Bacon.

And just like that the lad’s gone skiing.

I’d just finished breakfast service and was making The Hummingbird Bakery’s “Chocolate Fudge Cake” – well, the altitude version of it… which basically means the sponge is dodgy but everything else is bang on – and I took said sponges out of the oven and opened the window. The window ledge of my chalet’s kitchen has a big marble slab on which to cool things… like…. cake. So I’ve opened the window, I’ve put the cake down, and I’m about to pull the other tier out of the oven when I look up and see snow. And I see snow and a blue ski. And I think: Fuck it, ribs or no ribs I’m going skiing.

Before I know it I’ve made the “Chocolate Pots with Port Raisins”, cooked and pressed the dauphinoise, got tomorrows pork belly in the oven and I’m in the back of the van being driven down to get my skis. It’s amazing what a bit of “bugger it I’m skiing whether I like it or not” does to kick the prep list along.

So there I am up the mountain – two 1g parecetemols under – Fat Freddy’s Drop blaring through the headphones and loving life. I’ve decided to take it easy and have a quest in mind… to find out if I really can sky right to my chalet. I can. Well I can ski to the lift which is about ten yards from it so thats perfect 👌. It means I can leave the chalet after prepping for the evening – go skiing – and ski straight back. That means I could get four or even five hours on the slopes on a good day. But today, after I ventured back up the Morel lift and onto high climbs… was not a good day. Suddenly the clouds came in and my first day back went from a : “Fuck it, ribs or no ribs I’m going skiing” to a “Fuck its cold and I can’t see and I’m going home”. Which is just as well, because although I’m glad I finally got back on the slopes… I was knackered.

The day before was change-over which is alway tiring: we were up at 6 to say goodbye to what had been a great group of guests. Then we had to clean the chalet top-to-bottom (I do the kitchen and get everything ready for dinner) and then start all over again. Our espresso machine comes in handy on Sundays.
This Sunday I was especially tired because I’d had a visitor in the night. Unfortunately not like that 😉

At about 1am there was a knock on my window and I opened it to find that the knocker had already been greeted by one of my mates and was thoroughly battered. “Ith wannasspeak to her” he says, “I spents the nights with her and I wanths her to know… I want…I wanths her to know…. It meant something”.  Hilarious… this I will get out of bed for… I go upstairs, curious as to what he’s on about. It turns out his name is Curtis and he knows that the night meant something to “her” too. Ever the gent I told him to wait there and ventured down to… rouse “her”. She lives in the room next door and has heard all this going on anyway. I tell her that her knight is here but unfortunately there’s no balcony so he’ll have to express his love through the staircase and could they get the fuck on with it because I’m tired and want to go to bed.

She wasn’t impressed, and was seemingly very embarrassed… especially when this lad Curtis wouldn’t take the hint and kept knocking on the window after he’d been kicked out….twice Some of the lads were trying to talk him down, one of the girls clearly wanted to sleep and decided shouted threats were the best option… Myself… I thought that time would be a good healer and indeed it was. Unfortunate “time” was nearly half an hour and eventually I opened the window – they were all stood outside by now discussing whatever- and told them frankly to piss off. That worked and I was able to get a good three hours kip before breakfast. The life of a chalet chef. Its not all glam, you know. But there’s a shit-load of fanny. And bacon. Bacon, certainly.

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