DEL.ICIO.USThe Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 09/14/04
SUMMERVILLE, S.C. — The directions to Woodlands Inn & Resort near Charleston are so meticulous and yet so oddly circuitous that they read more like a treasure map.
When you reserve one of the inn's 19 rooms, the staff will fire off a set of driving directions that take you along the picturesque Main Street of downtown Summerville, and then up a boulevard fronted by white-columned homes. The Woodlands sign will appear by the side of the street on a manicured postage stamp of lawn. Turn left, and left again up the driveway — a long, winding, gravel affair. Small stones crunch beneath your tires as you wend between tall trees. When the neoclassical 1906 mansion finally appears — sitting high on a vast, open lawn — your heart leaps.
 Courtesy of Woodlands Inn | |||
| Dining at the Woodlands Inn offers the type of service that helps patrons relax in an elegant atmosphere. | |||
 Courtesy of Woodlands Inn | |||
| The 1906 Woodlands Inn originally was the winter home of Robert Parsons of Philadelphia. | |||
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MOST POPULARTo the manor born, baby. To the manor born.
This grand entrance sets you up for a "wow" moment. And it primes you for luxury. Abject luxury. Luxury at a cost. Luxury in every detail.
The Woodlands Inn's ability to provide just such an experience has earned it a rare level of distinction among the nation's small inns. Readers of Travel+Leisure magazine recently ranked it 12th in the country (and 55th overall) in the annual survey of "World's Best Hotels."
The most recent edition of the Mobil Travel Guide went a step further and bestowed a pair of 5-Star awards to the Woodlands for both its accommodations and its restaurant. The only other properties with this double distinction are the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco and the Inn at Little Washington in northern Virginia. The inn also has an AAA Five Diamond designation.
We needed a little Woodlands-style luxury after spending a week crammed in a small beach house with another family. So we booked a one-night stay and followed our driving directions precisely.
What could beat that first sight of the inn? Perhaps the moment when the manager informed us that the hotel was underbooked and offered our children a separate room at no charge. For once, we'd stay in a hotel where the sleeping arrangements weren't like those on the Amistad.
We firmed up our dinner and spa reservations and climbed the wide stairs to our adjacent rooms where our luggage as well as an iced bottle of champagne and sodas were waiting. Our suite was a fun space. The window by our bed turned out to be the semicircular window built into the pediment over the inn's front pillars. We cranked it open and waved to the porters. We also got temporary custody of the building's cupola, accessed by a narrow spiral staircase. It is a great spot for morning coffee and papers.
Other amenities included a separate sitting area with a gas fireplace. The bathroom featured marble surfaces, enough Aveda products to open a hair salon and a scale that shaved five pounds off the truth.
The design sensibilities throughout this inn seemed quite conservative at first glance — from the ruffled plaid upholstery on the divan to the blue blazer and tartan skirt on the manager. The art in the rooms was gracious but bubble-headed — pictures of pears labeled "PEARS" and the like, all looking like lithographs from an oversized Victorian botany manual.
It all was, we learned, in keeping with the mansion's history. Built in 1906, this building originally served as a winter home for Robert Parsons, the scion of a prominent Philadelphia family. Just before World War II, Parsons sold it to a noted botanist, Alan White, who threw lavish mixers for servicemen and local girls.
In 1993 the building was sold again and underwent an extensive renovation, emerging as a high-end resort. With the addition of clay tennis courts and a croquet lawn, and with its 42-acre buffer zone from the outside, it really does feel like an English country manor. In my mind's eye, it could be the exact setting for "Ten Little Indians."
Our kids, who had dutifully trudged through the historic buildings of Charleston the day before, were more interested in the outdoor heated pool, where we met a local family that paid membership dues to use it. They said few hotel guests used the pool.
We changed in time for our appointed high tea in the Winter Garden — a sunny room set with wicker furniture and Parcheesi sets. Pots of tea soon arrived, followed by a silver platter of fruit tarts, brownies, lemon bars and slivers of sweet bread.
This high tea was good, but it wasn't the meal we had come for. That would be dinner.
The staff put together a customized kids' meal and scrounged up some videotapes, so we left our 13-year-old to baby-sit and ventured down to the dining room — one of only 13 restaurants to hold five Mobil stars.
We ordered the five-course chef's tasting menu. What came was the kind of fancy meal that felt right for all the trappings — the weight of the linens, the twinkle of the lights — and the kind of service that puts you at ease in such glamorous surroundings. We liked the food but weren't blown away by it. To be fair, executive chef Scott Crawford had only recently taken over the kitchen from Ken Vedrinski, who was in charge when the Woodlands dining room earned its five stars. It takes every chef a few months to translate poetry in his soul to poetry on the plate.
We started with a bit of purple cauliflower soup floating a few beads of caviar. A salad of local blue crab shreds and citrus segments had a hint of vanilla that underscored the perfect freshness of the shellfish. Olive oil poached halibut with melted tomatoes and vegetable nage was soft and inoffensive on the tongue.
Things got more interesting with the arrival of ginger scented day boat scallops over a sunchoke puree with a caramel demiglace. The sauce, made from veal bones, brought out the savory flavor and meaty texture of the scallops.
My wife and I were sharing a set of paired wines (a good way to avoid the alcohol overload of so many pairings), so we had plenty of contact with sommelier Stéphane Peltier. By the time he came around with 1998 red burgundy (Domaine Roux Père et Fils Chassagne-Montrachet) to go with with this dish, we were both eager to hear his lively, eloquent explanation for the match.
"With the sauce I thought that maybe we could go with a red wine," he said in his bubbly way, "and at this point in the meal you're about ready for some red wine, non?" Seared venison loin with blackberry-peppercorn sauce and a bit of beet chutney seemed like a typical fancy-restaurant meat course — three slices of rare meat and a little puddle of sweet brown sauce. Fine. And the Preston "Gamache Vineyard" syrah from Washington state was equally straightforward, with opulent fruit and a tight structure.
For dessert we had a white-chocolate cream napoleon with a little pistachio torte and kumquat marmalade — one of those desserts that looked like it was made of Tinker Toys. It was a charming end to the meal. Afterward, we took a walk around the grounds and finished with brandies on the porch. I, for one, could get used to this.
The next day, as my wife and kids used the pool, I took my bike for a spin through the area.
"Do I really have to go down the gravel path?" I asked the manager.
She laughed, led me to the front door and pointed out a small, almost imperceptible, break in the brick wall edging the property.
Within seconds I was in a modern subdivision filled with neo-Victorian homes with three-car garages clustered in culs-de-sac. Summerville, not surprisingly, had become a bedroom community for Charleston. A suburb.
Just a bit down the road was a not-so-rich neighborhood, with old ranch houses.
And I realized why the directions were so circuitous. Guests come to this lovely place to assume a life of luxury, if only for a day. So they need all the illusion they can get.
