Plight of skiing’s homemade lunch
by: Kade Krichko I find temporary solace in my homemade sandwich—it’s simple, effective, and even tricks me into thinking I’m not spending my life savings on a day pass. So when an attendant at a resort’s mid-mountain lodge told me my lunchtime masterpiece wasn’t welcome on premises, I was a bit—how should I put this—pissed. The Lunch Enforcer at Crystal Mountain, Washington, continued tickling rage receptors by informing me that not only was my bagged lunch not welcome at the mid-mountain hut, but also not on the top two floors of the base lodge, at least from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., when lunch hours are enforced. Graciously, the mountain would, however, let me eat my meal in a basement locker room. A brown bagger for life, I had become a ski area outcast, my scarlet letter written in gooey raspberry jelly. So, uh, what the eff guys? With more resorts jumping on the bandwagon, I have to wonder when packing a lunch turned into a badge of social inferiority. The brown bag has been