I am spending two nights in Breckenridge, a ski town about two hours west of Denver. My youngest brother, David, spent the winter of the year he graduated college working at a ski shop in Breckenridge.
This is the view from the interstate at the Breckenridge exit looking south.
And this is a typical scene on the main street in town.
When my friend Shawn learned I was going to be staying in Breckenridge she told me I needed to go to a little French bakery in town and order “Little Nuns,” which are basically three small eclairs, Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear size, stacked like a snowman. Well, I found the bakery but they had no idea what I was talking about, so of course I opted for beignets instead!
Trust me, they weren’t nearly as good as they look. They need to send their staff to New Orleans to learn how to make a proper beignet. I struggled to eat them both, as they really weren’t even as good as the doughnuts I get at home. As Trump would say, “Sad”.
I texted my brother to see if he wanted me to get him anything while I was here. He replied “Nothing from Breck other than a piece of property on Peak 6, please. Preferably ski-in, ski-out”. Well, I checked and they had just sold the last one, so I got him a magnet.
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