Winter Stray 2022-2023

A hush has fallen over the green o. The forest is muted, and the first downy blanket of snow has brought a stillness to our little corner of Montana. But inside the Social Haus, a cheery fire is blazing, and guests are flitting between their cozy quarters and that inviting Social Haus scene as they while away the winter days here.

The uninitiated might write off Montana winters, cold and snowy as they are, as a time to flee for warmer climes. But those in the know have caught on to the fact that this sleepy season brings its own rewards. There’s such beauty to be found wandering the green o’s woods on a snowy night, and there’s nothing more comforting and convivial than gathering around the fire after a day of wintry adventures around the Ranch.

For this, our second winter issue of Stray, we’re paying tribute to the pleasures of this underappreciated season—through, as always, our core elements of design, adventure, food and wilderness. In the pages ahead, you’ll find Montana-made essentials to help you stay cozy, learn from a local expert why winter is the ideal season for tracking elusive mountain lions and raise a glass to a bevy of unexpected Champagne alternatives.

We’re bringing you a guide to one Canadian winter wonderland that we hope will ignite your wanderlust for further cold-weather adventures, plus stories from chefs around the country about the dishes that grace their holiday tables each year. A Helenabased ceramist shares the centuries-old pottery tradition he’s honoring in his workshop, while a native Montanan writer finds the stark, forbidding beauty of Yellowstone in winter brings unexpected life lessons.

We hope this issue of Stray brings you inspiration and escape— and perhaps a new appreciation for all that winter holds in store.

Severini Manager the green o

Jeff

I have been a tracker since

I was a little kid.

lions in Winter t he

I used to go on long walks in the winter woods with my father and brother—my dad was pointing out, oh, here’s where the deer do this and that. It totally lit me up. I fell in love with how tracking tells stories. You can piece together a narrative from all the little clues left behind. In my tracking classes, we’ll work through a very simple algorithm—is this wild or domestic? How does this individual move? Are they predator or prey? You’re looking for track sign, which is a paw or a hoof, and non-track sign, which is if you’re finding hair, scat, rubs on trees. Think about where animals would want to sleep and eat, where the food and water resources are and how animals move between those points. Some want a lot of cover; some want to be more in the open. Critters love to move through saddles instead of over a peak.

Mountain lions are so elusive often the only way to detect their presence is by tracking. Their paws don’t leave a lot of disturbance, so in a grassland or pine duff, you’re not going to see a lot. But mud, silt, wet sand, snow—that makes it easier to see. It’s why we do our tracking in the winter. An inch of snow to cover the landscape is perfect. It’s just enough to highlight what’s going on.

Mountain lions and bobcats, morphologically their feet are the same, but the size is different. Mountain lions’ toes look like a grape pressed in the snow. You’ll see the middle toe protrudes a little bit, and a paw that’s trilobed in the rear is a huge giveaway—only cats have that. Mountain lions take the landscape at a walk, so we’ll see what’s called a direct register walk, where the foot goes down to make a track and the rear foot goes right on top of it. You get this really clean dotted line, and once you get that image dialed in, you can use binoculars to pick out their tracks from far away.

There’s a stillness to winter here that I really enjoy—an opportunity to have peace and quiet and solitude on the landscape. There’s something very beautiful about it. Tracking forces me to be out all winter, and that’s just good for my soul, to be out exploring those winter forests.

’TIS THE SEASON

for hunkering down and cozying up.

Here are six Montana-made products to help you embrace the winter hygge spirit.

Knit Watchman Hat

Stave off the chill with a merino beanie from Missoula-based performance apparel brand Duckworth, which partners with fourth-generation sheep farmers in Dillon, Montana, to source their wool. $45, duckworthco.com

Elements Mug

Warm your hands on something toasty served in a stoneware mug from Mountain Arts Pottery in Bozeman. Each piece is still thrown, glazed and fired by hand, just as they’ve done for the past 42 years. $50, mtartspottery.com

Point Blanket

These hand-dyed woolen point blankets, inspired by a 300-year-old tradition, are spun, dyed and woven right in Montana, the passion project of LaVonne Stucky, who operates a zero-waste sheep farm and wool mill in the Gallatin Valley. $500, thewoolmill.com

Wilderness Candle

Born in Bozeman, Mountain Moon Wax Company specializes in hand-poured soy wax candles, and this piney scent is just the thing for a cold winter’s night. (Bonus: Save the jar and you can bring it in for a refill at their retail shops.) $34, mountainmoonwax.com

Sheepskin Sole Slippers

Take the edge off a chilly winter morning by donning a pair of handmade slippers from East Helena’s High Plains Sheepskin, which has been making this cult-favorite footwear for 47 years. $75, hpsheepskin.com

Gram’s Cinnamon Twist

Start the day with pastry-inspired oolong tea with cinnamon chips from women-owned Tumblewood Teas, a 13-year-old loose leaf tea brand based in Big Timber, Montana. $9, tumblewoodteas.com

Founded in 1662, the Nagano-based brewery’s Grand Prix is “the best of the best when it comes to sparkling sake,” says Amy Racine, beverage director at New York’s La Marchande and JF Restaurants. The sake is made “with a second fermentation on the bottle for fine bubbles,” she says. “It has a honeyed, briochelike mouthfeel.”

Antech-Limoux Crémant de Limoux Rosé

CHAMPAGNE problems

Supply chain challenges have made Champagne harder to find this year— and experts predict the shortage will continue through 2023. But with plenty of sparkling alternatives, there’s still reason to raise a glass.

Celebrate the season with one of these five bottles of bubbles.

By Regan Stephens

A

2016 Arcari+Danesi Franciacorta Dosaggio Zero

A Different French Bubbly

A blend of 90 percent Chardonnay and 10 percent Pinot Bianco, the 2016 Arcari+Danesi Franciacorta Dosaggio Zero makes a stellar sub for Blanc de Blanc, with a “crisp acidity, brioche and citrus on the nose, and a full body and long finish,” according to Aaron Thompson of Knoxville’s Osteria Stella and Brother Wolf negroni bar.

Vibrant with notes of cherry and white florals, Antech-Limoux Crémant de Limoux Rosé makes a fresh alternative to Champagne, according to the green o manager Jeff Severini. “A Crémant de Limoux can hold the same attributes found in Champagne,” he says. “Often containing notes of citrus and pale fruits accompanied by a crisp, dry finish, these wines prove to be a great companion to foods.”

A Spanish Sparkler

Camuna Cellars Mixed Dancing

“If you want something deliciously outside of the box, you need to try Camuna Cellars Mixed Dancing,” says Sande Friedman, wine buyer for the Philadelphia specialty shop Di Bruno Bros. The surprising mix of Seyval blanc wine, cider and mead is “bubbly and bright with lemon, quince and white pepper aplenty.”

The family-run winery in Spain’s Alt Penedès wine region is best known for its dry Cava, and Jessica Salyer, the wine program manager at Asheville’s Cúrate and La Bodega by Cúrate, calls this one her “go-to celebratory bottle.” Like most Cava, it spends over five years aging on the lees in-bottle, she notes. “It’s intense, complex, elegant and delicious—and a fraction of the price of some Champagne.”

Masumi Sparkling Grand Prix

Blanc de Blanc

2013 Recaredo Serral del Vell Brut Nature

An Elegant Sake

wonderland winter’s

With the grandeur of Banff just 12 miles to the west, it’s easy for Canmore to exist in her bigger, more popular sister’s shadows. But this small town that skirts the edges of the Canadian Rockies is beloved for all the reasons it’s not Banff: a combination of small-town community, urbane energy and nature-fueled adventure that can hardly be contained within its borders.

Winter-sport athletes have long been seduced by Canmore’s bucolic spell; many of them are locals now, neighbors to other outdoors enthusiasts. In the winter, Canmore comes alive with the type of adrenaline-fueled mountain adventures—and indulgent après-ski activities—that can only mean one thing: you’re in Canada now.

By Chadner Navarro

Start your weekend in the heart of downtown Canmore, with a meal at brightly lit Communitea Cafe. Hearty, veggie-forward grain bowls and wraps paired with freshly brewed coffee from fair-trade roasters will get you revved up for more physically demanding activities. Then make your way around the corner to Rebound Cycle to rent a fat tire bike; you’ll need their extra-large tires when you’re cycling over snow at the Canmore Nordic Centre, where you can also cross-country ski (like they did for the 1988 Winter Olympics). Not all trails are open to cyclists, but there are plenty of wide, smooth runs for beginners.

Back in town, have dinner at 4296, where Chef Blake Flann serves what he calls pop-culture cuisine—globally inspired dishes like savory Szechuan-style chicken and waffles, as well as addictive garlic bread slathered with garlic butter and whipped feta. Wash it all down with whimsical cocktails that come with ingredients like aloe water bath, toasted sesame sea salt and truffle gin.

SATURDAY

Pick up where dinner left off with an indulgent breakfast at Le Fournil Bakery, a local institution known for its flaky croissants, cinnamon-laced monkey bread and housemade hot chocolate.

Adventure begins right away when you take on the Grotto Canyon ice trail; the trailhead is less than 10 miles southeast of downtown. It’s considered a fairly easygoing hike (even young children do it) as long as you’re wearing crampons. You’re walking on a frozen creek bed surrounded by dramatic scenery that might include ice climbers scaling frozen waterfalls. Keep your eyes peeled, there are ancient pictographs on some of these walls that were likely drawn by the Hopi people 1,000 years ago.

Ahead of dinner, pop into downtown Canmore’s local shops and art spaces. Elevation Gallery, for instance, focuses on pieces by Canadian creatives, such as abstract soapstone sculptures by Morley Myers and landscape oil paintings by John Ford. Check out Project A, too, for its collection of striking enamel jewelry and ceramic coasters engraved with the map of downtown Calgary.

Settle into the tasting menu at Sauvage, where Chef Tracy Little impresses with dishes that pay homage to the surrounding alpine setting. Think: hearty game, foraged herbs and depth of flavor. If you have the energy for it, try to find Bar Déjà Vu, Canmore’s first speakeasy, for an elegantly composed cocktail nightcap.

When Spray Lakes, just south of Canmore, freezes for the winter, thrill-seekers trade in their kitesurfing gear for something called snow kiting—Graykite can teach you the basics. Who knows? By the end of the session, with a snowboard at your feet and a kite pulling you across the lake, you may start counting yourself among snow kiting’s growing legion of fans.

Wind down a high-octane weekend with some muchneeded TLC at Kananaskis Nordic Spa, where barrel saunas, eucalyptus-scented steam rooms and a hydrotherapy circuit (including an always-invigorating ice plunge, if you haven’t had enough snow yet) await.

SUNDAY

FRIDAY

Photo credit: Maryn Simrak

In Montana’s capital, one dedicated ceramist has become an unlikely standard-bearer for an ancient Korean pottery tradition.

By Adam Erace

For clay artist Adam Field, the straw that broke the camel’s back was the clown barf. The Helena-based potter had spent 10 months in rural Ipo-ri, South Korea, apprenticing at the esteemed Ohbuja Onggi in the 5,000-yearold craft of making onggi—the tall-shouldered, clay fermentation vessels that are essential in Korean households. His mother-in-law at the time was a customer, “and that kind of social currency goes a really long way in Korea,” Field says. On the weekends, busloads of tourists from Seoul would visit the countryside studio. “These old ladies would hop out and come around the corner and see me, and they just thought it was hilarious that there was this white guy making these traditional Korean pots.”

As a white guy, Field knows it’s not his place to be the mouthpiece or medium for Korean people or Korean craft. He had the practice, putting in 12-hour days, seven days a week and making 500 onggi, all but two of which he dissected to study their structural integrity. “But I was really reticent to make onggi when I got back from my apprenticeship,” he says. “There are legitimate conversations to be had about cultural appropriation.”

Field was already successful, having earned a following in porcelain in Maui, where he was an artist-in-residence at the Four Seasons. He could parlay the skills honed in Korea into forms of pottery less tethered to tradition, but after he and his family returned to the States, “I started seeing people selling ‘kimchi jars’ that had nothing to do with [the onggi tradition], pots just glazed with all the colors in the rainbow—you know, clown barf—because that looks cool to somebody at a pottery fair somewhere.” He realized, “I don’t really have the right to complain about this unless I’m offering an alternative.”

Field’s alternative was born on the doorstep of Mount Helena, rising 1,300 feet behind his studio on the outskirts of downtown, but its heritage connects back to five millennia of Korean technique that thoughtfully consider so many details: how the volume of a pot correlates with the latitude at which it was made, for example, and the porousness of specific clays and glazes—each aspect “facilitating oxygen transfer to produce a vibrant fermentation,” he says. “The rim of an onggi jar has a certain amount of overhang, designed for cloth to be draped over and secured with twine, and the lid is made so it can be flipped over to become a basin to carry a handful of kimchi into the kitchen.” Sure, you can ferment in a quote-unquote kimchi jar. You can also watch Jurassic World Dominion on your iPhone. To paraphrase Dr. Ian Malcolm, just because you could doesn’t mean you should.

By respecting history and comprehending context, Field can communicate the platonic tension between aesthetics and functionality in an onggi jar. This has earned him fans like Momofuku’s David Chang, former Noma fermentation maestro David Zilber and Chef Roy Choi, who lined his Las Vegas restaurant, Best Friend, with Field’s pottery. In the low light of a Vegas eatery or the racks of Field’s studio, the onggi emit the barest shine, nothing clownish or ostentatious about their copperychocolate matte glaze—beauty in deliberate humility. It’s almost like Field has internalized that notion. “I don’t sign those pots,” he says. “I feel like it’s not my place to be like, ‘Hey, look at me, look what I’m doing.’”

On a winter visit to Yellowstone, a native Montanan feels the pull of her home state—and finds that nature has something to teach us, even in the most forbidding landscapes.

By Kelsey Ogletree

COUNTRY

The sun slides lazily up into the sky, inch by inch, taking the edge ever-so-slightly off an icy day in late November as we glide along I-90 en route to the North entrance of Yellowstone. With a warm coffee cupped between my hands, dressed in half the layers I packed for our day’s adventure, I take in the jagged peaks of the Absaroka Range of the Rockies rising from the prairies, dotted with mule deer.

Montana. Mountains. Magic. This is my home, my dear Treasure State. It’s where I was born and raised and where my family raises wheat and are stewards of the land my great-grandfather homesteaded over a century ago. I’m no longer a resident, and I’m perfectly content with the life I’ve built in the South. But winter in Montana pulls on my heartstrings like gravity. The air gets crisp enough, quiet enough—especially with a dusting of fresh snow—that I can hear a whisper: “This is where you belong.”

As we enter the park and come around a high bend, my gaze turns to something brown in the center of a pond. It’s a small speck at first, but as we get closer, the object grows—a buffalo, drowned earlier in the season. Our guide through Yellowstone Safari Company, biologist Grant Johnson, explains that they discovered too late that she’d gotten stuck. It was unfortunate, he said, but not sad. Her body would serve as food for hundreds of animals in the coming months, especially during the spring thaw. How beautiful, the circle of life. As humans in a digital world obsessed with control, how often we lose sight of that.

We spot hundreds of living bison, some standing, some on their sides on the frozen earth, as we continue our journey. They gather purposefully in packs to defend themselves from predators—safety in numbers. After feeding, they lie down to rest, Grant explains, enabling their body to process the nourishment. (What a sorry sight I am, gobbling down oatmeal in front of my laptop screen most mornings, I think.) It’s nearly impossible to imagine that 200 years ago, hundreds of thousands of bison roamed here.

Winter is the best time to see wildlife in Yellowstone. Some dedicated locals arrive early and spend an entire day looking for wolves, communicating via radio with fellow wolf-spotters about sightings in a nearly competitive game. We don’t see any that day, but we do get a glimpse of a mother black bear and her two cubs, playing in the entrance to a cave down a canyon and across the Gardiner River from us. I pull out my binoculars and have to adjust the eyepiece as a smile spreads across my face. How special to watch them without them having to watch or be fearful of, us.

We do, however, see many bighorn sheep and pronghorn, incorrectly called “antelope” by many who visit the park. These majestic creatures, along with the wolves and bison, have another thing in common, besides their home: They run in packs led by alpha females. Girls rule the animal world. I realize how much we as humans stand to learn from nature.

The sun is already setting as we wind our way out of the park, stopping to roll the windows down for one final glimpse at a bighorn sheep. She turns to face me, and I think of how I appear to her: an odd-shaped head in a knitted cap inside a rectangular shape with wheels. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, we understand each other. I nod slightly, grateful to the animals who welcomed us into their home. For them, it was a simple winter day, like the one that came before and the one that will come tomorrow. For me, it was a powerful rediscovery of the beauty and vibrancy that rises from forbidding winter landscapes filled with creatures great and small, if one only pays attention.

Visiting Yellowstone in Winter

Following widespread closures due to flooding last summer, nearly 95 percent of the park has reopened. The North and South Loop roads are open; however, the North and Northeast entrances remain closed to vehicles. In winter, the North entrance is typically the only entrance open to regular traffic. Repairs are ongoing, and the road is expected to be passable by November.

For more information about planning a trip to Yellowstone in winter, visit nps.gov/yell/planyourvisit/visiting-yellowstone-in-winter.htm.

Each year, as the days grow shorter and another year recedes into the past, family and friends convene to commemorate the season. The smorgasbord, for so many of us, is a holiday highlight, and the annual reappearance of beloved dishes is a long-awaited moment, whether those dishes are passed down from your abuela or torn from your favorite magazine. Here, six celebrated chefs make their way across the United States in diverse cooking traditions and beloved family staples that anchor their holiday tables each year.

By Katie Lockhart

Cherries

Vincent Donatelli the green o Greenough, Montana

With both of my parents being pastry chefs, I fondly remember a fun assortment of desserts for the holidays. One of my favorites would have to be during Christmas, when my mother would make an Amarena cherry and almond frangipane tart with candied almonds. She always served it warm, with chantilly cream. It’s something I still make for myself at home, just to bring back memories. And it’s something that I hope to pass down and keep in the family.

Brisket

Most years, I show up by myself, but on some rare years, I’ll risk bringing a girl to see if she can survive the holiday inquisition of the gaggle of Jewish mothers—far outweighing any Roman army, and possibly the true Hanukkah miracle.

The main Hanukkah food pyramid breaks down something like this: we have my mom’s latkes on top, and to my limited understanding, this has been mutually agreed upon by nothing less than the highest rabbinical order worldwide. Below that, we have our classics, such as noodle kugel—this can be made savory or sweet, I’m on the savory side—and braised brisket. I will not entertain the notion of potato kugel living on this list. At the bottom of our pyramid live our tried and true Hebrew school specials: the jelly doughnut, macaroons (some of which are bathed in chocolate) and of course, the superbly delicious world of kichel, an oddly unique Jewish bow tie cookie covered in sugar.

Will Horowitz

Green Hill Kitchen and Que Long Island, New York

Papaya

Paxx Caraballo Moll Personal Chef San Juan, Puerto Rico

Growing up in a vegan and vegetarian household in the ‘90s in Puerto Rico, we would try to mimic the traditional Christmas fare in a meatless way, so we would have the pasteles stuffed with chickpea guiso or ground tofu picadillo. We would have sopa mallorquina with cabbage and veggies. We’d make amarillos en almibar, which to this day I still love—now I pair it with pork belly. But my favorite holiday dish is almojábanas—a rice flour fritter that’s very traditional in Puerto Rico. My grandma used to add cheese to them and serve them with candied papaya. Every time I eat them, they bring me back to simpler times, which is probably why I love them so much.

Oysters

Shenarri Freeman Cadence New York, New York

We’ve been doing Christmas brunch at my mom’s house for over 20 years. My entire family comes over, and we eat, drink, laugh, watch football and just enjoy family time. The food doesn’t really change, although our lives do, and our world does. Christmas brunch is pretty standard, with everyday brunch options. My mom and stepdad always make fried oysters, and you may smell chitlins as well—these two dishes are only in our household during the holidays. I’m usually on mimosa duty, believe it or not. For holidays, I try to stay out of the kitchen. It’s my time to reset and recharge before the new year.

Pomegranate

Justin Cucci Edible Beats Denver, Colorado

Growing up in a restaurant family, where we were generally engaged in service to others for every holiday, including Thanksgiving and Christmas, I now get to close my restaurant those days and actually spend them with my family.

We usually gather at my house and celebrate the eccentricity, imperfection and simple gratitude of having a diverse family that doesn’t get to see each other enough. When cooking, I see my role as both a supporting player to the ingredients themselves—and to make sure I’m cooking with a big dose of humility for having such an abundance of food, family and love.

I’m a sucker for Thanksgiving. My favorite components to make are the stuffing and the cranberry sauce. We always prefer cornbread stuffing with chorizo, chestnuts, mirepoix, thyme, parsley and sage. A shaved brussels sprout salad with roasted squash, pecans, cotija cheese and a za’atar vinaigrette are always sitting at the table with us, too, and instead of a traditional pumpkin pie, we make a pumpkin-tahini tart with chocolate cookie crust and pomegranate.

Heather Wong Flouring

It’s Christmas Eve at our home. My partner and our son have a long list of Christmas-themed movie favorites to get through. We’ve lit the fireplace despite it being 78 degrees in LA, because you just have to create a winter wonderland vibe. We’re digging through bowls of flavored popcorn and eating gingerbread muffins out of the baking tray, prepping our bodies for the firestorm of food coming the next day.

My big day comes on Christmas, so I need to carb load for the long work ahead. We always add a Chinese spin to our meals with steamed gai lan—Chinese broccoli— and oyster sauce or an Asian cabbage salad. Of course, there always has to be gravy on the table. I learned from my grandfather to add soy sauce to gravy for umami.

Los Angeles, California

4069 Backcountry Road Greenough, MT 59823 877-251-2841 thegreeno.com

are gray-tinged, as if coated with frost, like a swan’s wing against an overcast sky. Roan or dapple, they are a marquee species amidst the brown herd, the sorrel, bay, and appaloosa. High on the walls of the museum rotunda, the buffalo, too, are circling, along with the people, younger than they will ever be again, deer skins soft and carefully beaded. They tell us a story of when snow came in winter, when green turned the horizon lines blue. The Blackfeet artist used a technique called fresco secco, sixty years after the buffalo were gone, thirty million hunted down to a few hundred. The dry pigments, slaked with lime, have become part of the plaster wall, just as red ochre in ancient pictographs binds with limestone. Ninety-nine degrees on the Siberian tundra now, thousands of reindeer dead because of anthrax released from melting permafrost. Earth remembering the last bout of it. In the painter’s conception of his people— only one or two generations past— the weather is perfect, plants free of disease. Picture yourself when you were most joyful, the meditation begins. As if you were still there. Try to see through those eyes.

—Melissa Kwasny