Years ago my husband and I went on a ski trip, visiting some of the less glamorous but fabulous ski areas that populate interior British Columbia. We booked accommodations by studying the brochures that were sent to us in the mail (remember those prehistoric days before the digital era?) and settled on rooms with kitchenettes. These towns were not exactly swarming with apres-ski options, so it seemed to make sense to bring our own soups and stews to reheat at the end of the day. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the first motel to find no kitchen in sight, not even a miniature coffee maker. Nothing but a bed, a bathroom, and a Gideon's bible. At this point most people would have gone into town to find the local greasy spoon diner, but my husband is not most people. Using his creative brain, he whipped up a makeshift hot plate by combining the clothes iron he packed to wax our skis, the trusty Gideon's bible, and a little duct tape. By wedging the iron upside down in the