(FORTUNE Small Business) – I spent part of a recent Saturday wrapped in heated blankets and tinfoil while a concoction of red clay, grape seeds, green tea, and lavender baked into my skin. The padded table below me was contoured to fit my body. I felt like I was getting prepped for the convection oven.

Nothing in my past would have predicted my appearance in such a condition. That I got there is the story of another man's relentless pursuit of pleasure. Bernardus "Ben" Pon, 62, is a racecar driver, Olympic marksman, and oenophile from Holland who has built a resort in his own image. The eponymous 57-room luxury hotel, nestled in California's Carmel Valley, opened in August. When I learned that a man so accomplished at enjoying himself now had a hotel, I felt compelled to visit.

Pon has also lured Cal Stamenov from the Highlands Inn near Carmel. You may not know Stamenov, but he has a startlingly impressive resume, including a stint in Paris with Alain Ducasse (the only man to run two three-star Michelin properties). I would have sought out Stamenov at a Howard Johnson by a highway rest stop if that's where he'd chosen to land.

Instead, I found him chopping onions in a corner of paradise. Five miles from the Monterey coastline (and 15 degrees warmer), Bernardus Lodge is a compound of two-story cottages in Mediterranean earth tones, set around a croquet lawn of billiard-table green. In my suite were Frette sheets (those Italian, 200-count percales that are the Limoges of linen), a stone fireplace, and a two-person, cast-iron bathtub complete with Kiehl's shampoo. I watched a croquet tournament while sprawled on a chaise longue, then claimed a Saint-Saens CD from the hotel's library to play in my room. I had a book, a view of the hills, and dinner reservations. I didn't need to move.

Except that Pon makes a convincing case for including spa treatments in any luxury experience. I've always been a fan of massage, but I'd never been tempted to soak in unguents or fragrances, beyond the occasional bubble bath. (I'd even been vaguely ashamed of those. The last thing a man wants, I feel, is lavender-scented chest hair.)

Still, after listening to Pon proselytize, I agreed to try a 70-minute revitalization. I didn't know I'd be wrapped in foil and left to marinate, but once I got accustomed to the idea, it felt soothing. I even dozed for a while and dreamed about a mermaid. After a shower, I was doused in rosewater and chamomile lotion like a medieval king.

Floating back to my room, I felt wonderful--though not quite as wonderful as an hour later, when I pulled up a chair to dinner. My table of four opened a 1996 Leonetti cabernet sauvignon, one of the great lesser-known wines of the U.S., and ate a meal that was vintage Stamenov. The highlight was a dish he'd invented just the night before--fresh abalone from the Monterey docks sauteed with chanterelle mushrooms and brown butter. It was so delectable that I asked if he could prepare it again for my breakfast. It arrived the next morning from the kitchen, still steaming, atop a pile of fluffy eggs. Probably not everybody's idea of Sunday brunch, but it was exactly what I felt like eating. I'm certain Ben Pon would approve.

Bernardus Lodge: 888-648-9463