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I buy ski jackets based off their burrito compatibility. Oh, that shell can repel a monsoon and is lighter than an elephant’s toenail? Interesting. But can it accommodate a 12-inch tortilla wrapped in tin foil? No? I’m not interested.
My rationale might seem questionable at first glance, but really, I’m just a man of principle. You see, when it comes to a resort day, I hate going in for lunch. I’m just not about that action. Why interrupt a good thing with a line of humid humans waiting to drop serious coin on a chili bread bowl, or worse, the same burrito I have stashed in my chest pocket? I just want to keep this pow train rolling.
Finding outerwear that enables and supports that unique disdain is an essential part of my alpine practice. Life is meant to be lived in frosty, portable portions. As long as I can fit my sustenance in my pocket, good luck finding me anywhere close to the lodge come mealtime. Chairlifts are a perfectly adequate place setting for the consumables on my list. And have you tried a backcountry PB&J? Absolute magic.
But honestly, it’s not the lodge crowds or the expensive food that drive me away—it’s a bit more personal. I know myself, and understand that even a minute sitting in a comfy chair with my helmet off and legs kicked up is a minute too long. My brain clicks into après bliss and my legs add an extra five pounds of lead to either side. Once I sit down for a meal, skiing is just about over. Add good friends and a warm beverage or cold beer to the mix, and you’re likely peeling me off that seat after ski patrol’s final sweep (yes, they do lodge sweeps).
No, no, I need to stick to my guns on this one. Ski days are for skiing, the rest is just over-priced accoutrement. Find me fueling on the chairlift, freezing hand and all. If you really need that curry stir-fry, no worries, I’ll see you in a couple runs. Fair warning, they might be the best of the day.
