Niseko Meat to Please You

Dumping hard all day. Easy 2 feet since yesterday. This afternoon had heavy snow in Niseko. Only one chair open. Took bus back to Annupuri at 6pm and saw lifts opening for night skiing. Temps dipping. Thought I would try one long chair. Found untapped light velvet with firm wind pack base 2 feet down very manageable. 9 long runs later a light bulb went off and I decided that it does not suck here today.

The cold front is moving in which should lighten it up to Utah on steroids level sickness. Used glove heaters and boot neoprene which kept me warm but not necessary. Bulk of storm is hitting tomorrow and following day.  It could get crazy good so wearing pajamas inside out with a spoon under pillow for dumpitation as Siberian front moves in. Time for Kobe beef.  It’s what’s for dinner.

Cleaving from a Distance

Last night I dined on the Bistecca, a 50 oz porterhouse, it was like the feeling you get from hitting all 5 clays from each of all 5 firing positions – blindfolded.  The space was even as warm an inviting as hunting lodge.  I was at chi Spacca with my buddy El Carnicero.  We call him the butcher because he buys natural cows in bulk.  He get them from vineyards in Northern California once they have run their course supplying fertilizer for the grapes.  They are completely farm raised as they graze on grass all day, and taste almost as good as the Bistecca.

But before the 50 ouncer we started with the elusive white pie.  There really is no Focaccia di Reccos that can compare.  And you can only get it at chi Spacca, they don’t even serve it in their two other sister restaurants next door.  Legend has it that it took the priorietor if this establishment four years to prefect.  It’s super gooey, and even the crust is melty.  It’s a pizza that even a seasoned Venezuelan hunter would eat.  It had been a while since I had seen El Carnicero. I think the last time was over bison burgers at the Oak Tree Gun Club, trap shooting with the kids.

We picked up right where we left off talking about hunting, but this time it was different.  The day after we went to the range, an 8 year old girl in the mid-west at another range, accidentally shot and killed her Uzi teacher.  Beyond the conversation about what kind of guns anyone needs to hunt was a further thought about whether one can even hunt in the US anymore.  The great irony of it all is of course that those who sought to preserve it may now have destroyed it.