Newport Diary

Can you keep a secret?

The bed and breakfast we stayed at in Newport, the Francis Malbone House, now joins the ranks of my all-time favorite hotel experiences. Maybe someday I'll do a list of Mona's Top 10 Hotels, inspired by the book my Mom-bo bought me for Easter. (For any wanderlust, I highly recommend a copy of National Geographic's The Ten Best of Everything: An Ultimate Guide for Travelers.)

Newport is a quick two and a half hour drive from Fairfield County. Its proximity to my home in New Canaan was part of the reason we chose the seaside destination. Upon exiting the highway, we learned there was no need to fear getting lost in Newport; the town has only one main drag, make that two: America's Cup Avenue and Thames Street. The Thames is a smaller Duval Street (that I vaguely recall from a spring break in Key West), riddled with bars, surf shops, hotels and restaurants. And we learned the hard way-it is a one way street. Swimster and I felt like we were in National Lampoon's European Vacation. We made several loops and kept passing the street where the hotel parking lot was located. "Look kids, there's the Malbone House. There's Brewer Street. Look kids, there's the Malbone House. There's Brewer Street."

When I pulled into the gravel parking lot of our hotel, I was a little worried. The back of the building, where all guest unloading vehicles must enter, seemed drab, not anything like I pictured a bed and breakfast to be. I expected a quaint, old New England Salt Box, or something to that effect, and the Malbone House looked like a heap of white cement blocks.

When we walked inside to creaking wooden floors, a beautifully kept courtyard, and the smiling, welcoming staff I was relieved. The cold of the inn's exterior was a huge departure from the warmth I felt on the inside. The innkeeper Darryl greeted us with a jovial smile and gave us a thorough tour. I was bedazzled by the living rooms on the ground level with each having its own distinct sense of charm. All were equipped with coffee tables loaded with mile-high piles of newspapers and magazines free for us to take. In addition, each room had bookshelves of obscure book titles for your reading pleasure. Darryl pointed out anything we saw was ours to hold, borrow, or take up to our room, and that included the games I spied with my big eyes underneath a coffee table in the bar room. He also pointed out the glass cabinets filled with highball glasses, old fashioned glasses, and wine glasses to go along with my favorite Malbone amenity-the honor bar. They have a giant mini bar fridge in one room and it is on the honor of guests to sign off on what they drink. And he made sure to mention afternoon tea is served daily from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m., compliments of Francis Malbone. Say no more. This is a picture, courtesy of their website, of the room we hung out in for tea time (more on that later). I knew our one night stay in the Malbone house was not going to last long enough.

Darryl continued to walk us upstairs, showing us several of the other guest rooms on our way to ours. Each had its own personality and feel. One room's golden fleece was its luxurious cherry canopy bed, while another room's was its elegant bathroom with sauna. I knew we wouldn't have minded staying in any of them. Once we reached the top floor, Darryl noted he switched us to a nicer room. This was an unexpected surprise and gave me more glowing ammo and one more reason to write about the Malbone House once I left.

After sitting with Darryl for a few minutes, as he painted the town (map) red with the marker highlighting all the hot spots, we realized a few options of things to do that day: take a walk on the Cliff Walk, head to the mansions and get a tour of some of the biggest houses in the world, or barhop a la real spring break. We chose all of the above, just not in that order. There was nothing in the sky that day, except blue and the sun, but it was on the deceptively, breath-stealing cold side. So much for a beach trip. I knew I wasn't going to Newport to get a Palm Desert tan, but I did expect it to be slightly warmer than it was. And I have an embarrassing confession to make. When we unpacked the car, I realized I left my winter coat hanging on a hook in our mudroom. Oops. I had a wool blazer on, but it wasn't enough to block the harbor windchills.

We headed to the mansions first and per Darryl's request, we headed off in search of the Elms, the Astors', and finally the Breakers, in that order, saving the best for last. I may have been to Newport when I was a kid some twenty years ago, but I did not recall the grandeur and opulence of the palaces. I've been to several chateaux in France, and that's the only thing I can compare these homes to. Most of the mansions were closed to public tours on Tuesday, which was a slight disappointment, but the Breakers was open and for $15 each, we got a tour of the largest home I've ever been to in my life. The largest home, that is, that was not owned by Louis XVI.

I won't give you the room by room account of the house with its eye-popping, mouth-dropping dining rooms, the staircase designed after the one in the Opera Garnier in Paris, the Greek terraces, rich libraries and bedrooms. But, I will mention the Breakers was owned by the Vanderbilts, to my incredulity they spent a couple months out of the year in this mansion of all mansions, the kitchen was my favorite room in the house, and it is listed in the brochure as a "cottage." Oh, and the bathrooms had small tubs in them used for cleaning off your behind after a day of riding, kind of like the French bidet but for your derriere. This mansion reminded me of the fictional world of The Great Gatsby, but it made the residents of West Egg look like peasants.

photo courtesy of Mona's and Swimster's sneakiness (no photos were supposed to be taken)

After our visit to the "summer cottage," Swimster and I took a drive along the water with the intention of going on the Cliff Walk. Once I got out of the car and got swallowed up by the icy wind, the Cliff Walk became the Cliff Skip.

We opted for a warmer environment and pulled up to 22 Bowen's . We knew we had dinner reservations later that night but figured a mid-afternoon cocktail would be fun. It was around four o'clock and the place was empty. We had the bar to ourselves and found they weren't offering a full menu at that hour, but they do always serve New England clam chowder. Swimster ordered a Laphroaig, I ordered a dirty martini, and we both ordered cups of the clam chowder. The waitress was friendly, despite her loud bickering and flirting with one of her fellow servers over a ski trip. "Just go and shut up about it," I yelled. Well, not really, but that's what I felt like yelling. The scotch Swimster sipped, ever so neatly, was very peaty and my martini had the perfect blend of olive and Grey Goose. The cup of chowder, while it warmed my stomach, did not blow me away with its bland flavor.

We continued our afternoon snacktime at the Malbone House for tea. I know, who goes from drinking martinis to drinking tea, but thank goodness we did. The dining room table on the ground floor was neatly set with cucumber toasts, cheese and crackers, salami, homemade cookies, and a strawberry on strawberry cake. How could all this food be complimentary? There must be a jar somewhere for tea collections. The highlight of tea time was by far the strawberry cake (not for the sweet shy). Strawberry juices were bursting out of the moist cake and the thick frosting had the perfect sweetness (it didn't cause me to shut my eyes and cringe from sugar shock).



After all this food, it was time for an afternoon nap. Swimster passed out within seconds of hitting the pillow, while I stayed up and read magazines and watched the news, or so I thought. The next thing I knew I spring up, realize with confusion it's pitch dark outside, shout some illegible gibberish at Swimster, look at my clock and realize our dinner reservations are in 45 minutes and I haven't even showered, shaved, or dried my hair. In a frenzy, I do all of this in record time with Swimster laughing uncontrollably at my on-the-verge-of-being-late-induced insanity.

We arrive at the White Horse Tavern a little bit late for our reservation, but from the lack of cars in the parking lot, it didn't seem we disrupted their seating chart. I picked the White Horse Tavern because I have a love for historic sights, and if a restaurant, building, or in this case, tavern, is still standing after 300 years, I feel it's important to go and immerse myself in its history. The White Horse Tavern was established in 1673 and I'm sure it looks roughly the same now as it did back then. The walls are dark brown, almost black, with thick beams of wood and the dim lighting is augmented by candles and the active fireplace. The floor was uneven and the ceiling too felt low and lopsided, adding to its rustic feel. Dinner that night at the tavern was like taking a giant leap back in time. I imagined men in their white wigs like Samuel Adams and Ben Franklin toasting their overflowing, foamy steins of beer over the tables at White Horse Tavern, talking and planning the American revolution.

Our server was gracious and friendly. He took exceptional care of us, though that wasn't a challenge because we were one of just three tables in the dining room the entire night. I liked it not being crowded, but it did feel awkward when keeping conversation. The emptiness posed a problem for an older couple in their fifties or sixties, who were conducting an in depth relationship analysis over dinner. It seemed the woman was talking at painfully loud decibels, so everyone in the restaurant could hear how she had this pitiful suitor doting on her. Man likes woman. Man goes after, then dates woman. Woman gets bored with courtship and seeks out more thrilling relationship. Man jealous of other men. I am not an eavesdropper but we couldn't help but be involved in this distracting situation. Somebody call Dr. Phil, please. At one point, Swimster went to the bathroom and left me to fend for myself with their mess. I started laughing uncontrollably. It was the kind of laughter you get when you're twelve and sitting in church listening to the homily. The kind you have to sit there crying with, covering your nose and mouth, afraid something will come out, as you turn red with your stomach in knots, holding in the laughter bomb.

The food at White Horse Tavern was very good, but not worth the steep prices. Swimster and I each tried appetizers and entrees, and skipped dessert. The lobster and crab dumplings I started with had way too much soy sauce poured over them. The soy drowned out the flavor in the dumplings. Swimster's lobster risotto (yes, it's an entree but he got it as an appetizer and the waiter triple-checked that's what he meant when he ordered it) was too heavy on the cream. It also drowned out the richness of the lobster. My beef tenderloin was cooked to a medium rare, and packed with a soft tender punch. Swimster's beef Wellington had a layer of pate in between the dough and the meat, and we both liked this combination. Both entrees were served with a roasted tomato with breadcrumbs, that seemed too tired to please, and a small bunch of asparagus and carrots held together by a potato ring cut out from a baked potato.

We chose to skip dessert because we wanted to stop in at the Castle Hill Inn for an after-dinner drink. The Castle Hill Inn is a couple miles outside of downtown Newport. It's a massive Victorian house with wrap-around porches and sits on an open patch of land right up from the ocean. It was a starless, windy night and had there not been cars in the parking lot, I would have turned around. In the pitch dark, from the side we came in on, the Castle Hill Inn looked like a bigger version of the Bates Motel. After a couple of glasses of port, and watching Korea play Japan in the World Baseball Classic, we decided to call it a night. The bartender at Castle Hill said two words to us and made it clear she was not going to hang around and let us prolong our evening.

The rest of the evening was spent stumbling through Trivial Pursuit questions, drinking wine, and watching television at our inn. I wish we had seven more days of this mini-weekend. After breakfast the next day, I really wanted to extend our stay through the next morning's breakfast. Breakfast was also, to my disbelief, complimentary. In addition to fruit salad, homemade corn bread, banana bread and muffins, cereals, and yogurt, we were offered a choice of two hot items: apple pancakes or eggs Florentine. When our friendly waitress heard us discussing this dining dilemma, she offered us a side of the apple pancake if we both wanted the eggs. And voila, our problems were solved. The pancake was light and fluffy with powdered sugar sprinkled on top and warm chunks of apple concentrated in the middle of the pancake. The eggs Florentine were a delicious blend of egg white, yolk and spinach. We licked all our plates clean. We were waited on hand and foot by the two women working breakfast that morning. It felt like they were mother hens, checking up on each chick, or guest, every couple of minutes to make sure we had everything we needed that could fit in our stomachs.

Newport promises to be a pleasant stay to any curious soul in need of some fresh air and harbor beauty. By car, Newport is off of Interstate 95. By Amtrak, it is 34 miles from the Providence station. I was excited to visit this beach town in the off- season, and was slightly disappointed that most of the mansions were closed to the public during the week, and a lot of the stores were closed as well. But I understand, that's why it's called an off-season. I lived in Aspen for a year, I know all about it. Next year, I would go a little later, when spring is really in the air. I'm sure late summer months or early fall is beautiful in Newport as well. Note: I know I'm avoiding summer because I'm sure it's a madhouse then. I hope you enjoyed this virtual journey and don't forget, the Francis Malbone House is our little secret.

The Francis Malbone House
392 Thames Street
401-846-0392 or 800-846-0392

The Breakers
44 Ochre Point Avenue

22 Bowen's
22 Bowen's Wharf
401-841-8884

White Horse Tavern
26 Malborough Street
401-849-3600

Castle Hill Inn
590 Ocean Drive
888-466-1355 or 401-849-3800