Rudolf Nureyev was one of a kind. Black-and-white photographs capture him mid-pirouette, unmatched in his grace. Who knows how many nights he slept in that room overlooking Via Manzoni after a performance? And the atmosphere back then likely wasn’t so different from today. The half-light, the thick curtains like stage drapes, the 19th-century dresser, the clatter of the tram on the cobblestones—one of the few remaining stretches of old Milan.
At the Grand Hotel et de Milan, time moves more slowly, and one thing is certain: it refuses to lose the atmosphere that has enveloped it for over 150 years. The interiors are regularly refreshed—Dimore Studio signed off on the latest restyling—but the touch is so subtle, you might not even notice. The first feeling upon entering is that of stepping into a world both ancient and elegant. But a closer look reveals contemporary fabrics and designer furnishings. Still, next to the elevator, you’ll find a brass ashtray—an object that betrays the building’s age—and in the hallway, Giuseppe Verdi’s writing desk.
The Maestro is one of the hotel’s legendary figures—indeed, its most important one—having lived here for 27 years, right up until the last day of his life, in a lavish suite that still retains some original furnishings. It was the perfect place, just a stone’s throw from Teatro alla Scala, the most important stage for his operas.
Once you get used to the Grand Hotel, it’s hard to stay anywhere else. Just ask Luchino Visconti, Giorgio Strehler, Maria Callas, Eleonora Duse, and many other iconic guests from the worlds of theater and culture. Upon arrival, you’re greeted like family—Signora Daniela Bertazzoni, always impeccably elegant and vivacious, shares a thousand delightful stories, while her daughter Alisia focuses on keeping this monument to hospitality anchored in the present.
And let’s be honest—the real regulars are the Milanese themselves, who are notoriously sensitive to the all-important “coolness” factor. They wouldn’t meet at the bar and bistro daily if that were missing. There’s breakfast, the classic aperitivo, lunch in the greenhouse of Caruso Nuovo.
Today, the kitchen is helmed by Gennaro Esposito, who’s added a touch of sunshine to the menu—his tomato spaghetti is minimalist and delicious—while keeping the iconic saffron risotto and veal cutlet, without which the place simply wouldn’t be the same. At Don Carlos, the hotel’s gourmet restaurant, Esposito has carte blanche. It feels like a private London club: paintings, sketches, and scenes from La Scala’s museum line the forest-green walls; silver candelabras adorn the tables; and Verdi’s music plays softly in the background. Wines and champagnes come from a cellar tucked up against the city’s 17th-century walls.
The bond with the theater is unbreakable—two parallel stories: the stage on one side, and on the other, the Milanese “home” of the greatest artists. On request, the concierge can arrange exclusive behind-the-scenes tours of La Scala, complete with a guide who narrates its rise to global fame and every detail of its storied past. The frescoes, the chandelier and clock, the stalls, the boxes, and the adjoining vestibules—where anything and everything used to happen during performances.
And as you walk among golden stuccoes and crimson velvets, a skilled team is busy setting up the show with such dexterity and grace that it feels like watching a ballet—the kind that usually stays hidden, behind the curtain.
