We arrived in Breck last night. I’ve been coming to Summit County, Colorado off and on since the early 90s and reconnected with Kim on the internet 20 years ago this month while I was up here. Beware the ides of March, right? This time we’ve got a beautiful house a five-minute walk from historic Breckenridge Main Steet, complete with heated garage and gas fireplace.
The temp outside was only 4 degrees this morning, so we decided to make like Europeans and loll about with tea and coffee in bed. It’s said that Americans go on holiday to ski and Europeans ski to go on holiday. We had bagels with cream cheese and lox with a side of bacon for breakfast. And prosecco, of course.
The snow was wonderful! Packed powder, mainly. Kim’s a great skier and utterly fearless, but today was her first day this season and with the elevation and all… Not to mention the psychic residue of our Friday night party in Denver, and still working to digest the Saturday afternoon Reubens (thank you, Cyndi) — we stuck to the blue cruisers.
We skied Peak 9 all afternoon, except for the hour we spent at the bar at Coppertops. Soup of the day was Seafood Gumbo. Kim made a half dozen new friends, of course, and we had to drag ourselves away from them to get in a few more runs before quitting on our terms before the mountain dictated it.
Kim had this idea that I need a pair of yellow ski pants so she can spot me on the mountain, so we wandered in and out of Main Street shops looking for the right shade of yellow. Helly Hansen had a pair, but they were 2xl and that was not going to work. North Face had a pair for $400 and they were 10% off, but that was not going to work either.
It was around that time I suggested we stop into the Gold Pan Saloon to talk it over and work up a new approach. I needed to take a leak anyway. Sitting at the bar, enjoying a nice bourbon, we realized we didn’t have enough garlic for dinner, so I asked the bartender if they cooked with fresh garlic in the back. He looked at me kind of funny, but agreed that they did, so asked him if he’d sell me a clove.
He said, “Yeah, I guess I can.”
The woman next to me at the bar said, “I can’t believe you just asked him that.”
I said, “Why not, what’s he going to do, throw me out of the bar? We don’t have enough garlic for dinner and I don’t want to go to the grocery store.”
By now everyone’s cracking up at Bruce asking the bartender for a clove of garlic. The bartender said, “Don’t worry, I got someone working on that for you.”
Around that time, a guy comes out of the kitchen with a clove of garlic in his hand. The bartender says, “Put it in a ramekin.”
The guy says, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I didn’t actually hear him say that, but I can read lips well enough, and I promise that’s what he said.
I yelled over at him, “Thanks, man. I really appreciate your help.” I don’t think he heard me, but the look on his face said he understood the thumbs up I shot him. He called over, “What are you cooking?”
Kim hollered back, “Mushrooms and garlic for a steak sauce,” and he grinned.
I swear I left a really good tip, and Kim killed the dinner. Here’s a picture.
Stranger in a Strange Land 