backcountry skiing with the foothill freak

 

Kessler Peak East Bowl, The Catchers Mitt

January 17th, 2007

catchers mitt
Is the plate of cookies half full or half empty? Nobody cares once they realize that they've been fooled by the tupperware fake-out...

 

The Tupperware Fake-Out

At work we have a name for when someone offers you "home-made" cookies, but after you take a bite, you discover that they're store-bought: it's called a Tupperware Fake-Out. The strategy often involves buying the cheapest manufactured cookies you can, ripping them out of their plastic corporate packaging, and placing them in a homey tupperware, or even better, on a grandma-ish plate covered with cellophane and ribbons. The sight of the faux home made cookies is visually pleasing, possibly bringing to mind fond memories of grandparents, chewy fresh chocolate, and smooth, creamy butter. But a bite of tupperware fake-out cookies reveals a stiff, chalky substitute. You thought it looked good, it tasted bad: you realize that you've been had.

Skiing in the Wasatch lately is best described in terms of the Tupperware Fake-Out.

As Helmüt and I skied towards the mountain we saw a good looking plate of cookies, barely visible, up near the summit. Despite the fact that most of the good cookies around the Wasatch have been thoroughly devoured, this plate looked full and very promising. We had at least a couple thousand feet to climb up to it, but there would be plenty when we got there. Our appetites soared.

There were lots of crumbs on the way up to the plate. We didn't' stop to taste them, but as even the crumbs looked good, we figured that things could only get better. As we got closer, we could see more of the beckoning cookies. We could practically taste the freshness. Maybe we should have been better at picking up the clues: the cookies were all too perfect looking to be homemade, too similar in size, maybe a little dry looking, as if they'd been on the shelf growing stale. But we chose to ignore these details. Instead we put our heads down and climbed, allowing our minds to imagine creamy smoothness. With the plate so near, our mouths began to salivate.

As the entire, full plate of cookies came into view the worst possible thing happened: Wasatch Powder Birds came out of nowhere and landed on top of our plate of cookies. In horror, we watched as the WPB guide offered the plate to his clients. We moaned as we witnessed the plate slowly emptying before our eyes. Most of the clients were polite and only ate one cookie. But then we watched the last client selfishly attack the plate. It was apparent that he'd never seen a plate of cookies like this before. He grabbed as may as he could and stuffed them into his mouth. In a greedy frenzy, he jammed them into the many pockets of his parka and even down into his pants. Cookies were dropping from his clumsy, swollen hands and rolling down the mountain leaving little pock-mark trails of crumbs. It was horrible. We were convinced that there'd be nothing left.

But there was a little luck on our side. The WPB group moved on in search of bigger plates of cookies to conquer, and left two untouched cookies behind. We raced up the last 500ft to the plate, our joy returning. We only really had time for one each anyway, so the remains would suffice.

As we got closer, we realized that they'd left the best two cookies. They were bigger cookies, fluffier looking. Finally we got to the top of the plate, saliva pooling out of control. We peeled our skins. We zipped our zips. We lifted off the tupperware lid. And in an excited rush, we each dove head-first onto the cookies, simultaneously taking big mouthfuls.

Like a smack up-side the head, we tasted the worst cookies imaginable. Big, nasty, tooth rattling things with appalling layers of hidden crusts, haphazard textures, and big, un-savory nuggets. The awful taste was relentless, we couldn't get it out of our mouths. We kept eating hoping the taste would improve, but it didn't. And like children caught red-handed, we realized that we'd been had by a humongous, self-inflicted Tupperware Fake-Out.

 

Ode to the Tupperware Fake-Out

Special contirbution by ff-correspondant Powder Princess

Oh tuperware, i love thee so
fresh cookies, brownies, jam of toe

to faker outers the evil eye,
you are underserving and you get no pie

wasatch powder birds don't ski for free
and only store bought cookies wait for thee

so huff and puff your way to the top
for tuperware fakout,
keeps your belly from becoming flop