Boston Globe Review

By Necee Regis, Globe Correspondent | July 17, 2005

WELLFLEET -- It's sad when a critic can't find anything to criticize. I mean, no place is perfect, and it's my job to ferret out and report flaws, constructively, of course, while giving praise where praise is due.

The worst I can say about the Stone Lion Inn is that I hated to leave. It was that nice.

First, let me disclose that I have oodles of family and friends in Wellfleet, so I usually stay in a spare bedroom or on an unoccupied couch. But this year, I wanted to find an alternative to mooching off others' good will. I also wanted a place where I didn't know the owners and they didn't know me.

The Stone Lion Inn, a Victorian sea captain's home circa 1871, sits back from the road that winds from downtown to the marina. I've jogged past it for five years and admired its pale yellow facade with pink shutters, its ivy lawn, shady gazebo, and the stone lions on the doorstep. But I had never been inside.

Janet Lowenstein and her husband, Adam, Levinson, left careers in New York in the world of set design and construction to move to Wellfleet and open the inn. They took a workshop on the pros and cons of running a bed-and-breakfast and classes in the hospitality industry.

Using their carpentry skills, they restored the old house impeccably and renovated it with an understated charm. It is not fussy, nor is it someone's idea of what a ''country inn" should be (four-poster beds with frilly spreads and patterned wallpaper). The bedrooms have simple queen-size beds and wide floorboards with worn Oriental carpets. Walls are painted solid colors. My room was a soothing periwinkle blue. A poster of Van Gogh's "Irises" hung above the bed, and other posters from the Metropolitan Museum in New York adorned the other walls. There was an antique armoire to hang my clothes, a small refrigerator hidden in a glass-topped cabinet, an overhead fan, and, blissfully, an air conditioner I used one humid night when the breezes from the bay were stagnant. (If you want a TV, VCR, or telephone, they're in the first-floor parlor.)

Curiously, my room was called the ''Park Slope." This and other rooms, for example, the ''Greenpoint" and the ''Clinton Hill" (which also has a claw-foot tub and a private deck) are named for neighborhoods in Brooklyn where the owners have lived. A two-level apartment and a small three-bedroom cottage also are for rent on the property.

When I arrived on a Sunday afternoon, Lowenstein greeted me, clipboard in hand, and asked about my breakfast preferences. Usually, they offer a full buffet that includes a main hot dish such as a vegetable and cheese frittata or baked French toast, as well as home-baked muffins, scones, fresh fruit salad, toast, cereal, juices, plus coffee and tea. But as their only guest on this spring day, she would be cooking the next morning for me alone. Did I like eggs? Did I have any food allergies? Did I prefer my coffee strong or decaffeinated? In less than five minutes I felt totally pampered.

In my room were two chocolate-mint coins embossed with the logo of theinn. They were melt-in-the-mouth good, and were the perfect afternoon pick-me-up between lolling at the pond and going out for dinner.

My private bathroom, up two steps, was outfitted with a multi-paneled glass corner shower, the kind I've seen in London but never in the States. (Turns out it was made in Canada.) The floor tiles were black and white, and the nearby pedestal sink had a glass counter above with ample space for toiletries. I found not a smidge of dirt anywhere.

As for the location, it is an easy walk to the marina and the bay beach, or into town. The newest place to eat on Main Street is Winslow's Tavern. (''Established 2005" says the gilded sign outside.) Wellfleet regulars will remember it as the home of Aesop's Tables, a high-end dining establishment. It's now run by chef Phillip Hunt and his wife, Tracey Barry-Hunt, a member of the Barry family that owns the wildly popular seafood place Moby Dick's.

They've knocked down some walls to open up the dining room, and painted it a pale yellow. A recent visit, on a June Sunday eve, found every seat full. The menu, according to Hunt, is ''simple bistro stuff." Entrees run $8 for a burger and fries to $21 for a garlic-and-butter-grilled lobster with sweet corn relish. At breakfast the next morning, I took my coffee and scone outside. The coffee, as promised, was indeed strong enough for someone who travels with an espresso pot and can of Lavazza in her van. And the scones were wonderful, studded with pieces of dried apricot and cherry, and flaky. (They also are for sale in the town center's grocery store.)

From my perch, I watched the morning unfold. The sun rose above the morning fog and appeared through the leaves of a tall maple tree. As its light reached the brick goldfish pond, bright orange flashes appeared between the lily pads. Songbirds chirped and twittered, occasionally interrupted by a mournful whoo-whoo of a morning dove. Helmeted cyclists and joggers were part of the parade, as was traffic heading to the pier, the sounds muted by the gurgling water in the pond.

The next time I jog past the Stone Lion Inn, I'll wave, enviously, at the lucky guests with their coffee and scones at this faultless little B&B.


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