Destinations: The Reluctant Panther Inn and Restaurant

Calling The Reluctant Panther Inn and Restaurant a “bed and breakfast” is a little like referring to the Lincoln Bedroom as “the spare room down the hall where we put guests.” The bed in my room, in fact, was a good deal larger than the one in the Lincoln Bedroom and, I can only assume, a good deal more comfortable, especially since it didn't have Woodrow Wilson in it. Not that well-known people don't stay at the Panther-I am burning to tell you who, but I wasn't given permission so you'll have to go there and ask.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start in the front hall reception area. You'd think it's circa 1850s, 1860s, maybe the construction boom after the Civil War, but there are a few contemporary tip-offs: The elevator to the second floor makes every room accessible to every guest, there's no tripping over uneven floorboards, and you don't need a candle to see the guest book. In fact, the whole main building is less than five years old, rebuilt after a catastrophic fire-the story of which you deserve to hear in situ.

Confronted with a smoldering pile of bricks only one month after closing on the property, I would have lain down, rent my garments and rolled around in the ashes-Job did this and got a book out of it-but the owners are made of stronger stuff. Just about a year after the fire, they rebuilt and reopened the Main House, respecting tradition but incorporating little post-Reconstruction details like thermostats, energy-efficient lighting, flat-screen TVs and slipper tubs that are really Jacuzzis. Don't tell me Lincoln wouldn't have approved.

Liz and Jerry Lavalley are the owners, and although I don't think they can be booked to have dinner at your table, you should definitely check because they are well-traveled, charming individuals who are passionate about their inn and their adopted community. Staff uniforms are from local outlets, as are the linens on the beds and the toiletries in the bathrooms. The regularly rotated artwork is by juried Vermont painters and sculptors. Don't get me started on the 360-degree mural in the front hall or we'll never get to dinner. And believe me, you want to get to dinner.

The dining room, with its windows on three sides, has an almost Southern feeling of indoor/outdoor spaciousness. Jerry tells me that thanks to the chef he and Liz recruited from Boston, the inn has become a destination sought out as much for its meals and special events as for its suites. Justin Dain, the executive chef, comes to the table to explain exactly how he produces his Hudson Valley foie gras. He is so earnest, knowledgeable and sincere that you just want to put him in a big stocking and give him to yourself for Christmas. The foie gras is, as promised, superb, but so is my wild mushroom and baby spinach risotto and, later, the short ribs with Parmesan gnocchi. I resist the urge to pick up my plate and lick it.

After chasing the last half-mouthful of maple crème caramel around on my dessert plate-gotcha!-I make it to my suite and turn on the fireplace. Admittedly, not every suite is as extraordinary as mine, but I've been given a tour and can tell you that most of the other rooms are comparable. I have a living room with a fireplace, a television above the mantle (so subtly installed it takes me a minute to identify it), a big couch, armchairs, coffee bar, writing table-in short, everything I need to move in. I'd love to linger, but just through that door is the bedroom. For the first time in many years, I'm sorry I'm not on my honeymoon. As stated, the bed is quite exceptional; if the expanse of sheets and comforter were drifts of snow it would take rescuers a long time to find me. But who would want to be rescued from this?

Saturday morning, mindful of the previous night's gnocchi, I decide to go for a long run before breakfast. Vermont is renowned for its cheese, cheese comes from milk and milk comes from cows, so I correctly assume there is wide latitude for a range of running gaits in the Green Mountain state. I lope like Ferdinand, if not Bessie, down West Street and, less than a mile from the inn, trot past the entrance to the Southern Vermont Arts Center, a beautiful setting for both seasonal and year-round exhibits of painting, sculpture, multimedia presentations and performing arts. I feel more cultured just running past the gate.

Five miles later-three to work off last night's dinner and two to get a leg up on this morning's breakfast-and I'm back at the inn. The dining room in the morning is everything I thought it would be: airy, light, welcoming. In season there are meals on the terrace and views of the perennial gardens and ponds. Although 12 of the rooms and suites are in the Main House, there are three other structures scattered elegantly around the grounds for people who want to be a little more independent. I wouldn't want to be more than 150 yards from the dining room, but it takes all kinds of people.

I'm not sure exactly why the Panther is reluctant but, trust me, if he spends one night in that bed, or has one meal in that dining room, Liz and Jerry are going to find him camped out on the welcome mat wanting more. Not that a panther could keep me from getting inside if Justin has something new on the menu.

The Reluctant Panther
39 West Road, Manchester Village, Vermont 05254
800.822.2331

BACK