I thought I could do it. I thought I could make it through a winter a Sugarloaf without a Bag Burger. Yeah, right.
At least once I year I give into the craving–usually lured by the enticing aroma–and order one. My weak moment always comes after a full morning of skiing. Always when I’m ravenously hungry. I go into The Bag thinking soup or salad, but somehow, when the waitress shows up, the words Bag Burger, medium rare, with blue cheese, tumble off my tongue.
It’s not just the juicy burger, it’s also those damn curly fries–so perfect, so crispy, so drool-worthy. Of course, The Bag has had nearly 40 years to perfect these things. I’m guessing there aren’t too many other ski area restaurants that rival it for longevity.
So yup, had one this week. It was everything I remembered. Later, as I was chatting with a friend, I mentioned that I’d had my Bag burger for the year. About three nearby voices replied: yeah, me too. Must be something in the spring air–like the scent of burger on the breeze.
