The long-awaited and delayed-from-yesterday Family Ski Day dawns
cloudy and windy and freaking cold. It
has become Family Survival Day. The
upside: no lift lines! So how is it that the Bavarian is too crowded
for lunch? The downside: Peter like the Desperado, nearly gets
frostbite on his feet. That afternoon,
back at the Casa Escondida, he notices that part of one foot is oddly purple
and toe on the other one is dead white.
Hmm. Now he has learned the value
of all that unbuckling and buckling that Bill and I do.[1] It was noted that while the temperature at
the base was in the teens, it was about 8 degrees at the bottom of Lift 4. This was a take-two-runs-then-take-a-break
kind of day. But there is a brief
highlight when we stop in the Ski Patrol hut to get Izzy a t-shirt, because the
avi dogs were in, snoozing on the couch, including a sweet shy girl named . . .
IZZY!
Clearly, another stop at Taos Cow is in order, to recover
from the trauma of skiing today. Peach,
more Caramel Piñon and Cherry Ristra (also
involves chocolate and piñon, do you sense a theme?)
are among our selections.
For our last dinner in Taos we return to the birthplace of
Forgettable Flan, the Sagebrush Inn. My
father liked to take us there because it was cheap. Now it’s been tarted up a bit, with fancy
menu offerings like Blood Orange Margaritas, although the New York Strip
remains, and is pronounced not bad by Bill.
The prime rib is pretty good too.
But no flan for dessert?! Two
margs in, we decide that we’ve paid homage, and if we come back to Taos, we don’t
need to revisit Sagebrush Inn. Sometimes
you can’t go back to your house again.
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