Mountain High Pizza Pie is still, to this day, the best pizza I’ve ever had. I never expected I’d ever be back in Jackson Hole, but here I am. Using only my nose, primal hunting skills, and yelling, I almost immediately found the place again AND convinced Marlin to stop at Mountain High instead of at the nearby Steakhouse. This was a coup, I assure you.
For a place that’s usually associated with a single, bleached skull, Jackson Hole is a remarkably beautiful place. It’s touristy, but the surrounding landscape overwhelms and cleanses that aspect. It’s like a jewel set against the snowy backdrops of the Grand (Big) Tetons (Cheeses).
The mountains nearby were named by lonely French travelers, but the resemblance isn’t
obvious. Poor guys.
obvious. Poor guys.
The group has gelled pretty thoroughly, despite this being day four. Don and Marlin have a relationship that falls somewhere in-between “golf buddies” and “old married couple.” Luckily, they both have a sharp sense of humor and keep everyone amused. Wayne can now see, but his voice is nearly gone. He’s a good go-to guy, and actually reminds me an awful lot of my own grandfather. I’m not sure what to make of that. Maria does a great job of staying positive, and is very helpful both for keeping up our own morale, and for giving us a good public face. Early in the morning, she’s good to shake hands and sell T-Shirts while I’m still trying to get my eyes to focus, and the other three guys are trying to get Wayne’s GPS to find a Starbucks. Everyone has adopted a playful, teasing tone when we’re off the job, and the dynamic is good.
Mountain High Pizza Pie. Go there if you get the chance.
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