I found this in the various stories of where Saveur editors traveled in November
On the border of eastern New York and western Massachusetts is The Red Lion Inn, a rambling guesthouse that has been offering shelter to travelers passing through the Berkshires since the late 1700s. Its walls are crooked, its hallway floors wavy as a backyard bocce court, and it creaks and groans like one might imagine a 200-year-old building would. There’s a fireplace, a giant chessboard, a subterranean bar, a gift shop full of useless knick-knacks, rooms full of colonial antiques, a little tavern with wide pinewood floorboards, and a formal dining room that serves prime rib and lamb shepherd’s pie. And it’s quiet. Quiet like one might imagine a weird, old, rambling inn in the Berkshires would be. With the exception of the occasional creak and groan, of course.