The Yurt
By Ian Novak
A small dusting of snow falls around the cabin-like yurt. I look outside one of the clear plastic windows into the snowy wilderness In the yurt there is very little light, like waiting in a cave with only headlamps, a fire, and those 18th century lamps to see. All sorts of small items scatter across the table including some okra pickles, tasting sour and vinegary, which are being snatched from the jar.
People move about freely around the yurt’s interior and the chef stands right next to the table while the spaghetti and tomato sauce cook. The chef brings a fresh glass of orangey Tang out for the meal. Small chocolate filled Mother’s cookies, are set upon the table and are instantly grabbed by many hands. The other family, the Byorths, are staying in the yurt with our family and chatter constantly to fill the silence that the wilderness is continually singing. The mother, Susan, and the son, Teagan, play a heated game of checkers on the table. My father, Mark, pops the champagne cork with the sound of a large sucker fish taking away its lips from the glass, and all the adults cheer. The smoky smell from the fire fills the room and a small fan atop the fireplace spins relentlessly, clanka, clanka, clanka. My two roommates bicker off in one corner of the table and the boys’ coughing detracts from the overall comfort. The smell of noodles mix with the smell of propane and smoke. A dog named Stella, who longs to be petted, is always rubbing against someone’s leg, wagging her tail.
Now that you know a bit about the setting of the yurt, it may do you well to know how our family and the Byorths came to be here. We were taking the last weekend of Christmas break to continue the tradition that we started 2 years ago with the Byorths. This time we were getting one last time before we had to get back to our normal schedule.
The salad container is ripped open with the sound of plastic on plastic. Two large pots are placed in the center of the table and the two heavily used cauldrons are steaming with our dinner: spaghetti and red sauce. Susan dishes out a large helping of noodles and a splattering of sauce on my plate. My meal looks like a pile of wires with a blob of red goop on top. The appearance of the dinner distracts from the feeling of the meal, though the smell of the banquet is extremely mouth-wateringly good.
The noodles are perfectly warm and the bit of meat in the red sauce tastes just like after a long ski and your fingers are freezing, that you sit next to a warm fire. The dinner reminds me of a wooden cabin in the 18th century; what a small family would have in that time, but still amazingly delicious. My taste buds can taste a hint of smokiness in the noodles which has seeped into the spaghetti’s interior. Some bites contain a large blob of tomato which completely overwhelms the taste of noodle or meat.
Susan dishes out a spoonful of noodles and sauce to everyone having cheery small talk all the while. The table is most certainly not clean. I must clear room to make an area for my meal, which is not particularly pleasing. The hard wooden chair which I sit upon is cold and takes at least 10 minutes to warm up. It took the whole of twenty- five minutes for the delightful meal to be served.
The warm rustic feast and setting was perhaps my favorite part of the meal. Eating out in the wilderness in a yurt is quite a unique experience.
The next time I eat here, and I most certainly will, I would want, at least, for the table to be clean. The table was already crowded with the people but with all the extra assortment of ski wax, candles, and lighters on the table, it was especially uncomfortable.
I would recommend this restaurant to anyone who likes the outdoors. You must ski in and out, but the warm and comforting spaghetti was wonderful for anyone who wants a hardy, tasty meal.
