Skiing in Austria.
You generally have to fly to weird, worryingly small airports; many of the resorts are mid-altitude where the snow is unreliable; smoking is still permitted inside, so your clothes stink and throat is swollen for the whole trip, even after just an hour or two of aprés (though the stench and dodgy glands may also be due to standing on chairs in a sweat pit, singing, loudly, to Bon Jovi songs).
But, in Tiroler Gröstl, they have the best mountain dish in the whole world.*
Italy does great ski-hut food: I love polenta with meat stews, in particular. There are a few Spanish and Andorran resorts serving decent tapas, which, at the very least, feels novel. French and Swiss cheese fests are bloating and grossly overrated. But pass me a hot metal bowl of sautéed potatoes, brisket and caraway seeds, topped with a fried egg, with a bowl of sauerkraut on the side, a cold beer and acres and acres of snow, and I’m in heaven.
See you in a week.
One Good Reason
Tiroler Gröstl. Costs either a month’s rent, or peanuts, depending on the repayment prospects of Italy, Spain, Greece, Ireland and co…