Chicagoans, languishing at lake level, decamp to Aspen at the slightest provocation. Winter. Spring. Summer. Certain private schools, it’s rumored, schedule an auxiliary February break, simply to afford auxiliary Aspen time. And why not? Aspen offers the ideal Chicago getaway, unless you hope to get away from Chicagoans.
While in Aspen, the furloughed Chicagoan will ski, snowshoe, hike, bike, ride, raft, fish. She will stare balefully at rock-star shoes, not to mention rock stars. She may be inclined to build sculpture or take up violin or sharpen up her theoretical physicist credentials. Aspen has downtime perfected, in all its multitasking variety.
In Aspen, the visitor will also eat. And though she didn’t plan her vacation for this purpose, the way the committed might schedule a month in Paris, sans kitchen, or a week at the mercy of an imperious Italian chef, she will savor these meals. Later, when she gazes out at the snow-capped peak of the Hancock, the memory of wild caribou or spiced quinoa will stir memories of her days in the wild, when she indulged in Aspen’s deepest luxury: free time.
In case your Aspen itinerary is not already crammed, touchdown to takeoff; in case your Aspen schedule is merely notional, pack your appetite for a compact culinary tour:
Winter: If you’re in Aspen in winter, you are presumably in town to ski. On break, you and the elbow-high helmetheads who shot past you on the slope will clomp around the cafeteria with the silver-headed senior-pass set, who also dusted you on the slope. You will all down white-bean chili, which tastes especially brawny at 11,000 feet.
For a more daring and delightful ski-in, ski-out meal, wend your way up Castle Creek Road for dinner at Pine Creek Cookhouse. Once the working miner’s working cookhouse, the rebuilt restaurant rewards the cross-country skier with mountain cuisine.
Start at King Cabin where you’ll be fitted with cross-country skis. For the uninitiated, this is a pair of pool cues that you clamp to your feet and attempt to shuffle with all the way to dinner, a good mile mildly uphill, while wearing a flashlight on your forehead.
If you happen to be pregnant or otherwise out of sorts, you can book the horse-drawn sleigh. On my son’s second birthday, he sat next to a couple named Paul and Edie who sang “Happy Birthday” especially nicely. Still, it’s better to ski. If you’re with a minor reluctant to lace up pool cues, zip him into a pulke, Norwegian for sled-on-a-stick. Click the strap around your waist and shuffle off. Very Nanook of the North.
You will arrive at the cookhouse sweaty and triumphant, a good way to approach dinner. The menu maintains its commitment to elk, venison, caribou and trout, cornerstones of Rocky Mountain cuisine. Also quinoa, the high-altitude grain favored by local environmentalists. My grandmother once accosted Al Gore here, planting a vivid orange kiss on his neck and shouting: “My vice president! I love you!” Makes you wonder about national security. Order a big cabernet. Goes well with caribou and lubricates the moonlit ski home, which is all downhill.
Summer: Borrow a bike. Set off on the Rio Grande Trail, which is mild enough to lull you into a sense of physical prowess soon deflated by a series of steep climbs. Nothing, of course, compared to the 20 miles of twisting uphill torture en route to Independence Pass. Take the turnoff to Woody Creek, coast past the lonely post office down to Woody Creek Tavern. This cantankerous bar was, in the day, patronized by Aspen’s cantankerous patron saint, Hunter S. Thompson. Order the Limousin beef burger, if you’re committed to going local. Otherwise, try the fish tacos. Either goes well, post-bike, with a Flying Dog Ale.
If you’re planning to conquer the mountains on foot, don’t leave home without lunch. You could pack a water gourd and Gu packet, but why? You’re in Aspen. Eat like it. Stop by Toppers for a sumptuous (and $10) roasted vegetable, grilled salmon or pulled-pork sandwich. So it’s heavier than Gu. Gazing at the Maroon Bells, you’ll be glad you brought a snack almost as sublime as the scenery.
Spring: Head into town and out to dinner. Cell-phone reception can be spotty among craggy peaks, but sashimi reception flows in daily, undeterred. Still, why bother with a meal you can get in the big city? Try the soothing Ajax Tavern, which offers mountain Italian. Like tagliatelle with venison Bolognese. Perhaps you too will spend the post-vacation slump trying, wistfully, to re-create this dish in the lowlands.
Restaurants in town come and go, serving that Aspen mix of Californian, New Mexican, Mexican, International Fancy and Western. Try lots. A newcomer, D19, layers prosciutto over oddly delicious rosemary doughnuts. French Rustique happily steeps mussels in Pernod. Locals like the buffalo burgers at the R-bar, above the restaurant Range; and lamb chops at Blue Maize. Colorado is ranch country; when in doubt, order lamb.
Fall: It’s Aspen’s off-season. No skiing, no music festival and the rain can sog a hiking expedition. Still, there’s never a bad time for a place so beautiful you wonder why you gave up on a career in dishwashing. Take it easy. Sleep in. Straggle into town for breakfast, at great length and huge caloric sacrifice, at the Wienerstube Restaurant. This old-school Austrian outpost remembers Aspen’s links to leiderhosen culture, what with the wiener schnitzel, bratwurst and fleischkaese. Served with hot gossip-Aspen or Chicago, your choice.
Or linger over coffee at Main Street Bakery. Pastry chefs in town do an admirable job struggling against the high-altitude drag. It’s a trick convincing bread to rise at heights that make yeast dizzy. Main Street manages a satisfying fruit pie. The brownies at Paradise Bakery come thickly frosted, while those of Cloud Nine are delightfully dense. Everyone craves them, even the bears who lumber into town looking for something better than a measly pawful of nuts and berries. One summer they broke into the Cloud Nine kitchen and made off with eight dozen.
Of course, downtime is a good time to cook, if you like to cook. The best vacation I ever had took place in a house empty save for new husband and new copy of Patricia Wells’ “Trattoria.” Browse the Saturday Market, where you’ll find those vegetables brave enough to handle nosebleed height and swift enough to sprint through the brief growing season. Buy a bag of De Vries peppers, a round of Haystack mountain goat cheese, and a scoop of Jeffreezz Aspen Snow Sorbetto, spiked with honey and jalapeno.
Drop by City Market, open until midnight and crawling, in the darkest hours, with caterers on prep detail. Buy the salmon, reliably fabulous. Oven-roast with potatoes and fennel; you’ll never want to leave the house. But then, who ever wants to leave Aspen?
VENISON AND PORK BOLOGNESE
Serves 10
1 1/4 pounds ground venison
Salt and pepper
1 pound ground pork
4 cups chopped onion
2 cups chopped celery
10 cups plum tomatoes, pureed
1 cup veal demi-glace
1 bay leaf
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon fresh chopped rosemary
1 1/2 pounds tagliatelle pasta
1. Sear: Heat oil in a heavy pot over medium-high heat. Season venison and pork with salt and pepper. Cook until no longer pink. Scoop out meat with a slotted spoon.
2. Caramelize: Add onions and cook, stirring, until onions begin to reduce, 10 minutes. Lower heat to medium-low and continue cooking until lightly caramelized, 10 more minutes. Add celery and continue cooking until fragrant, 5 minutes.
3. Stew: Return meat to the pot, add tomato puree, demi-glace and bay leaf. Bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Reduce heat and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until thick and slightly sweet, about 1-1/2 hours. Season with nutmeg, rosemary, salt and pepper. Cook an additional 15 to 30 minutes. Taste; add sugar if needed.
4. Boil: Cook pasta according to package directions. Toss with sauce. Enjoy aprZs, avant or instead of ski.
–Adapted from the Ajax Tavern
———-
LeahREskin@aol.com
