We were hiking through the woods the other day when we spotted some cross country ski tracks. We had not considered the few inches of white stuff a sufficient base. It’s just not enough for us. Too many roots and fallen branches to trip on and not enough fluff to cushion our falls.
But skiing out on the course where they groom trails on the fairways is something else all together. For the last few days we’ve driven the car down to the lake and parked on Horseshoe Road where we take off on our skis. It is as cold as hell in the open but somehow you get in the zone and it is always quite astonishing to run into other skiers out there.
We set aside the afternoon to make a labor intensive recipe from our new “Mexico: The Cookbook.” Chopping shallots and grinding peanuts, soaking guajillo chiles and straining them into a sliced mushroom mix and wrapping hammered chicken breasts around the contents, tying them up with string and rolling them in flour before browning them on the stovetop and then baking the whole thing. We started at four and didn’t eat until after eight.
Like Noam Chomsky said, “I love the cold weather. That’s when I get my work done.”
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