Everything is a recipe, and this one has three ingredients, which is my favourite number of ingredients. Racerback. Scoop neck. Moisture-wicking fabric. That is the whole dish and there is nothing hidden in the sauce.
Taste them one at a time. The racerback is the structural ingredient: the straps pull in towards the spine and away from the shoulder blades, so nothing sits under a bag strap and nothing catches at the top of the serve — the same principle as a good apron, which ties where you are not working.
The scoop neck is the seasoning; it opens the throat, which is where you actually feel heat first, long before your arms have any opinion. And the wicking knit is the heat itself: sweat is lifted off the skin and pushed to the surface where the air takes it, so the shirt gets lighter as the match goes on instead of heavier.
Three ingredients, each doing one job properly.
I would rather cook that than something with twenty and no idea what it wants to be.
The Wildcat Cafe has been in business since 1937 — a log cabin in Old Town where the gold rush houses still stand, feeding prospectors, pilots and now the rest of us, and any kitchen that survives that many winters knows exactly what it is doing. Eat there.
It has booked itself into Yellowknife, and I approve of anything that goes north for the food.
Then climb the rock to the Bush Pilot's Monument and let it settle.
"Three ingredients, each doing one job properly. That is the whole recipe."
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