Yesterday I embarked on a week-long ski trip with my extended family. Good times will surely be had by all (knock on wood). I couldn’t help but snap a shot of my suitcase before I closed it. Along with the ski boots and ski helmet and long underwear and wimpy knee brace (it’s a psychological thing, I know) and toiletries and flip-flops for wearing to the hot tub and power cords for my laptop and camera were a pork shoulder roast, a top sirloin (thanks Clark Summit Farm!), chocolate samples from the fancy food show last week, a sample-size collection of flavored salts, a panne forte (essentially an Italian fruitcake) someone sent me in November, and a copy of King Corn I’ve been meaning to view and review (for Local Foods) for almost a year now. And what you’re not seeing are the pounds upon pounds of California citrus I had packed in my carry-on (I didn’t want it to get bruised!).
I know. I’m nuts.
And yet much less nuts than is years past, as my beloved sister-in-law reminded me once we arrived at our destination. A few years ago I packed my 7-quart Le Creuset pot, several pounds of duck confit, some garlic sausage from Fatted Calf, and containers of frozen broth, beans, and lamb stew in order to cook up some cassoulet for everyone. Sure, I’ve been teased mercilessly about it by my family ever since, but their eyes glaze over ever so slightly every time they talk about it.
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