The Ski Journal • Volume 13, Issue 3 • POTATOES 100 WAYS

For a kid who grew up never liking french fries, it came as quite a surprise when I learned how much of my life would come to depend entirely on the beloved Solanum tuberosum like I did in the mid 1990s.

This nightshade story starts when I wholeheartedly hit my prime as a young 20-something ski bum in Jackson Hole, WY doing my absolute best to embody the freedom that comes with such a title. And, like most every ski bum chasing this carefree life status, I got lucky. I secured a small room in the Big House, a legendary ski-bum shanty with decades of Jackson Hole Air Force lore seeped deep into its walls.

The Big House acted as a gathering place for the local Wilson rippers (today still preserving its ski heritage) and we regularly hosted ski kids and dogs to celebrate and refuel after long days spent outside.

Back then we weren’t about jobs, or money, or even food. We were about adventure. Exploring. Finding new ways to old places.

Collectively, the combined Big House income was less than most Sunday church donation hauls. I recall making $11,000 working three jobs one year. Divide that between rent, a pass and ski gear, and money was tight. It was during this time when JHAF bandit Ty Vanderpool showed me how to live larger with less money by teaching me how to cook potatoes 100 ways. Sure, we had been living off typical ski-bum fare like saltine crackers and honey, and spaghetti with ketchup, but potatoes 100 ways was next-level feasting.

Baked, home-fried, mashed, skinned, hash-browned, grilled, sweetened, chipped, twice-baked, pancaked, casseroled, oven-roasted, skillet-fried, scalloped, boiled, pureed, deep-fried, crisped, dehydrated, broiled, microwaved, pickled, slow-cooked, and even tater-totted.

We prided ourselves on the variety of potato cuisine we prepared with little money.

Mind you we weren’t making spud side dishes. These tubers acted as the entire meal. An average meal would include twice-mashed potatoes with a side of baked potatoes drizzled with potato puree and topped with crispy chip sprinkles for texture. Bam!

Beyond learning to flex my potato imagination, it became clear to me that a simple potato diet meant fewer trips to the grocery store, which meant more time in the woods. We skied every day, all day. Our trips to the market dwindled to just once a week. We would drive to town to buy a 40-pound sack of Idaho russet spuds for $15 and store them in the pantry next to the 40-pound sack of dog food. The dog food cost nearly three times as much. Yet every night the boys and the dogs would all meet at the pantry at dinnertime to gorge on potatoes and kibble. For all of us, canine and human powderhounds alike, it was the best meal of the day.

Photo Caption: Todd Ligare maintaining a swift, silent, deep approach to the cafeteria in Jackson Hole, WY. Photo: Greg Von Doersten

The Ski Journal - Volume 13, Issue 3

POTATOES 100 WAYS

Issue List