Mulled Red Wine on a Bourgogne Mountaintop

I first had mulled red wine on top of a mountain in the Bourgogne, Rhone-Alps region in France. It’s a bit of a story. A friend of mine was trying his hardest to teach me how to snowboard, while I was trying my hardest to keep from breaking my neck. Not too long into the sliding, bruising and rolling, we were suddenly engulfed by a freak blizzard. Fleeing for cover, we followed a few stray skiers to a random lodge located on top of one of the nearby peaks. A plume of smoke came from its chimney and though it looked deserted from the outside, it was actually quite busy inside. The soft quite sound of snow and wind gave way to the bustle of a busy eatery. Bearded lumberjack-looking Frenchmen in red and green plaid were scattered throughout the place amongst skiers and what I swear to be common-day tavern wenches. There was a cauldron-sized kettle in the middle of the cabin with a green lentil soup simmering away making the place fragrant. Between the warm smells, colorful patrons, logged walls and the snow-sloshed floors I thought we were in some kind of arctic frontier movie; all the clichés seemed to fit.
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