THE BEST MEAL I EVER HAD

The subject came up recently of the best meal we’d ever eaten. Some talked about high priced restaurant meals cooked by world famous chefs. Others about something their grandmother or mother had made. When it came my turn, I had to tell them a story from my youth.

I was sixteen years old, and it was early October. We’d had our cows up on our summer range in northern New Mexico. They’d grown fat and sleek eating mountain grass all summer, and we were past time in getting them out of there. Winter can come very early to the high country, and that year, we pushed our luck.

But our luck held, and we got them out of the mountains, and to the corrals where trucks would pick them up for the trip back down to the valley. But when we rounded them all up and started the push, we made a count and discovered several were missing. Since we were time limited, we couldn’t go look for them then and there. Instead, we had to push the cows out, and get to the corrals.

Only afterwards could we go back and look for them.

And that job fell to me. Once we got the cows to the corral, I grabbed some supplies, turned, and rode back up towards our range. All the while, I was watching the sky. Black ominous clouds were building, getting thicker and darker with every passing hour. Gradually they scooted from the west towards the east, drawing a cloud of gray black across the sky.

I was about three fourths of the way back up to our range when it started snowing. I already had my jacket on, gloves, and my hat was pulled closely over my head. The temperature started to fall, and the snow started sticking to my clothing and what melted was getting me and the horse wet. In a few minutes, the ground was covered with a layer of white, and it began accumulating. A wind was starting to come up, and now the snow was starting to swirl and threatened to become a full-fledged blizzard.

Now, I might have been sixteen, but I was already an accomplished rider and being out in the cold wasn’t something that scared me. My father had taught me how to live through it, and to survive in that kind of mess. I was still some ways away from our range, and to push on could easily become ill advisable. I couldn’t go to much more forward, and going back was out of the question. My mission was rapidly shifting from finding cows to survival. A man and horse in this kind of weather is a bad thing. I already had four inches of snow, and it was building fast. Add the wind, and the potential for a blizzard and I was in deep trouble.

Sundown wasn’t far away either, a matter of hours. I had that amount of time to find shelter.

The good news was the situation wasn’t bleak yet. I could easily get into the tree line, find a good location for me and the horse that would offer protection from the snow and wind, and set up a small tent. Camp out, wait till it was over, and then get out. Chances were a National Guard helicopter would get me out, but that would mean leaving the horse behind. It was a good horse and I didn’t care for that idea.

But the best option was also the easiest. The area was dotted with cabins and I knew the location of most of them. Most had corrals and a shed for the horses and the owners always kept some supplies on hand, just for situations like the one I found myself in.

The nearest was one that as I child, I’d always called “The Green Cabin.”  I don’t know who built it, but it had a nice large fireplace, windows, and as memory served, real beds (okay, springs, you had to provide you own mattress).

I was within about two thirds of a mile of it, and I rode towards it. It was on my uncle’s property, and if I had to force to door to find shelter, I knew he’d understand.

I went slowly. No sense in slipping, getting the horse or myself hurt. By the time I reached the cabin, the storm had caused an early twilight to fall over the mountains. I knew I was in the area, but I was reaching the point where almost every shadow could have been the cabin.

The horse suddenly stopped plodding forward, and looked off to one side. I followed his gaze and could see a shadow that was squarer than the others. And then I caught the spicy warm odor that had alerted the horse. The square shadow had a square box of light inside. I’d found the cabin and I wasn’t alone. Someone was in there, had a fire going, and was cooking a meal.

I rode towards it and the cabin I remembered materialized out of the storm and gloom. I saw the light from a coal oil lamp shinning through one of the windows. I dismounted, tied the horse, and walked up the old wood stairs. In the middle of nowhere, in a snowstorm, I knocked on the old cabin door.

A moment later, it was answered. It was my uncle’s sheepherder.

“I thought you guys had pulled out,” I said.

“I stayed behind to look for some lost sheep.”

I asked if I could camp out there overnight, and he said sure. “Corral and shed are in back. Supper should be up in fifteen minutes.”

I nodded my thanks, and went out into the storm one more time. I walked the horse to the corral, and took him into the shed where the sheepherder’s horse was tied. I stripped the saddle off my animal, dried him with an old towel I kept in the saddle bags, and put a blanket over him. I made sure he had some oats. The sheepherder brought me a bucket of warm water and I made sure the animal had something to drink.

With my horse and gear squared away, I carried my gear to the cabin. The smell of the red chili cooking and the warm inviting odor of fried potatoes and onions made me realize just how hungry I really was. The old man was finishing cooking up the evening meal. The chili had been made with large chunks of beef, and he had two old battered tin plates ready.

He served us both up a heaping portion of the potatoes and then poured a more than generous helping of chili over both. He handed me a plate, indicated the fork. “Tortillas are under the towel.”

I took the first bite of food. I’ve eaten in some very fancy restaurants, eaten food prepared by world class chefs, and none of it ever matched that simple meal. Washed down with hot coffee (and yes, he did get the bottle of whiskey out and added a dollop to it), it was simply the most incredible tasting meal I’d ever had. Maybe it was the storm. Maybe it was the cold and water that had dripped down my back, but I’d never eaten a better meal or had better company.

He told me about coming up out of Mexico as a young boy and working different ranches. I told him about my dreams of going to college and becoming an astronaut. At the end of the meal, I opened my pack and made a contribution to finish it up. I had a couple of Little Debbie Brownies, and they were the perfect finish to a first class meal.

I ended up sleeping in the supply room that night, using a bag of salt as a pillow. Looking back, it was good training for the Gulf War when for six months I used my protective mask and carrier as a pillow.

The storm moved out overnight, and the day was clear and cold. The sun was bright, and we both knew the snow would start melting and that afforded us the opportunity to get out. But it was long ways from warm. It would be a long cold ride through almost two feet of snow. The horses could handle that, but it would be difficult at best. Melt and the mud that came with it meant we had to watch every step we took. But it was clear we couldn’t stay too much longer. Another storm could be on its way and we didn’t have the supplies for an extended stay. We didn’t have too many choices. We’d have to clear out.

While we were discussing this, we heard a  low sound, and it was getting steadily louder. Soon we could hear a clanking crunching sound, and a few minutes later a big Caterpillar tractor came around the corner from behind the hill. My was father driving it, and a pickup truck was following, driven by my uncle.

Needless to say, we got out easily after that.

Forest service wranglers found our missing cows a week later, and my uncle found all his sheep.

And that’s the story on the best meal I ever had.