Haute cuisine on a mountain high

That's not to mock Blue Cow - it's a lot easier to get to Perisher than south-west Colorado and, from my memories of it, there was a generous serving of chicken and the cheese was perfectly melted - it's to honour the best on-mountain ski resort on Earth.

You see: Europeans ski to eat, whereas Australians and Americans eat to ski... just not in Telluride. Skiers don't just plan their day around dining here, they plan their entire ski holiday. It's ski-in and ski-out, so if you can't fathom skiing at 3647 metres (this is North America's second highest restaurant) don't think about coming.

There are no reservations for lunch - get here early (or late) and hope to hell you can nab a spot at a table on the outside deck looking out through the fir trees to the mighty Wilson mountain ranges (they're almost 5000 metres high). The glare's so bright that every diner gets a free pair of sunglasses.

Waiters wear ties, there's the biggest selection of Brunello (Italian premium wine) anywhere in the US outside of Vegas and you're quite likely to dine beside Jerry Seinfeld - yet there's none of the old-moneyed posturing you'll find at fancy on-mountain resorts in Europe (especially France and Switzerland).

I order lobster ravioli, just because I can, and because the crustacean was flown in from New England this morning. It's so juicy, it bursts like watermelon in my mouth. I wash it down with a Tuscan vermentino, and contemplate dessert.

Everything's hand-made here, slowly. And yet the food's only a tiny part of the reason I came. It's more about the way the lamb's wool feels beneath me as I feel the sunshine on my face and I can see all the way to Utah.