hiding all along—and here, beneath the timber-framed dining pavilion, that revelation takes physical form, the canopy overhead filtering light through hand-hewn beams while the surrounding woods press close enough that every meal feels borrowed from the forest floor. Where the entertainer's estate commanded attention through spectacle and scale, this covered alcove earns it through restraint, the stone columns grounding you to the hillside while the open sides dissolve any barrier between plate and landscape. It is the kind of space where bourbon is not a brand itinerary but a slow pour against the sound of wind moving through old-growth canopy, where the trail that bears its name feels less like a tourist corridor and more like the living terroir just beyond the railing. The table seats eight but the room seats the entire ridge, and as the treeline deepens past the structure's edge you begin to understand that what waits beyond this threshold is not ornament but