Winter Wonderland: Aspen Getaway

Winter Wonderland

ASPEN GETAWAY

by GERALDINE CAMPBELL

When you’re a kid, snow means snowmen and snow angels, snowball fights and snow forts, sledding and sleighing, and, most of all, snow days. It means getting all bundled up in puffy, dough boy-like snowsuits and, later, stripping off the cold weather gear and relishing that tingly feeling as your fingers and toes defrost. For me, coming in from the cold was as much a part of the magic of snow as the snow itself. Inside, I would thaw myself in front of the open oven and curl my hands around a mug of hot chocolate. It didn’t matter whether my mom made cocoa from a powdered mix or whether she melted down bars of Toblerone for a special winter treat: It was about comfort and warmth.

When you get older, snow loses some of its magic. There’s the driveway to shovel, the car to clear of snow and ice, treacherous roads and delayed trains, and the inevitability that, no matter how beautiful things look, snow eventually becomes wet, grey slush.

When I left New York for what would be a fiveyear hiatus in warm weather climes, I didn’t miss winter or snow. At least I didn’t think I did—until I moved back. That year, back-to-back storms kept the city wrapped in a downy white embrace. It was Narnia in the Hundred Years Winter and I remember taking my dogs, Charlie and Frankie, out in the snow for the first time. For them, snow meant the absence of boundaries. There were no sidewalks and no streets, no grassy patches or green parks, only towering mounds of cold powder. These Frankie insisted on summiting, daintily marking her territory at the top of the highest dune. Even when Charlie, catching me by surprise, gave chase to a snowplow, I recalled the wonder that I felt when I was younger.

In the city, those magical moments of childlike innocence are, at least for me, as rare as they are fleeting. So, I seek out my winter wonderlands elsewhere. In the Adirondacks, I trekked through snow-covered woods, skated on frozen ponds, and bobsledded with Olympic hopefuls. In Reykjavik, I made my way across the vast white countryside on an Icelandic horse and soaked in the Blue Lagoon in below-zero temperatures.

In Aspen, I practiced textbook ski turns, spotted a pine squirrel on a naturalist-guided snowshoeing tour and woke before sunrise to hike to the top of Smuggler Mountain—then zipped down on a bottom-size sled, grinning the entire way.

Lamb Rib Chops with Garlic and Rosemary

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My outdoor romps were tempered by fireside warm-up sessions, hot tub soaks and simple but hearty meals that are the well-deserved reward for the caloric expenditure that results from doing anything in sub-zero temperatures. The piling on—and stripping off—of multiple layers of clothing alone deserves a culinary prize. Anything meaty will do: grilled lamb chops rubbed with garlic and rosemary, perhaps, or a perfectly charred steak, finished with a slab of butter.

Pappardelle Alfredo with Salmon

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Porterhouse Steak

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Even when I’m city-bound, blustery nor’easters are an excuse to huddle beneath down comforters and have a lie-in, watching back-to-back episodes of Foyle’s War and substituting my normal blueberry and almond milk smoothie for something more substantial, more, well, eggy. My boyfriend, a chef, is working on a book dedicated to eggs: scrambled eggs and béarnaise-slathered eggs, beet-pickled eggs and deviled eggs, egg custard and egg soufflé. Egg-in-a-basket is, for now, my favorite preparation, not least because of the legsquirming joy you get from buttery, salty toasted homemade bread with a yolky center.

Of course, I still enjoy a cup of cocoa—especially if it’s accompanied by a shot of Pappy—but I’ve graduated to more adult pleasures. Sometimes it’s good to be a grown-up.

Egg in a Basket