Jon Mays

We were in this restaurant with three separate buffet tables: one for salad, one for hot food and one for dessert. It was seemingly connected to our hotel, however, somehow separated by a surprisingly busy two-lane highway we had traveled to Bryce Canyon and its majestic hoodoos.

It was cold, too cold for me. Penetrating wind. The snow, once it came, had piled up a bit too quickly for my taste. But it hid the cracked mud and obscured the views, eliminating the breathtaking panoramas for this new insular wonderland with alternating shades of muted pinks, oranges, reds and rust with its ochre imbued with blue. This was a high desert and a different month would have us baking in the sun. Yet, this early spring month found us cold and increasingly wet. Weather extremes created this place, and trekking through it required fuel. Vegetables were needed.

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