The Moveable Feast Border Crossing

The Notorious "Mo" Voss, Ringleader

The Dog Days of Winter had descended upon Grand Traverse County. The month-old snow crunched like styrofoam, barely concealing the dog poop and cigarette butts. Christmas Trees lay prostrate like prickly green corpses, and four calendar months lay unturned before T-shirt weather. What's a fun-loving bunch to do? To paraphrase our late spiritual guru John Belushi...ROAD TRIP!

Nine fun-lovin foodies piled into three sedans for an international moveable feast. A poignant story-line immediately emerged: our sweet Melissa (thanks for the moniker Duane and Greg) was reunited with her former best friend Toyota, and for the first time in ten-thousand rides, our dainty brunette sampled the back seat of old faithful. They remained best buds of course.

Now, an hour's drive north can burn a lot of calories, what with the loading of skis and excitable chit-

chat. A must stop at the greatest diner this side of SoHo, Cormack's! A humble sampling of 1/2 pound Corned Beef and Ruben sandwiches, Tuna Melts, Tomato Soup, and... and... QUICHE?! Go figure. I'll leave the Quiche eater unnamed, but suffice to say this feline wears purple on NFL Sundays. 'Nuf Sed! And because no one had broken the 10,000 calorie mark, the carnivorous clan reloaded all nine bodies into seatbelts to travel exactly two more minutes, piling out at Johan's pastry shop to imitate our New York friends: coffee and cake. Lips smacked, cups in hand, the gang got serious and put some serious miles on. Zooming past Mackinac City, soaring over the big bridge into the U.P. and then leaving the United States, shuffling passports and Canadian Loony's and Toony's before finding ourselves in the OTHER Soo, a land both glorious and free.

Downtown Sault Ste. Marie resembles East Berlin circa 1985, so there was not loitering. The slopes were calling, and calling loud, just a few kilometers north. And finally it was before us, fresh snow, live pines and

Waxing Poetic

inexpensive trail passes. Eighteen skis clicked on, funky blue wax added to the soles, and a little "head wax" for our souls. Round and round we spun, burning a fraction of the calories consumed, but as we all know, Somethin' is better than Nuttin. The gang that couldn't shoot straight raced the sun to the horizon, and then sped north once again.

The Ninetets hunkered down in our woodsy Ice Station Zebra for three days and two nights. We smoked out any threat of Glaucoma, and we drowned any sorrows that may have crept in. Each meal a showcase for the chefs, both amateur and professional. The moveable feast was now anchored, with a veritable smorgasbord of homemade turkey soup, fresh chopped veggies, salads and hearty loaves. Breakfast employed an armada of cast iron, splashing buckwheat one morn and a Vossian Egg-fest the next.

But the Piece de Resistance was Saturday night's Fromage Orgy. Dueling Raclette's pinned the cholesterol meter, with Chorizo and veggies and freshly slaughtered deer meat. It was, appropriately enough, to die for.

The final feast of the weekend was an unforgettable breakfast created by Team Voss. The "Ma" Barker of this gang of nine was in reality a "Mo." Everyone who hunkered down over her Eggs-travaganza loosened their belt two more notches, and piled into their cars for another crack at the fluffy white love.

It's a motley crew, these nine marauders, and a warning to all who dare to join on. No lightweights need apply.

Cat-o'-Nine-Tails