March 17 (Bloomberg) -- As I enter the lobby of the newly restored Plaza Hotel in New York, I'm expecting grandeur, and I'm not disappointed.

Ruby-laden Baccarat crystal chandeliers sparkle over gleaming marble floors, and an elegant stairway cascades from the mezzanine.

Huge mirrors, enormous French windows partially sheathed in thick drapes and decorative shiny details at every turn are so dazzling it takes a moment to spot the check-in counter, tucked away in the back near a small bank of elevators.

After two years and $400 million in renovations -- during which most of the place was turned into a condo palace -- the Plaza is back. Almost.

The legendary Oak Room won't be ready until late spring, nor will the spa -- too bad, as I was really looking forward to the vine-based anti-aging treatments.

We are handed keys to Room 734, which we'd booked online for $775, and are escorted upstairs. There, we're smoothly passed like batons to a white-gloved butler. But our man can't open the door with either his keys or ours.

A second butler completes the task and mentions that the hotel will supply us with a laptop computer should we need one, ``as a courtesy.'' That sweet deal is later rescinded, though a laptop can be arranged, somehow, ``for a couple hundred,'' says the concierge.

Hail Midas

The gargantuan flat-screen TV hangs over a dark wood cabinet. A portrait of Henry VIII glowers from my wall. But it's King Midas whose touch is in the golden curtains, furniture, ceiling. The bathroom sinks are tricked out with faucets plated in 24-carat gold. The thick terry bathrobes are trimmed with gold. The twinkly leitmotif is somewhat ruined by the creepy fake mink coverlet on our aircraft carrier-sized bed.

The mini-bar beckons. There are Dean & DeLuca Gummy Bears ($12 per tin) for your inner child and half-bottles of Veuve- Clicquot ($45) for your older besotted self.

Like most of the rooms, ours overlooks an inner courtyard of gray stone balustrades that frame rectangular pools of blue water. The fountains will be pleasant to look down upon -- once they're flowing. Most of the view, though, is of other rooms -- none of which come cheap.

A quick Internet search for June 6-8, a weekend, shows room rates ranging from $995 per night for a double with a king-sized bed (the same-sized room as ours) up to $3,500 for an Edwardian Suite with a partial view of Central Park and 1,000 square feet.

We head downstairs for afternoon tea in the Palm Court, where tremendous marble columns with lavish Corinthian capitals dwarf even the massive potted palm trees. The soft illumination from the 1,200-square-foot, ornate stained-glass ceiling overhead is made more heavenly by live harp music.

Hungry Eloise

A very light meal of finger sandwiches, tarts and a pot of tea costs us $60 each. Fictional resident Eloise, who ate here on rainy days, must've been loaded -- and often hungry. Heading over to meet a friend in the Champagne Bar just off the lobby, we pack away a half-dozen oysters and three drinks for a whopping $103 with tip. Still, the martinis were expertly mixed -- one with Grey Goose vodka and two with Hendrick's gin -- and the East Coast oysters were fresh and tasty.

For a late supper, we order room service -- two personal pizzas (one with mushrooms and roasted garlic, the other with pesto and caramelized onions) and two salads. The $125 tab is the one remarkable thing about an otherwise ordinary meal.

I do sleep well -- perhaps wearied by recurrent sticker shock. I'm not hungry for breakfast ($35-$45) and just order coffee ($15.35, including service) before we check out.

No Exercise

The Plaza will work out its early glitches, I'm certain. When I wandered about in my gym clothes in search of the ``temporary'' fitness room advertised in the hotel directory, it took two staff members about 15 minutes to determine that the facility didn't yet exist.

Things could be worse. I didn't get trapped in a ``garbage room'' for seven hours, as one condo occupant was in February (to the delight of one New York tabloid).

Still, a hotel with no fitness room, spa or signature restaurant might consider opening at reduced rates, rather than rope in customers with its reputation. The revamped Plaza can get by on its cachet for only so long.

(Mike Di Paola writes about preservation and the environment for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this column: Mike Di Paola at mdipaola@nyc.rr.com.

Last Updated: March 17, 2008 00:01 EDT