The house
We built the least hotel we could, and then removed some more.
Sable House sits where the Ojai road turns to gravel: a 1930s ranch house, twelve rooms, one long table, and a bathhouse fed by mineral water. There is no lobby music, no check-in queue, no television. Guests arrive to a key on the counter and a note with the hour supper is served.
Everything here was chosen once and kept — the linen from a mill in Guimarães, the ceramics from a studio two valleys over, the cedar benches in the bathhouse built by the same hand that laid the terrace. What we offer, in the end, is very little. That is the point.