Judy Joo is one of the foremost experts in Korean cuisine. The first female Iron Chef UK hosts television shows (like the Cooking Channel’s Korean Food Made Simple) and helms Seoul Bird restaurants in London. An avid traveler, Joo also enjoys sharing her adventures.
Every time I told someone I was going to Twin Farms, their eyes lit up. You’ll love it. I’m dying to go. It’s on my bucket list. The food is incredible. You HAVE to have the blueberry pancakes — they’re the best in the country. Apparently, I wasn’t simply going to Vermont; I was embarking on a pilgrimage…for pancakes.
This was my second visit to the tiny, ultra-luxurious hideaway tucked into the woods of Barnard, Vermont, just outside Woodstock. My first had been about 15 years ago, in deep winter, when everything was buried beneath snow, and Forbes Travel Guide Five-Star Twin Farms felt like an exceptionally glamorous adult summer camp.
One of the things I remembered most was the resort’s insistence that guests needn’t lug bulky winter sports gear with them. Skis, snowshoes, skates and boots — it provides everything. Naturally, I decided to test this claim by mentioning that my then-husband wore a size 16 shoe, something I had struggled to find even in normal footwear, never mind ice skates. Challenge accepted. When we arrived, ginormous boots and skates for all activities were waiting. I suspect they have not been worn since.
Roaring fires, horse-drawn carriages, outdoor hot chocolate, s’mores and bubbling Jacuzzi baths made it utterly romantic, like someone had handed you the keys to your own private playground in the woods.
Fast forward to summer 2026. The snow had disappeared, the trees were gloriously full and green, and I made my first tactical error: calling only a week beforehand to reserve a facial.
The spa was fully booked. At a resort with just 28 accommodations.
Yet I persisted. The receptionist put me on hold. Negotiations apparently took place and somehow a facial materialized. But panic had set in. What else had I failed to reserve? I was transferred to the concierge and discovered that, yes, the prime picnic locations were already disappearing, too. I panic-booked several without knowing where any of them were and reserved our dinners then and there. I like to eat early. An 8 p.m. reservation is, in my view, for maniacs and practically a midnight snack.
A week later, my boyfriend and I settled into one of Twin Farms’ larger abodes, the Aviary, a splendidly midcentury-modern, two-story cottage with a stone Jacuzzi bath in the bedroom and plush Frette robes and towels. We were celebrating our two-year anniversary, and a bottle of Louis Roederer was waiting on ice alongside a fridge stocked with local artisan snacks and drinks.
I immediately studied the activities list like a military campaign: e-biking, Pilates, tennis, fly-fishing, archery, ax throwing, cooking, watercolors, kayaking, canoeing, wood carving, wine and whiskey tastings and art tours through the hotel founder Thurston Twigg-Smith’s wonderfully eccentric collection. I had five days to fill, and apparently, relaxation required a lot of scheduling.
Then I saw it: a resort-wide scavenger hunt with a prize. I am, unfortunately, extremely goal oriented so I was ready for the challenge. Within minutes, I had deciphered the 10 clues, plotted likely locations and mapped our route. I informed my boyfriend that instead of going to the gym the next morning, we would be hiking for treasure across the farm’s 300-acre property. He agreed, which is one of the reasons he remains my partner.
Four hours, countless switchbacks, a stone labyrinth, a pond-side picnic and a tumble down one trail called “Not 2 EZ” (which should be more accurately named “U May Die”) later, we triumphantly completed the hunt. Our spoils? A jar of Twin Farms’ own honey and a ceramic honey pot. Sweet victory — literally.
I believe in celebrating life’s small wins, so we retired to the private Japanese onsen to soak our battered legs.
Another morning, we rose early to master the meditative art of fly-fishing beside a pond stocked with hundreds of trout. Given the size of the pond, I assumed catching one would be practically unavoidable.
Nada. Not us. Not even our instructor. Still, the sun was shining. Vermont was showing off. Standing beside a beautiful pond and waving a fishing rod around turned out to be quite pleasant even when the fish collectively decided not to participate.
Our burly fishing instructor tried to recruit us for the pickleball social. We declined. But later we discovered he was also our teacher for ax throwing, an activity I had never tried, but took to with slightly alarming enthusiasm. I could see myself doing it regularly.
Archery was even better. We progressed quickly enough that our sensei deemed us ready for the advanced “forest course.” In my head, this meant bounding through the woods Robin Hood-style, quiver on my back, firing arrows mid-stride.
Reality was somewhat less cinematic. The course consisted of three stations with realistic 3D targets. The first resembled a hanging rib roast and proved surprisingly difficult to hit. My engineering brain kicked in, and I found myself mentally revisiting physics, calculating trajectory and gravitational drop. My degree finally found its purpose. I hit the meat on my fourth try.
The second target was supposedly a large standing yeti. Yet…the yeti was missing.
At the final station, we discovered another surprise. The rubber velociraptor target had been violently dismembered. Its head was gone. Its tail was gone. Claw marks were everywhere. We also found our yeti similarly decapitated and mauled nearby. With mythical and extinct animal parts littered everywhere, the woods suddenly looked less like an archery course and more like a very niche crime scene.
A local bear, it seemed, had opinions about the resort’s décor and decided to provide some compelling feedback.
We retreated to the conventional bullseyes, which now felt reassuringly civilized. Sadly, my dreams of Robin Hooding around Vermont would have to wait.
Eating, unsurprisingly, was another major activity — and Twin Farms lives up to its reputation. Under the watchful eye of chef Nathan Rich, almost every whim can be accommodated. At breakfast, I spotted buttered lump crab on the eggs Benedict. I didn’t particularly want the Benedict, but I very much wanted the crab, so a little bowl of pristine sweet crab duly appeared. I ordered it every morning thereafter.
This is my kind of hotel.
Our first night, we went for the full fine-dining, 10-course culinary extravaganza and spectacularly overachieved. Caviar, wagyu, house-made pasta and vegetables straight from the garden arrived on beautifully composed plates. We added the wine pairing and consequently drank and ate too much. But really, what else are you supposed to do in the woods?
On other evenings we ate more sensibly at the casual Twiggs, where we noshed on burgers, hearty salads and lamb chops. On our final night, however, we returned to the fine dining restaurant and created our own more manageable four-course mash-up of ripe local tomato salad, sweet lobster, succulent duck and a fragrant strawberry tart. Lessons had been learned. Mostly.
Having hiked seemingly every trail and thrown, shot or swung ourselves at most available activities, we spent our final full day exploring beyond the resort. In neighboring Quechee, at the famed Simon Pearce restaurant and store, we had an excellent lunch overlooking the river and watched artisans transform molten glass into elegant goblets and vases. Inspired by their craftsmanship, we then did the obvious thing and bought a considerable amount of expensive glassware we absolutely did not need and will probably be too frightened to use.
Next came Woodstock and Sugarbush Farm, where we bought everyone we know little jars of local maple syrup and blocks of sharp Vermont cheddar. Woodstock is picturesque: Federal-style historic houses, covered bridges, a pristine village green, antique dealers, independent shops and F.H. Gillingham & Sons, the quaint general store that has been operating since 1886.
Lastly, we stopped at Farmer and the Bell for a smoky maple and Maldon salt creemee — Vermont’s creamier answer to soft serve — and one of its crisp-on-the-outside, custardy-inside maple French crullers. After so much wholesome outdoor exercise, ice cream and doughnuts felt practically medicinal.
Speaking of exercise, I also squeezed in two Pilates sessions. The first was outdoors on the gym deck: Zen, yoga-inflected and led by a wonderfully free-spirited instructor. The second was fast, loud and helmed by a hyper ex-New Yorker who christened it “Inferno Pilates.” One restored my inner peace; the other, my abs. I loved both.
And that rather sums up Twin Farms. It can be whatever version of escape you fancy: serene or exhausting; indulgent or outdoorsy; romantic or faintly over the top. The service is warm and polished, and seemingly every reasonable request — and several unreasonable ones — is met with a smile.
I’d love to return for leaf-peeping season, when these Vermont hills must look spectacular. A new 10,000-square-foot spa is also due to open in December, complete with an indoor-outdoor “firefly-lit” pool, providing yet another reason for a pilgrimage.
It truly is an all-inclusive bucket-list escape. Where else can you eat and drink like royalty, play outside like a child, shoot arrows at a bear-ravaged velociraptor and then recover in a Japanese onsen — all beneath the magical green canopy of the Vermont woods?
And the blueberry pancakes really are that good.
