Chili and a Coke
“I’m cold,” I murmured through my thick fleece facemask while trying not to fall through the restraining bar on the Summit quad on Whiteface Mountain, NY’s icy upper reaches. Next to me, my Dad—my earliest and longest-running ski partner—mumbled something I couldn’t hear over the arctic winds. It was almost minus 30 degrees Fahrenheit, and we had absolutely no business being outside, let alone trying to ski. But it was February, the Adirondacks, and ski vacation. Growing up in New York City, these winter escapes were my favorite part of the year.
Most of my early ski memories in upstate New York involved getting uncomfortably cold while skiing bell to bell, with a short stop for lunch inside the Midstation Lodge. My dad and I always shared a steaming bowl of chili, piled high with all the toppings. To us, this ski bum staple had it all, in the most convenient of packages. Quick, hearty, and belly warming.
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