Every city comes with a million recommendations from locals and travelers alike, filling up most of your itinerary with so much food that there’s no way you’ll make it home without an extra pound. I had about 15 restaurants to hit during my two days in Providence, and while that wasn’t even a little plausible, I narrowed down a few of the places I felt most comfortable dining alone, from casual to formal, should you ever find yourself in need of a bite in Rhode Island’s capital city.

Small Point Café

Small Point Café, housed in the Downcity Arts district between Symposium Books and the Queen of Hearts clothing boutique, has been around since 2010 and it’s easy to see why there’s a constant hum of customers and activity. In addition to a stellar coffee menu brewing fair-trade beans, there are plenty of breakfast and lunch sandwiches to sustain your afternoon exploration.

Most of the sitting customers were art students meeting for group projects, solo flyers typing away on their laptops, or a pair or trio catching up over chai. Sitting down to breakfast or lunch on your own won’t even get a second blink, but I felt very comfortable asking others patrons for the wifi information or other restaurant recommendations. Rhode Islanders are happy to share about their state.
 

The Duck & Bunny

I went on a day where the wait staff was very “dude-heavy,” as Mike the barista informed me once I inquired. An adorable “snuggery,” as they call it, their specialty is cupcakes and afternoon tea, which struck me as slightly hilarious considering everyone working there was a guy in all black with tattoos and facial hair.

I sat at the barista bar with a cheese and spinach crepe for brunch, and was surprised by the flurry of activity at 11 a.m. on a weekday. The phone was ringing off the hook and customers were coming in and out of the door for cupcakes to go. The barista’s friends filtered in and out as well, making it easy to integrate myself into conversation. It was a wonderful, welcoming experience in a light and bright environment.
 

Birch

Birch was a restaurant that changed my life while in Providence. It came with glowing reviews from both the tourism board and locals I met around town, and I was not disappointed. Expect a much more formal dining experience than at breakfast cafes or lunch spots: the eighteen-seat, 500-square-foot dining room makes for immediate intimacy. If you aren’t used to dining alone, this may be a good setting for you. Close quarters with strangers means less awkward stares and more casual conversation when you’re literally brushing shoulders.

The space itself is beautiful and a mix of modern and rugged. A large mirror is angled from the ceiling, which doubles the space through the reflection and bouncing light. The two bartenders for the night were also the two waitresses, happily chatting to each other and to dinner guests. With the U-shaped, counter-height table surrounding the bar, everything goes on right in front of you. Behind the scenes commonalities—servers drying and returning silverware to storage—somehow adds to the experience rather than detract from it. Friendly protesters at a theatre across the street provided some short term dinner engagement while I snacked on my pre-appetizer, a gift from the kitchen—an absurdly good crispy asparagus spear, dipped in the dreamiest garlic cream. It was exactly what I was hungry for, and I could have eaten ten.

The lone asparagus spear set the stage for an unforgettable meal. As a vegetarian, I had one (occasionally two) selection for each course of the four-course meal, but I thoroughly enjoyed three of them, which I count as a success. Dessert almost came in second behind an heirloom cornmeal dish with mustard flowers and some other deliciousness with vegetable broth, but the cherry blossom jam tart with beeswax ice cream took the cake, if you will. It would appear that gifts from the kitchen are frequent—I finished my meal with a melt-in-your-mouth homemade whoopie pie placed in front of me. Once I realized everyone around the table was receiving one, I loved the lack of exclusivity. Everyone feels special leaving Birch.

A sprawling, late nineteenth-century home comes up on my right, painted thick with a jewel-toned eggplant. I don’t even glance at the GPS. You can’t miss The Gilded Hotel.

Lark Hotels’ newest Newport destination stands out like a swan in a paddling of ducks. Eye-catching around every corner, the patterns and colors are a feast for the eyes and for Instagram. Whimsical touches like birdcage chandeliers, leopard-print rugs, and metallic lion statues fill the space with an eccentric mod and art deco design. I love it immediately. It feels like I’ve stepped into the home of one of Johnny Depp’s larger than life characters.

The hotel is located on an ideal corner, just far enough away from the crowds to be sleepily silent at night. It’s a ten minute walk to the restaurants and shops along the docks, which I end up doing regularly since there’s so much to see. I find a lot of the hidden gems on the hotel’s convenient itineraries on my complimentary iPad—it’s mine for the duration of my stay, and between the scavenger hunt for free nights and list of recommendations, I put it to good use.

Gilded's free breakfast the next morning is beautiful, small plate dishes like rosemary-basil frittata and blueberry-banana yogurt parfaits. I’m surprised to see the presentation efforts—most hotel breakfasts are DIY waffles and tubes of dry cereal.

The concierge tells me I’m in the best room in the hotel, which I understand since it isn’t quite high season for tourists. After a long day of travel and exploration, I’m extremely grateful for the fireplace and bathtub. The bathroom is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen, especially for a hotel. The bed might be deserving of its own blog post—I can easily say it was the best hotel bed I’ve ever slept in. I’m a person that likes to have a lot of blanket weight on top of me when I sleep, and the linens on my Gilded bed were what marshmallow bed dreams are made of.

Upon checkout, I feel like I’ve been at Gilded for much longer than one night. The welcoming and tailored experience makes me wish I were staying a full week more. Next time, I decide as the giant plum estate disappears in my rearview mirror, I just might.

Thank you to Lark Hotels for hosting my stay.

“That’s my whole thing,” Alyssa shakes her head, still smiling, “If you have to ask what’s good on the menu, the answer is probably nothing.”

Answering my question about what to order from the pride and joy of Bannister’s Wharf, The Coffee Grinder, Alyssa Cerceo doesn’t beat around the bush. I settle on a simple latte and ask how long she’s been in business. In return, I get a story about how she missed the establishment’s 10th anniversary, shaking her head the whole time. I get where she’s going with her answer. The days run together.

Much of Newport’s charm is the people and the places that have been there for as long as tourists can remember. Shop owners and wait staff are comfortable chatting, cycling through thousands of tourists a day, and they’ve learned their way around friendly and captivating conversation.

The quick but memorable experience easily gets Coffee Grinder a spot on my return list, and I spend the rest of the afternoon weaving in and out of open docks and public harbors, admiring the boats and sights along the seaside. The next best thing I put in my mouth is an order of fish and chips from The Wharf Pub, enormously satisfying as it’s the second time I’ve eaten fish in the last eight years.

As I walk, I get a message from my friend. “You have, have, have to go to St. Mary’s Church,” it reads, “Where JFK and Jackie were married!” I feel like I’ve failed as an American for not knowing until this moment, but I swing a right anyway and walk up the Memorial Boulevard hill. There’s a tourist group already snapping photos, but once they’re gone, I’m the only one on the premises. I can feel the history of the place weighing my feet to the cement, a feeling I usually get only around places that are centuries old, but it’s the romance of this one that presses on me. It’s a lovely moment.

It’s a fifteen minute drive to the lighthouse at Ragged Point, and I leave just in time for sunset. It takes me twenty-five, thanks to scenic viewpoints and my inability to simply drive by a beautiful vista, but it’s worth it. I park at Castle Hill Inn and I’m not sure where I’m going as I leap over the fence and off the cliff, but after cavorting across a hundred feet of scraggly rocks, I finally see a glimpse of what I came for. It’s at this moment that I feel immensely proud of what I’ve accomplished. I traveled across the country on my own to see this, and I’m seeing it.

It’s windy and beyond out there on the rocks. I can’t feel my hands anymore after taking a thousand photos of my phone—I can never take enough. My nose is red and my eyes are watering, but I can’t leave the Castle Inn Lighthouse. Maybe it’s because I know there’s a chance I’ll never be here and see this again. I’m cursed with a terrible memory, and as many times as I try to press the image into my skull, I know it will be gone before I’m ready to say goodbye. The sun sets, and I’m surprised I make it back across the night-black rocks alive.

My bed at Gilded Hotel is extra that night. Extra soft, extra plush, extra comfortable—just extra. The only thing that can make it better after an hour-long soak in their perfectly-sized bathtub is the promise of Ma’s Donuts the next day (get the s’mores and honey dipped flavors, and iced coffee with cream and sugar). Newport’s quiet seaside ways have given me much needed pause from a nonstop road trip down my country’s eastern coastline, and from my hectic life that always seems to be speeding up. I don’t remember ever feeling quite this comfortable.