Johan Jonsson, 360 lower down on the same run off the Youla tram as the preceding spread, but on a different day. The Mont Blanc massif is shrouded by cloud in the background. GIACOMO CALOSI WAS SMILING . He was always smiling. And he was always smiling because his clients were al-ways smiling. Of course, he—and possibly the garlic flatbread he’d deposited with a welcoming flourish before menus or a server had even appeared—were the reason. This closed a tidy little loop, one of many such human circles loudly crowd-ing tables in his steamy, kitsch-addled establishment. Amid curtains of clothing hung from crisscrossing lines, skiers made toasts, sang and kissed coiled fingertips in approval of the latest arrivals to their table: wood-oven pizza with fresh tomatoes, basil and prosciutto; homemade pastas; blueberry cake and fruit flambé. Poking a naïve head in from outside, the scene might resemble a New Year’s celebration. But it was just another lunch at the charismatic Calosi’s infamous Maison Vieille. Though it didn’t feel quite right to settle in here after just two insipid runs in a whiteout storm, it remained axiomatic that if “When in Rome, do as the Romans Do” held any heu-ristic truth, then when in Aosta you followed suit. And what everyone was doing here was drying off in a place where the food—and fun—was guaranteed. Few ski resorts boast more on-mountain restaurants than lifts, but Courmayeur did. And Maison Vieille was one of the best. It was hard to imagine how the tiny kitchen of the ancient stone-walled hut kept up, but it did, and with consummate brio. While skiers celebrated discoveries both on-piste and off, Calosi remained in the thick of it—ordering, delivering, bussing, and flinging wine and liquor at everyone. As things quieted down after lunch he had a chance to sit with us and the real fun—or trouble—began. Out came the stories, along with his homemade limoncella. Whatever ski plans we might have had for the afternoon, a new challenge was thrown down, and there was no way to refuse. Fortunately for our livers the weather cleared somewhat the next day. In addition to enjoying some of the best tree-skiing in the alps, we headed up Punta Helbronner for a run down the Toula Glacier. From there we returned aloft to have lunch, then descended the Vallée Blanche on the French side, circling back to Italy through the Mont Blanc tunnel by din-nertime. Many of Courmayeur’s on-mountain restaurants are open for dinner, and the well-worn lifts from the village run until midnight, so we found a table at the mountain’s latest hot spot, La Chaumière. Congenial host Alessandra Demoz arrived fast enough to literally pull our seats out for us. Originally from the Champoluc area, Demoz was a Milano banker for years. But then she had an epiphany: It was kill-ing her. Nine years ago, she started La Chaumière as a ski-in bistro; more recently, she renovated the lower building into an upscale eatery that operates for both lunch and dinner. She also found time in her new life to become a certified som-melier—which means working from 7 a.m. to closing. It’s a longer but more pleasurable day than her banking past, and, like Calosi, she’s always upbeat and smiling. I ordered the same classic dish I was introduced to only a few feet away back in 1992—polenta with Fontina cheese and beef sausage in tomato sauce. It was both nostalgic and delicious. Later, we chatted over an espresso, which Demoz rendered perfectly, claiming yet another recently acquired skill. She capped our meeting the way many proprietors in the Alps seem to—by reaching beneath the counter for a bottle of homemade genipi. With a bottoms-up grin, Demoz claimed the digestif comprised of high-alpine herbs is good for everything—skiing included. 046 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 13, Issue 3: Page 46
