Our Sierra

With a husband catskiing in Oregon and a boyfriend couch-bound with a busted knee, what are two Tahoe ladies to do on a Friday night?

Lis and I left the TQ office Friday afternoon and headed to MontBleu not knowing exactly what to expect from the evening ahead. As working girls, we’re not routine patrons to Tahoe’s high-end cuisine scene, so it was a treat to be attending the inaugural night of Ciera Steakhouse’s quarterly food and wine pairing. The event proved to be a wonderfully decadent affair. Our jovial sommelier guided us through a five course meal with descriptive insights into our gastronomical experience. From the caviar and Champagne to the foie gras and Sauterne, the rich flavors indeed hosted “a party in our mouths,” just as our guide had promised. By the time the desserts, cheeses and port arrived, the volume and laughter had increased tenfold and our tablemates regaled us with funny historic anecdotes and intriguing Tahoe lore.

Dinner wasn’t the only success of the evening. Neither Lis nor I are gamblers per se, but I introduced her to the roulette table and it wasn’t long before we’d quintupled our humble minimum buy-in. (Don’t ask questions, just make sure you always have a chip on 23 when Eric is spinning.) We walked away from the table floating on the high from Lady Luck’s presence, and I’m afraid I may have ignited a new infatuation in Lis.

An invitation to join the Blue Gay-La pub crawl was a tempting way to keep the night going, but, alas, my golden/chow puppy awaited us in the car, eager to scarf down the remains of my excellent dinner. No doubt the delicacy of the Kobe beef steak was not lost on his refined 8-month-old palette.

We headed home with excessively full tummies and some extra cash in our wallets. I don’t think we need to make the boys envious by telling them all the details. Ok, that’s a lie. I do think my able-bodied, powder-catskiing husband deserves to feel a little jealous.

So Lis, what are you doing next Friday?

This is my first real winter in Tahoe. It’s great. Alpine Meadows has had terrific snow, and all the lifts have been open—even Sherwood. I just got cross-country skis and I’ve already been sledding. It’s just that… oh my god, is it cold!

I’m originally from Pennsylvania, and we know cold there. But this—this bone-chilling, marrow-freezing, arctic chill is something that no one in their right mind should live in.

I think maybe the problem is that my drafty little house has no heat—just an upstairs fireplace. When I moved here, in June, it didn’t seem like a big deal. But now, when I get home from work, it’s a little different. It is really hard to start a fire while wearing gloves, even harder without gloves when my fingers are too numb to flick the lighter.

We had a mini-crisis the last big snow. (“A 50-year snow,” the experts said. Made me feel special.) It just so happened that we ran out of the firewood our home’s predecessors had left behind, go figure, just as the snow started to fall. Luckily, I called down to the Pizza Shack in Truckee, which often has big trucks full of lumber sitting outside. The guy, Brian, told me that I could have some, about $40 worth of wood. The rest was saved for little old ladies who, like me, forgot to restock and would freeze otherwise.

The snow was nice. Not so much for my fiancé, who is the official shoveler in our home, but for me, who didn’t leave the couch that entire day and most of the next. It’s alright, though; it’s a comfortable couch. I don’t mind waiting there until spring.