean bracelet made of plastic they’ve taken from the ocean and recycled. It’s a small amount of money that has a real impact. 4ocean.com

The Angad Arts Hotel

St. Louis, Mo.

A boutique hotel that actually has a new idea.

The Angad, a new hotel in St. Louis’ Grand Center Arts District, sounds like a hotel with a gimmick, and in fact it is: Guests pick their rooms not just by size, but also by color. Each guest room is outfitted almost exclusively, from walls to furniture, in a single bright hue: blue, green, red or yellow. Each color is supposed to represent and inspire a prevailing mood. Red is passion, of course. Blue, tranquility; green, rejuvenation; and yellow, happiness.

It turns out to be a pretty good gimmick, in large part because the rooms are comfortable and thoughtfully designed. I stayed in a blue room, and not only did it indeed feel tranquil, it felt cheerful, as I imagine all the colors would. The weather was cold and gray during my December visit to St. Louis, so returning to a bright and cheery hotel room proved a real rebuff to the winter blahs. (That’s additionally nice because the surrounding Grand Center Arts District—while it has impressive cultural offerings like the Fox Theater, the Contemporary Arts Museum, the Pulitzer Arts Foundation and Powell Hall, the home of the St. Louis Symphony—is pretty dreary to look at.)

I was impressed by the thoroughness of the execution. The custom-designed furniture is playful without any sacrifice of function; the lighting, such a challenge in so many hotel rooms, is stylish and fun but doesn’t require a master’s degree to operate. And when I arrived in my blue room, I was greeted with a tray of blue: blue macarons, blueberries, blue Jell-O, blue cotton candy and a blueberry muffin. If you’re not at least a little charmed by that, there’s not much any hotel can do for you.

Other strong points for the Angad include an exceptional restaurant, David Burke’s Grand Tavern, one of the few hotel restaurants I’d want to eat at even if I wasn’t staying there. During my three days in St. Louis, I had more meals at the Grand Tavern than I needed to, but I kept finding myself wanting to try additional things on Burke’s creative American menu: the “ritz crabcake benedict,” with a quail egg, country ham and tomato jam; the “crackling pork shank,” which could feed a small family; the filet mignon with shrimp and grits, the most flavorful filet I’ve had in ages. The Grand Tavern’s kitchen also serves room service 24 hours a day, which is unusual in a reasonably priced boutique hotel.

One other thing about the Angad that’s actually different from, say, a boutique hotel in New York or Los Angeles; the staff is refreshingly attitude-free and couldn’t have been more helpful, from the manager who helped scout out additional blue macarons for me to take home to my young sons, to a desk clerk who mapped out a detailed cultural plan of attack for me. It’s almost as if all the bright colors have rubbed off on them. angadartshotel.com

Bang & Olufsen Beoplay A1

This portable speaker looks as good as it sounds. And vice-versa.

I’m infatuated with this portable Bluetooth speaker from B&O, an exquisite marriage of form and function. Let’s start with function: The Beoplay A1 offers impressive sound from a compact package, with credible bass, twinkly highs and notable separation. At 1.3 pounds, it’s a little heavier than some similarly sized portable speakers, but that’s because it’s made of aluminum, and you can tell the Beoplay A1 could handle being toted around in a gym bag or traveling cross-country on a business trip. I also love how easy it is to take phone calls through the Beoplay A1, which is far clearer than an iPhone speaker for all parties involved—and when you end your call, your music starts right up again. On to form: for me, technology must not only work well but also look cool, so I admire the Beoplay A1’s effervescent blue circle and handy carrying cord, which makes this speaker both elegant and informal at the same time. Now a staple on my desktop, the Bang & Olufsen Beoplay A1 is one of the few pieces of new tech that I’d find it hard to do without. $249, bang-olufsen.com

The Geometry of Wealth: How to Shape a Life of Money and Meaning

By Brian Portnoy

A book that’s about living a rich life—and what that really means anyway.

Worth has never been a magazine devoted to the accumulation of financial wealth in a vacuum. Yes, we want people to do well financially, and to help them get there. But central to Worth’s DNA is the idea that money isn’t an end in itself so much as a means to an end—a life of purpose and meaning.

So Brian Portnoy’s new book, his second, is right up our alley. The head of education at Magnetar Capital, Portnoy thinks a lot about how to help investors make smart decisions that help them shape the lives they really want. It’s not an exaggeration to say that he helps clients figure out what life they really want.

The Geometry of Wealth is an exploration of these themes that blends financial wisdom with challenging thinking about what constitutes happiness. “What are the touchstones of a meaningful life, and are they affordable?” Portnoy asks. It always surprises me how many people don’t really think about these questions, because they shape—or should shape—virtually every financial decision you make. You have to understand what really makes you happy in order to make realistic financial decisions that will help you get there. Or, as Portnoy puts it, “wealth is funded contentment.” This book will help you get there. Published by Harriman House

The Lincoln Navigator and Aviator

These new Lincolns show a car company pushing itself to a new level.

I live in a town where the parking lots are filled with luxury cars, and, with the exception of Teslas, they’re almost always foreign: BMWs, Audis, Mercedes, Porsches, Volvos, Jaguars, Maseratis and lots of Lexuses and Infinitis. These are great cars, and I’ve nothing against them. But there’s a certain homogeneity to these parking lots; even Teslas have become a bit run-of-the-mill.

I speak, in candor, as the driver of a Mini Cooper Countryman, which I bought in part because it’s extremely fun to drive and in part because it is not one of the cars listed above. But my next car might be a Lincoln, not just because I like to buy American where I think it’s a good choice but also because Lincoln has been making some very successful cars lately. Too often drivers associate this brand with the car they take home from the airport. They should start thinking about it as a maker of excellent luxury cars—there’s passion and perfectionism showing itself in Lincoln’s latest creations.

I had the opportunity to drive a Lincoln Navigator recently and came away impressed. Granted, it’s too big for me. (See above Mini Cooper disclosure.) But if you need that much space and you don’t want to sacrifice luxury to get it, this is a great car. It’s big and confident on the outside without being obnoxious. The inside feels like the kind of car you’d like to be driven around in—tons of room, decadently comfortable, an amazing sound system, thoughtful technology that does a lot without the frequent need to pull over to figure out how to use the climate control. (That would be my other car, a Ford Flex.)

I’m also excited about the forthcoming Lincoln Aviator, a seven-seat, three-row SUV that you might consider as an alternative to, say, an Audi Q7. (And by the way, kudos to Lincoln for getting away from its misguided and confusing naming system—MKC, MKT, MKX. Who the hell knows what that means? I wish other carmakers would do the same. I know what a Mustang is, and I know the way its name makes me feel. A BMW 7 Series? I can’t keep track.)

Forgive me, for I am shallow, and when it comes to cars, these things matter to me: Aviator is a cool name for a cool-looking car. The name suggests to me a bygone era of elegance, adventure and style. The car itself, with its long, sloped roof and the name emblazoned on the side just in front of the driver door, does indeed look dashing—but its technology is anything but dated. And inside, it’s gorgeous: incredibly comfortable seats, a sophisticated and unobtrusive dash, creative use of tech to facilitate comfort and safety, oodles of room. This car, unlike the Lincolns we used to think of when we thought of Lincoln, has a personality. I can’t wait to get to know it a little better. lincoln.com

L’Opossum

Richmond, Va.

Richmond’s deeply original mixture of serious food and campy fun.

I don’t much care for eating out in New York. It’s a pain. Every time a restaurant gets a little attention, it’s swarmed with foodies and financiers—and who wouldn’t like to see a 300-style showdown there—and scoring a reservation becomes a process of ritual humiliation. Prices are at the point where you could eat a meal or make a car payment.  The restaurant spaces are so small, with tables crammed so close together to generate enough revenue to pay exorbitant rents, it’s not just that you overhear other people’s conversations, you’re practically compelled to join in.

I find it more fun to seek out great restaurants at up-and-coming cities around the country, and Richmond’s L’Opossum is one of the best of them. This restaurant—small, dark and cozy, mostly filled with banquettes—simply could not exist in New York. Looking like the scion of a dive bar and a tag sale, it is unpretentiously decorated with cheesy retro paintings and a mish-mash of knick-knacks, each with its own story and all carefully curated by (James Beard-nominee) chef and owner David Shannon. Unpretentious, but not un-wicked; in honor of, well, himself, Shannon populates the room with replica statues of Michelangelo’s David.

The food is persistently ambitious and astonishingly good. You could call it a mixture of French and American, but the operating theme seems to be, basically, decadence. There’s a ham biscuit with escargots on top; seared Hudson Valley foie gras, served with “a pair of salmon and ginger influenced persimmon pleasures and brown butter toasted pecans;” and “a searing paradox of pork belly and sea scallops, reveling in a key party of blood orange drenched radicchio.” These innuendo-laden, over the top menu descriptions are part of the fun at L’Opossum. The night I ate there, the drink special was a “dark and stormy Daniels.” A chocolate dessert is dubbed “hot black bottom a la mode.” You cannot order this and take yourself too seriously at the same time.

In Manhattan, all these things would cost about twice what they do in Richmond, and that’s a real shame—after all, you can’t make jokes about $75 entrees. Go to L’Opossum instead. lopossum.com

Migis Lodge

South Casco, Me.

Modern in all the ways you need, but a throwback in all the ways you want.

Sometimes when I miss my childhood, I think of Migis Lodge, a family-oriented resort on Maine’s Sebago Lake. It takes you back. You arrive at Migis on a dirt road surrounded by pine trees, park your car and really don’t have to use it again until you leave. Migis’ cabins combine that timeless feel of the Maine lodge, with hardwood floors and fireplaces and exterior lanterns, with modern amenities like wireless service and comfortable bathrooms. But when I visited Migis with my two young sons last 4th of July, we didn’t spend very much time indoors. Not long after we arrived, the boys got their faces painted with American flag stripes and marched in a kids’ parade to celebrate Independence Day. A counselor walked alongside with a boombox playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever” on repeat.

That evening, we joined other visitors at a 4th of July cookout, where guests mingle at shared camp tables and really do get to know each other. As we looked out over the water, a flotilla of canoes and rowboats from a nearby summer camp, all filled with young kids in life preservers, was towed past us by a counselor in a motorboat. (Harmless chaos ensued when the tow rope got wrapped around a swim float and the boats started crashing into each other; it was like something out of Stuart Little.)

After dinner, my sons played with other boys they had just befriended, tossing pebbles into the lake and wading in the water until the bottoms of their shorts were thoroughly soaked. Over the next couple days, they’d whiz down the rope line, spend the afternoon in summer camp, participate in a kids’ talent show and while away hours swimming in the clear water of Sebago Lake.

Migis isn’t fancy; it’s not supposed to be. The food is solid but not great, the cabins comfortable but not precious. The focus here is on family, and the creation of a place where generations can come together and escape the pressures and distractions of modern life. Few places do it better. migislodge.com

Perry Lane Hotel

Savannah, Ga.

The newest hotel entrant in a thriving city has raised the bar for luxury in Savannah.

For such a hospitable town, Savannah has long gone without a truly great hotel. It offers a bunch of perfectly good chain hotels, a number of charming bed and breakfasts and inns, a few quite good boutique hotels and several very good but not-quite-four-star hotels.

But with the opening of Perry Lane this year, Savannah finally has that great hotel it’s needed. This 167-room, new build hotel adds to the neighborhood without looking at all out of place. It is thoughtfully designed inside and out, and the quiet, spacious rooms are luxurious without feeling oppressive. Perry Lane has an impressively good fitness center—a hotel imperative for me—and a terrific restaurant, The Emporium, which serves French bistro food with a Southern flair. I’ve had about half a dozen meals there; all have been outstanding, and I’d come to Emporium whether I was staying at the hotel or not. And its Peregrin Rooftop Lounge has a fantastic view of the city and lots of nooks and crannies for visitors to drink and talk and still have a bit of privacy.

Of course, the mark of a great hotel—and the most difficult thing to achieve—is outstanding service, and here Perry Lane really excels. (No easy feat in a town where there isn’t yet a broad culture of top-notch service.)  An example that matters to me: Two days in a row, the hotel happily delivered a pot of coffee to my room at 4:30 AM, because that’s often when I work while I’m traveling. (And good coffee, too., which one can’t take for granted even at very fine hotels.) It’s all done with warmth and friendliness, and no unwanted “No problem!” millennial informality. Perry Lane is a game-changer for Savannah’s growing hotel scene. perrylanehotel.com

PerUs

Wine, family-style.

Napa Valley is an embarrassment of riches. Its winemakers are so good at what they do, so blessed with natural resources, and backed by so much capital, there is more outstanding wine made there than one could possibly drink, much less get to know.

So Napa winemakers have to sell not only quality, but story; they want consumers to feel that the $100 (let’s call that on the cheap side) bottle of wine they’re paying for isn’t just excellent, it’s special; it has a narrative to which they should want to feel connected.

There’s nothing wrong with that. We buy products for lots of different reasons, and one of them is what we think that product says about us. And if we like its story, we might buy a wine we wouldn’t try otherwise—and fall in love with it.

But the power of story does make it challenging for a winemaker who isn’t generations-steeped in Napa history to break through. So with that in mind, I’d like to suggest that you try the wines of PerUs, a young company making wine in Napa started by New York-based businessman and entrepreneur Anmol Bhandari. Wine isn’t where Bhandari made his money—typically, wine is where wealthy people go to spend their money—but it has been a longtime passion of his, largely because of its power in connecting family and friends. Now, all of the wines that come from PerUs are named after the family and friends of the people involved with the company. PerUs doesn’t make a lot of wine, and Bhandari wants its wine to remind people of what is important in their lives, because it does that for him.

The wines, by the way, are outstanding. With the guidance of respected winemaker Russell Bevan, PerUs has made some terrific cabernet sauvignons, several impressive Bordeaux-style reds and a delicious sauvignon blanc. These are ambitious, sophisticated, thoughtful wines that feel like they’re being made for a small group of friends rather than broader consumption.  PerUs is a family of wines one would happily be a part of. peruswine.com

Stefano Bemer

Shoes that make a statement.

I’m not a religious person, but I do believe in shoes. Sure, I’m all for the new wave of what you might call fast casual footwear; I own three pairs of All Birds, because there’s nothing wrong with a $100 pair of kick-around shoes. But even in the age of anti-suit fashion—especially in this dressed-down era—I believe in dress shoes, which is to say, beautiful, stylish, expensive, handmade, custom shoes. You can be a gentleman without beautiful shoes, but they certainly help.

The ones I’m admiring right now are made by Stefano Bemer, a small Italian company founded by its namesake in 1983 and now owned by Tommaso Melani, whose family launched a handbag business in post-war Italy. Melani is one of those dashing Italians who makes dressing beautifully look effortless, but he’s such a warm and modest man, you can’t really get upset about it. He’s also passionate about craftsmanship, and you can see his commitment to perfectionism in the shoes that Stefano Bemer makes. Whether they are ready to wear, made to order or bespoke, these are shoes made with the finest materials, an obsessive attention to detail and a devotion to technique. If you can—they cost about $3,000 to $4,000—go the bespoke route. (Ready to wear are in the $1,000 range.) The process requires two separate fittings and four to eight weeks, but the end result is worth the wait: These shoes make a statement. Plus, you’ll enjoy the pleasure of good conversation and good espresso with Tommaso Melani at his Manhattan atelier. stefanobemer.com

The Fifth Risk

By Michael Lewis

One of the best books ever written about why good government really matters—now more than ever.

Someone I used to know would occasionally use the expression “good enough for government” to describe things that are mediocre. The phrase’s suggestion that government is filled with bureaucrats and hacks always irritated me. Me, I’m corny about public service, in large part because I know lots of smart and dedicated and hard-working people who help make our government function to make all of our lives better and safer. Professionally speaking, I’ve long thought that coverage of government agencies is woefully insufficient. These institutions do hugely important work, and our ignorance of that work leads to public cynicism and the sense that it’s OK to vote for people who don’t care about or don’t like government because, after all, government can’t do anything right.

In The Fifth Risk, an examination of what happens when a person who hates the federal government and knows virtually nothing about it somehow becomes president, Michael Lewis writes about public servants whom you and I have never heard of. Whether they work at the Department of Agriculture, the Department of Energy or NOAA, Lewis shows them to be passionate, principled and highly skilled. More to the point, he shows them—and the work of their agencies—to be important. Really important—as in, keeping-us-alive level of important. And that work is all being neglected, undone, reversed or swept under the carpet under an administration that has no meaningful interest in public policy uncorrelated to ideological warfare, personal resentment or personal gain. (Two years into the Trump administration, some 37 percent of White House-appointed jobs remain unfilled.)

This isn’t a sexy story, but it’s a hugely important one. The loss of these people’s expertise—and, in some cases, their replacement with corrupt and/or incompetent Trump cronies—is undermining our government’s ability to function. It’s making what Trump supporters say they hate about the government actually true.

We may not know all the work that the people Lewis writes about do—although many Americans felt the loss of it during the recent government shutdown—but we’ll be feeling the effects of the assault on them for decades to come. Published by W.W. Norton & Company