Woodinville Part Deux: Cabin Fever!

We pulled into Willows Lodge as the sun began to set. The grounds were delicately illuminated lending a quaint mood to the small village which caused a holiday glow to spark within me as we wove throughout the lot. I decided to pull up front while we checked in and a well-suited doorman greeted us with a grandiose gesture, guiding us toward the front desk.

The lobby was located beneath an expansive vaulted ceiling and featured large over-stuffed chairs and couches in front of a granite slab fireplace that rose heavenward. Flames licked the glass walls on either side of the fireplace, which acted as a divider between the back wine lounge and the lobby. Brett and I checked in in a matter of minutes and were pointed in the direction of a large wooden stairwell, which wound around the exterior of the space. We made our way up the flight of stairs and found our room located just past the end of the balcony.

When Brett pushed open the door, my eyes glistened with excitement and a luxuriant wave washed over me. We’ve had the good fortune of staying in some pretty luxe hotels in our time together, but this one rose rapidly to the top of the heap. The feel was quintessentially Northwest due to the outdoorsy (yet subtle) accoutrements and wood detailing, yet terribly chic and refined. Amenities included Bang & Olufsen sound systems, a 52” flat screen television implanted in the wall above a cozy fireplace, an enormous whirlpool, a martini bar in the foyer, and a heated towel rack to name a few. We oohed and aahed as we explored our home for the evening which happened to be at least twice the size of our condo in Ballard.

I wandered over to our living and dining area and ensconced myself on the sofa—kicking up my feet and enjoying the sheer refinement of our surroundings. Brett made himself a martini as opera music issued soothingly from our high-end sound system. The fire roared, offering sanctuary from the bitter wind whipping about outside and I wanted to stay there forever. I momentarily poked through the cabinets and found unique snack items which were far too costly to bother partaking in. After a short decompression period, we headed down to the lounge so that we might enjoy some fireside wine flights.


We plopped down in two leather chaises and wondered how enjoyable this experience would be given the fact that a gaggle of 40-something women were boisterously celebrating and cracked open their fifth bottle of bubbly shortly after we arrived. (The hand-painted bottles were lined up in front of the fire like little soldiers.) We smiled conspiratorially and left them to their devices—instead focusing on the potpourri of wine options with which we were faced. I decided upon a Cremant d’Alsace Rosé and Baer Ursa (both of which were divine.) Ruthie, the unofficial mascot of Willows Lodge, who looks like the Hush Puppy dog, sidled over to us for an approving sniff before ambling back to be lavished at her perch by the entryway.


I had reached that point in the evening where my dipsomania leveled off and my entire mind and body felt as though they had been coated in a warm, thick layer of syrup.

With that feeling in place, I decided it would behoove us to partake of something that was not comprised predominately of fermented grapes so I ordered garlic fries knowing that dinner would not be too far off in the horizon. The fries arrived in a miniature stainless steel fryer basket lined with parchment paper and we immediately dug in. Garlic overwhelmed my olfactories and I’m convinced these fries were marinated in at least 50 cloves of garlic. Needless to say, they were sublime.



It was time for us to head over to Barking Frog for dinner, so I scurried up to the room for a quick wardrobe change before we made our way across the parking lot passing through a fractured, dilapidated tree en route.

Upon entry, I announced our reservations and we were led to a table for two. The mood was prim, if that makes any sense, and the lighting was far too bright. Other patrons seemed the slightest bit stuffy and there seemed to be a high concentration of old money.

Our server was pretty, kind, and predominately attentive except for the fact that every surrounding guest received a bread basket but us. This is a common occurrence, however, and a misfortune that seems to haunt us wherever we go. I have yet to figure out why that is….In any case, we ordered a bottle of Pellegrino and the house recommended “value” wine: Haystack Needle’s The Eye. The wine was jammy with an herbal essence and a berry bouquet—by far my most favorite selection of everything we had that evening.


I say this because the food we ordered was extraordinarily sweet. We shared Grand Marnier shrimp to start, which were four small butterflied shrimp in a candied glaze that tasted similar to high quality Chinese food.

For our first course, I chose the Apple Chestnut soup, which seemed like an apt choice considering the rouge weather outside. I was presented with a tiny column of pureed chestnut in an empty bowl and the server proceeded to pour the soup with extreme deliberation, swirling as he went until the column all but disappeared—leaving a tiny garnish on top. It was apparent that extreme attention was paid to painstakingly pristine presentation. The soup was only slightly sweet with a bitter and tart body.


Brett chose the Caesar salad to start. Though not sweet, it was an unfortunate culinary failure nonetheless. The dressing was gloppy and mayonnaisey, making the overall effect rather bland. Rather than blend the anchovies into the dressing, a lone carcass lay atop a single crostini (which was a paltry substitute for croutons).

I don’t mean to sound too critical, dear reader; I’m simply noting that while these culinary creations may be suited to some palates—they were not terribly pleasing to mine. Again, this isn’t to say the whole endeavor was not enjoyable. My main course was comprised of everything that was right up my alley including ahi, jalapeño, and macadamia nuts. I was served a seared loin of ahi resting atop macadamia jasmine rice and bathed in a white chocolate jalapeño roux. The result was not subtle—I felt as though I was eating a tuna cake covered in white chocolate frosting. It was not unsavory per se, but unsettling considering I was expecting a simple dish with subtle flavor infusions and was instead hit over the head by a whopping dose of sucrose.


We opted out of dessert --already dizzy with astronomical glucose levels. After bidding adieu to our server, we headed back across the way to our suite where we would lavishly ride out the rest of our evening.


Having soaked long enough in the whirlpool to properly prune myself, I wrapped up in an oversized bathrobe and plopped myself sideways on the bed to watch SNL. Moments later, I was ensconced in a deep, restful sleep. I slept sideways and like a starfish until 9am the following morning and rolled happily out of bed to make my way to the spa for a facial.

The Spa at Willows was quaint and simple. I seemed to be the only person indulging in a service that morning, so I was immediately led back to my room and instructed to disrobe. After crawling into the heated bed, I almost drifted back to Sleepytown as my esthetician pampered my visage. One blissful hour later, I went to collect Brett and we headed back to the Barking Frog for brunch, which was a far cry better than dinner the night before—we lazily drank coffee and juice, having had our fill of alcohol the day prior.

Before heading back to Ballard, we took one final sweep of the grounds. Willows Lodge’s surrounding area was heavily wooded and laced with horse trails. Faintly peering through the trees was Redhook, one of Seattle area’s most famous micro-breweries.

Since the wind was coarse and chilly, we cut our tour short and scurried back to the front desk. While waiting to check out, Brett stood behind a woman who was uncharacteristically bronzed for being in Seattle. She was decked out with an Hermès Birkin Bag, Manolo Blahnik shoes, and a fur vest (I know not from which critter it came)—she was obviously a big deal. Her hair was piled voluminously atop her head and layers of makeup caked her countenance. She continued to ask whether or not she had the best room in the Lodge before finally teetering off to the yellow Hummer awaiting her out front. I smiled to myself because as far as I’m concerned, Brett and I came out on top.