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The first time I went skiing I was 12 years old. I was eager to learn, ready to face those hills head on and determined not to be afraid of the ski lift.

Everyone told me about balancing my body weight, bending slightly at the knees and gradually grabbing the rope tow. What they didn't tell me was how to walk in the damn boots.

Before I had even placed a boot in my bindings I fell. Correct that, I stood up after putting my boots on and I fell. It was like walking in giant cement blocks. Very - unbalanced - cement blocks.

Then I got snow stuck in the bottom of my boots and could not make them snap in my bindings. So while trying to dig the snow out I fell. Got my skis on - fell. Got my skis back on, realized I was facing the wrong way, tried to do that fancy flip, swing, step move I was shown - fell.

By this time I could tell my ski instructor was wondering what in the Hell he did to deserve me. Whatever it was it must have been bad. Because two entire hours later when I finally managed to grab the rope tow without falling face first in the snow (that hurts),and made my way to the top of the hill. I readied myself to finally make the big move - and I fell. On him. I think he cried, or wanted to, and I am not so convinced he didn't turn in his credentials and take up fishing, instead.

My youthful exuberance made me too ignorant to understand the equation that Me standing on two smooth sticks + slippery conditions = mass casualties. (Let's be honest, I've had a lot of youthful - and adult - athletic mishaps.

Because of that experience - and the many that followed - I have totally made peace with the fact that I am not so much a "skier" as I am a "Lodger". A Lodger being the person who likes to get all dressed up in snow clothes, toss a few snowballs and find a comfy place in the lodge to sit by the fire, drink spicy drinks and watch all the other 12-year olds come flailing down the hill.

We are blessed in Washington to live in an area where no matter what you do - be it skiing badly, or tipping a canoe (oh, yes. I've tried that, too. God Bless the Coast Guard.) there are so many places around here to get your groove on. One such place is Mt. Baker . A gorgeous location situated 2 1/2 hours Northeast of Seattle. Skiing is great, but the lodge is gorgeous.

But what I enjoy most about Mt. Baker is the trip up there, or rather what is on the way. And that would be North Fork Brewery. The beer - fabulous. The food - fabulous. The service - fabulous. Today I enjoyed the White Pizza - garlic creme sauce, chicken, mushrooms, fresh basil, mozzarella - simple and divine. The crust is thin and crisp, but chewy at the same time. With that I had a glass of their Strong Scotch Ale. (Rich, dark - and delicious.) The Special of The Day was beer bratz with onions and peppers and freshly made sauerkraut from a farmer in The Skagit Valley. Everything on site is homemade, fresh, and real.

Best part is - no boots, no skis, no body damage, no crying instructor. Just damn good food.

Posted by Foodwhore at February 3, 2007 07:29 PM

Posted by: Jessica at February 3, 2007 09:27 PM

Posted by: LisaInCT at February 4, 2007 06:38 AM

Posted by: Leslie at February 4, 2007 07:53 AM

Posted by: Loulou at February 4, 2007 02:58 PM

Posted by: Glenna at February 4, 2007 07:51 PM

Posted by: Scott at Real Epicurean at February 4, 2007 08:02 PM

Posted by: Annie at February 5, 2007 09:18 AM

Posted by: Shera at February 5, 2007 09:30 AM