“We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain
Moor and mountain
Following yonder star…”

​The Crash Test Dummies’ baritonal rendition of the holiday classic jingles out of the rental-car stereo just as Sommet Saint-Sauveur’s starry lights come into view. It’s just past 4pm on Dec. 23, and as usual I’m driving from the Central Train Station in Montreal to the family chalet near Mont Tremblant.

Sauveur’s night-skiing operations, and others like them, have been lighting my way along the Laurentian Autoroute for years. But unlike the biblical Magi, who famously followed a star, I have always bypassed the valley’s beckoning beacons.

Not so this year. With ski gear in the trunk, fresh flakes on the highway and a few hours to spare, some warm-up laps sound like just the thing before hitting the slopes of Eastern Canada’s largest ski resort.

It turns out to be one of the best pit-stops I’ve ever made. So great, in fact, that I’ve taken three more detours along the Corduroy Highway, as I’ve come to call it, since then. There’s certainly no shortage of options: With a dozen impeccably-groomed hills lining the 70 kilometres of blacktop between between Sauveur and Tremblant, the Riviere du Nord valley is home to Canada's densest concentration of ski areas, all of which are making the most of 2019 spring skiing thanks to one of the best snowfall seasons on record.

This ski-area abundance goes back to the late 19th century, when the P'tit Train du Nord railway line — now Canada’s longest multi-use rail trail — first linked Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts and Montreal. This made it much easier for city-dwellers to explore the region, which became even more popular when one of North America’s first mechanical ski lifts was installed on Mont Saint-Sauveur in 1934. In those early years local hotels tended to operate their own lifts, many of which serviced single runs. No wonder more than 220 ski operations are said to have opened in the valley since 1900.

Another pleasant surprise: Despite their proximity and shared Laurentian setting, the four resorts I’ve sampled so far are pleasingly varied, with histories, personalities, terrain, cuisine and quirks all their own. What makes each worthy of much more than a pit-stop? Here’s what I’ve discovered so far:

Sommet Saint-Sauveur
The record-setting extent of Sauveur’s nightskiing hits home as I stand at the top of the L’Atomic Expresshigh-speed quad. Radiating outward like the spokes of a massive whitewashed wagon wheel, the six wonderfully groomed runs below me might account for the full extent of evening descents at many much larger ski areas. At Sauveur, however, more than 70 per cent of the 40 trails are illuminated, yielding 48 hectares of floodlit terrain — reputed to be the most extensive on Earth.

My nocturnal opportunities feel limitless. To the left and right, beginner-friendly traverses lead to seven more of Sauveur’s lifts, as well as to the three that climb adjoining Sommet Avila. I charge down the single-black Côte 70 Est in front of me as if the world’s last remaining order of poutine is waiting for me at the bottom. Thankfully, Sauveur’s stylish T-Bar 70 restaurant has plenty of fresh cheese curds and gravy on hand, as well as the breaded chicken strips, crispy bacon and pepper sauce it adds to its signature version of Quebec’s famous dish. A crisp Griffintown craft pilsner caps my pit stop within a pit stop, and I head back out to carve down groomer after groomer.

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN SKI CANADA MAGAZINE

Should I have chosen differently?  

The question springs to mind atop Keystone Resort’s Independence Bowl. Sure, it would have been sensible to start the 2017-18 season at a smaller eastern hill. With my new Epic Pass stashed in my left glove’s zip pocket there are several I could have picked. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

My gelatinous desk-job quads and lack of big-mountain prep make the 250 vertical metres of Colorado powder below me almost as daunting as they are thrilling. Almost, but not quite: Excitement inches ahead of trepidation during the snowcat ride up, then takes full control midway through my first turn.

Five heady descents later I spot the self-proclaimed “World’s Largest Snow Fort” as Keystone Adventure Tours’ cat-ski excursion returns to the top of Dercum Mountain. Suddenly I miss the brood back home, and the feeling lingers as I ski past the H&H Mining Camp, one of six Kids’ Adventure Zones where bridges and tunnels turn the slopes into a snowy playground.

An hour’s drive west of Denver, Keystone bolsters its family-oriented reputation with the annual Kidtopia festival, 3,000-plus condos in five slopeside villages, and wintry superlatives such as the turreted snow fort, a five-acre skating lake billed as the largest in the U.S., and a six-lane tube park that, at 3,548 metres above sea level, is said to be the loftiest on Earth. All signs point to a stellar 2018-19 season, with the resort opening early — on Nov. 7 — for the first time in nearly a decade thanks to nearly four feet of snow since the middle of October.

By the time I arrive at the Keystone Ranch for dinner, I’m pining more for my spouse than for my offspring. Housed in a 1930s log cabin with a soaring stone fireplace, the steakhouse and lounge is about as cosy and romantic as it gets. And on this evening, there isn’t a chicken finger in sight.

As the ski season unfolds, it starts to resemble a “Choose Your Own Adventure” novel in which I am both decision-maker and protagonist. But instead of turning to Page 47 and being transformed into a newt — or some such bizarre fictional outcome — my Epic Pass compels  me to hop planes to Colorado, Vermont and British Columbia, where I am transformed into a snow-clad, grinning blur.

To find out how the rest of my inaugural Epic winter unfolded, check out the story in the Globe and Mail...

Yesterday was no ordinary Wednesday, and not just because it marked the legalization of recreational cannabis consumption in Canada. In fact, as the afternoon unfolded, Oct. 17 became curiouser and curiouser:

Noon: I join my buddy Joel for lunch on Roncesvalles Ave. The bacon on my BLT is burned, the poutine is seriously over-curded, there are jalapeno poppers mixed in with my chicken wings, and 80 percent of our cupcakes are sloppily iced.

2:15pm: As our server searches for the misplaced payment machine, we overhear two diners planning an art exhibit. When one suggests some kind of naughty Banksy knock-off — “Spanksy” or something like that — the other laughs and exclaims, “Are you high?!?” The reply: “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am high.”

2:30pm: While walking home, I witness the near-collision of three exhausted-looking Uber Eats cyclists and a careening Foodera delivery van.

2:45pm: The dentist office calls to confirm my Oct. 15 cleaning. After clearing that up — oh how we laugh — we eventually come to an agreement that teeth are kind of gross.

4pm: The cable company calls to convince me to upgrade my channel package. We spend the next 19 minutes discussing our favourite Black Mirror episodes.

4:19pm: Inexplicably, the line goes dead. I look at my phone and notice I’ve lost both the cell signal and Wi-Fi connection. Suddenly the power goes out, and seconds later I hear the unmistakable wail of air raid sirens. I run into into the front yard, and stare open-mouthed at the sky as a squadron of Zeppelins blocks out the sun while a flock of heavily-armoured flamingos...

4:20pm: I jolt awake to the sound of the ringing doorbell, check the time, leap from the bathtub and hastily don my housecoat. I'm not expecting a visit from Snoop Dogg, but you never know.

4:22pm: It turns out to be the good people from the Save the Children charity. I donate a few bucks after they stop giggling for long enough to explain that opting not to save even a few children is a "total dick move."

4:45pm: When I ask Google to “play Tragically Hip” — it being the first anniversary of Gord Downie’s passing and all — it plays “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” When I ask it to play the Grateful Dead, it plays “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” Ween? “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” Englebert Humperdink? “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” And so it goes...

4:55pm: I call Google tech support and am put on hold. The music on the line? You guessed it.

5:15pm: How did all these tumbleweeds get into the toaster strudel aisle at the grocery store?

5:30pm: Everyone in the "12 items or less" line is trying to recover their credit-card passwords.

6pm: On my way out of the store I stop to chat with the two off-duty police officers guarding the ice cream. Coincidentally, both are looking forward to the four-week vacations they just booked.

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in exactly two weeks, this Mostly Amazing series explores 11 places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz.

There’s nothing like the first T-shirt sighting of the season.

Having just arrived from winter-weary Toronto, I pull an abrupt double-take when three sleeveless Kamloopsians stroll into view in early April. They too seem surprised, but not by my woolly sweater. It’s my ride – Tastefull Excursions’ new wine-touring van – that turns their heads.

​“Must’ve taken a wrong turn in Kelowna,” one says, referring to the Okanagan Valley, an hour down Highway 97, where 120-plus vintners comprise “the northernmost serious wine region in the world,” according to Travel + Leisure.

It soon becomes clear the magazine should have looked further north. Granted, viticulture is new to the Thompson River basin around Kamloops, with 2010 marking the first vintage year in what’s known as Thompson Country. “Wine region” is a stretch, even with more wineries rumoured to be joining the four already in place.

That’s where the neighbouring Shuswap comes in. The Thompson-Shuswap, as the B.C. Wine Institute calls it, is home to a dozen licensed vintners that are winning awards with rare cool-climate varietals such as Ortega, Maréchal Foch and siegerrebe. Travellers familiar with better-known terroir won’t believe where these grapes thrive – on pine-covered mountainsides and in hoodoo-lined valleys – not to mention the calibre of what’s bottled.

Combine this burgeoning route with an astonishingly active farm-to-table scene encompassing eateries, bakeries, markets and a wide-ranging “Full Circle Farm Tour” guide, and, well, let’s just say my T-shirts have become noticeably tighter.

My tasting tour was inspired by a January visit to Sun Peaks Resort, a 45-minute drive north of "the Loops." I was there for two reasons: To ski the snowy Monashees, and sip my way around the 16th annual Winter Okanagan Wine Festival. I had expected to be charmed by the 10-day event's namesake offerings, but was shocked that labels much closer to Sun Peaks were making such great strides.

"We got into this because we tried the Harper's Trail wines and they blew us away," explains Tastefull Excursions owner Maatje Stamp-Vincent as her 11-passenger Mercedes-Benz pulls away from my hotel. "No one else around here is doing this, so we just went for it."

READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN THE GLOBE AND MAIL

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in less than eight weeks, this Mostly Amazing series explores 11 places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz.

Approaching the summit, one final hurdle lay ahead. It wasn't the steep, crumbling slope under my feet. Nor was it the blazing midday sun. As I climbed the dune in Eastern Ontario's Sandbanks Provincial Park, my greatest challenge was the all-dressed bacon cheeseburger, onion rings and chocolate milkshake I had just devoured outside the snack bar.

Just as mountaineers acclimatize to altitude, I stopped and waited for the grease rush to subside. Then, heartened by what awaited beyond the dune's 10-metre peak, I scrambled up the sandy mound, paperback in one hand, towel in the other.

I had seen the view from atop the dunes dozens of times before, either on a sand-seeking expedition out of Toronto, or on "Picton Day," the June exodus of class-cutting teens from my former hometown of Kingston. On this perfect summer Saturday, it encompassed blue skies, calm Lake Ontario waters and white sands framed by stands of eastern cottonwood trees, a picture that solidified Sandbanks as my favourite Canadian beach. The sand and scenery of some East and West Coast beaches may compare — PEI's Cavendish and Vancouver's English Bay spring to mind — but Sandbanks' summer is reliably hot and sunny, and the water is fresh, calm and surprisingly warm. If, like me, you often crave a splashy game of paddle ball — that free-form, co-ed pursuit of the Frisbee-fatigued — you'll only be up to your waist in water more than 100 metres offshore, owing to the gentle, child-friendly slope out of East Lake (which is actually a bay).

Unlike much of surrounding Prince Edward County, which has seen a spate of development in recent years, little has changed at Sandbanks since I first arrived here in someone else's parent's minivan more than 25 years ago. The drive past the main entrance still winds pleasantly through thick maple forest. The aforementioned snack bar still serves up the thickest milkshakes around thanks to the staff's perennial lack of blender-awareness. And on a prime summer weekend, the park's Outlet, Sandbanks and Campers beaches are still busy, but not maddeningly so. After all, there's plenty of real estate: The 11 kilometres of beaches and dunes form two of the largest freshwater bay-mouth sandbars in the world.

Arriving at noon, it was easy to find a sunny spot devoid of errant Frisbees and sand-encrusted toddlers. Spreading out mats and towels, and unfolding lounge chairs — my wife Angela and I are confessed beach-accoutrement addicts — we settled into an afternoon of doing very, very little.
Once again, I noticed that time and sound perform strange tricks when one is prostrate on the beach. A lively conversation among a group of nearby teenagers — "Dude, man, my wakeboard is sick!" — soon became a melodious trickle interspersed with the noise of splashing kids and squawking gulls. This was followed by an irresistible snooze, a groggy awakening and feigned surprise that two hours had passed in what felt like five minutes.

Read the rest of the story in the Globe and Mail.

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in exactly 10 weeks, this Mostly Amazing series explores 11 places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz. 

“Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying…”Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” reverberates through my headset as our soundtrack-equipped helicopter soars over the bluest lake I've ever seen.

At that moment, the lips in question belong to the awestruck passenger next to me. But it’s easy to see what she’s saying: “Wow!”

Her mic isn't working, but no matter. All six passengers in the West Coast Helicopters chopper are clearly dumbfounded by the Coast Mountain scenery assaulting their senses.

An hour earlier, our lift-off from Nimmo Bay Resort shattered the misty-morning serenity of the luxurious eco-lodge. Here on the southwestern edge of B.C.’s remote and rugged Great Bear Rainforest, exploration is only viable by sea or air.  

If the tiered waterfall powering the resort, the bronze grizzly bear statues in its effluence, and our towering breakfast skillets had seemed like aspects of a wonderful dream, then the next seven hours push the experience into died-and-gone-to-heaven territory. I expect “Stairway to Heaven” to continue the classic-rock theme as our chopper veers away from Corsan Peak and its impossibly blue kettle lake, and returns to a wide river valley where larch trees mottle the banks with their autumnal yellows.

We’ve touched down just once so far: On a parking space-sized boulder near the base of a gushing waterfall, where Dave Wigard, our good-natured pilot, demonstrates the chopper’s remarkable versatility.

His point is driven home emphatically as we approach Silverthrone Glacier. As its jagged expanse unfolds below us and its namesake peak looms ahead, I half expect to see Superman emerge from what looks like his Fortress of Solitude. I also realize just how lucky we are to admire scenery that would otherwise require some serious mountaineering skills to reach.

Wigard skillfully lands the chopper on a moraine flanking the glacier, where we rendez-vous with the tour’s other two birds. Within minutes our guides cover a flat-topped boulder with a decadent lunch spread, which tastes that much better 8,000 feet up.

After cramming our memory cards with “I’m King of the World!” snapshots, we climb back into the choppers and leave the glacier in dramatic fashion. We fly low over the ice, past sinewy waterfalls and towering cliffs, then suddenly swoop upward. Within seconds, we’re looking down on Silverthrone Mountain, its snowy peak punctured by dark pillars of volcanic rock that resemble giant claws bursting from an icy lair. Forget Superman: This is more like something out of Lord of the Rings.

Our final stop, the “Paint Pots,” demonstrates the incredible variety of alpine scenery in the region. Instead of ice, these meadows are carpeted with low-lying plants and bushes displaying their fiery fall colours. We wander around lakes and ponds whose myriad hues give the valley its name. But we don’t stroll too far. This is prime bear territory, the daylight is fading, and besides: After all we’ve seen, the jaw-dropping waterfall at the bottom of the valley is almost old hat.     

Thirty minutes and one mountainside bear sighting later, we’re back at Nimmo Bay. I waste no time in peeling off my damp attire, grabbing a cold beverage, and racing for the hot tubs that bubble next to the resort’s hydroelectric waterfall.

After a 10-minute soak, I ease myself out of the heat and into the very cold cascade via a set of wooden steps. I linger for, oh, about two seconds, before leaping back into the tub.

​How does that feel? You guessed it: I'm comfortably numb.

With recreational cannabis consumption set to become legal in exactly 11 weeks, Mostly Amazing launches this 11-part series on places across the land that are best experienced with a buzz.

It’s a good thing there’s a twilight showing of Aura, the dazzling new sound-and-light show in the historic Notre-Dame Basilica. How else could I admire so many of Montreal’s luminous wonders in a single Friday evening?

During Aura’s introductory walk-through, dozens of projectors enhance the Gothic Revival high altar, choir stalls and soaring vault festooned with angels and stars. Christ’s radiant heart is striking enough in an oil painting, but when it starts glowing and then beating — complete with audio effects — my own pulse ticks up a notch.

This ticking turns into more of a whir soon after I take a seat in the pews. Spotlights direct my attention toward works of art, and then, as the orchestral music swells, the vault suddenly morphs into a giant glass dome mottled with falling leaves and dancing snowflakes. The storms of spring dramatically conclude the seasonal second act, with rising waters appearing to inundate the Basilica and then shatter the glass ceiling projected high above. My head feels like it’s on a swivel when dozens of laser beams shoot from the back of the nave and the 10-metre-tall Casavant Frères organ unleashes its 7,000 pipes.

My senses are still buzzing as I step out onto the cobblestones of the Place d’Armes, where the triumphant Maisonneuve Monument and the Pantheon-esque Bank of Montreal Museum are also bathed in floodlights.

But after seeing what projection-mapped images, lasers and sensor-equipped screen arrays can do — more on the latter in a moment — I’m now in search of cutting-edge radiance. Two centuries after tens of thousands of gas lamps transformed Paris into the City of Light, it seems Montreal’s historic buildings, restaurants, spas, public gardens and works of art are updating, and perhaps commandeering, that nickname.

READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN THE GLOBE AND MAIL

​When tragedy strikes cities around the world — in recent years in Paris, Nice, Miami, London, Las Vegas, and in far too many others — my first instinct is to make a B-line for them. I suppose part of me wants to make sure that tragedy hasn’t dimmed their lustre. Thankfully, the healing process always makes cities stronger, and I have no doubt this will be the case with Toronto, my home for more than 20 years.

Of course, since I’m already here, Toronto’s enduring greatness surrounds me every day. And IMHO, these 11 spots are where it shines the brightest:

Toronto Islands Park
A 15-minutes ferry ride from the foot of Bay St., the car-free and bike-friendly Islands feel like a faraway slice of cottage country. I’m especially fond of Ward’s Island, home to one of Toronto’s finest stretches of sand, the bucolic Island Cafe, arguably the best disc-golf course in Canada — E.T. Seton Park also has a superb track — and a community of whimsical cottages that’s straight out of a Tim Burton flick. Plus, few places are better for admiring the stunning downtown skyline.

St. Lawrence Market
I love visiting this massive covered foodie paradise on weekdays in the early afternoon, and making a meal of sampling the wares at the scores of vendors spread over the market’s two floors.

Horseshoe Tavern
I’m very proud of the fact that I’ve taken the stage in the same checkerboard-floored venue celebrated in the Tragically Hip’s “Bobcaygeon.” The ‘Shoe, along with spots like Massey Hall, Lee’s Palace and the Opera House, make Toronto the ultimate Canadian destination for live-music fans.

Hockey Hall of Fame
This 57,000-square-foot shrine features 15 exhibit areas cover everything from a vintage replica of the Montreal Canadiens' dressing room to an interactive area where you can snap pucks at a computer simulation of goalie Ed Belfour. My only quibble: Why isn’t an entire wing devoted to the Calgary Flames?

Canada’s Wonderland
I have a thing for roller coasters, and the country’s largest theme park has the Western Hemisphere’s greatest variety of them. There’s Leviathan, Wonderland’s tallest, and Vortex, Canada’s first suspended roller coaster. To quote a visiting cousin: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

Royal Ontario Museum
I’m not really a museum person, but the ROM wins me over every time. Behind its trippy "Michael Lee-Chin Crystal" façade more than six million items are housed in 40 galleries, with world-class collections showcasing dinosaurs, Near Eastern, African and East Asian art, and European and Canadian history.

The Scarborough Bluffs
This 14-km-long sedimentary escarpment provides a dramatic backdrop for more of Toronto's best beaches, a network of marsh-crossing boardwalks, and an expansive marina that’s home to fishing charters that gave me an afternoon of salmon fishing I’ll never forget.

Kensington Market
Just west of Chinatown, this warren of streets takes its neighbour’s ethnic energy and adds a dose of bohemian style. Ramshackle storefronts house everything from vintage clothing boutiques to taco joints, while street performers swallow swords and do their best Dylan impressions for passers-by.

Distillery District
This collection of brick heritage buildings and cobblestone streets is transformed into a festive wonderland in December, and in summer practically overflows with outdoor patios. The Mill Street Brew Pub, for instance, pours more than a dozen house beers.

Ripley's Aquarium of Canada
For aquarium enthusiasts such as myself, it doesn’t get much better than the shark-filled “Dangerous Lagoon.” The 2.5-million-litre display is home to scores of the 450 water-dwelling species that call Ripley's home, and can be viewed from below via a glass-domed moving sidewalk that’s the longest of its kind in North America.  

High Park Zoo
Toronto is home to Canada’s largest zoo — which is fantastic — and this isn’t even remotely it. But set as it is in the city proper’s largest and best-equipped park, this free-admission menagerie is charming in its own modest way...kind of like Toronto in general.

Until the 14th day of March, oh great and robustly suspendered Nigel, my 2018 sacrifices to you had gone unanswered. I dined upon everything that pleased you in the past -- nachos, cinnamon buns, poutine -- but you favoured me not with heavy snows upon the slopes of skiing.

With each failed sacrifice I turned to fresh sustenance. Would chicken wings curry favour with you? Apparently not. Would curry curry favour with you? Again, not a single flake fell. Oxtail rotis? Sushi? Oxtail sushi? Sushi rotis? Try as I might, your new culinary predilections remained mysteries to me.

It was with a heavy heart that I dug deep into my freezer for something, anything, that might please your too-tightly-trousered magnificence. It was the Monday of March Break, after all, and my family was about to head to Stowe, Vermont.

That’s when I saw them, sheathed in plastic and bundled together with an elastic band. The wieners were quickly defrosted in boiling water, grilled in a pan, and served “à la Ikea” between two equally freezer-burned buns. It wasn’t much, oh fickle and surprisingly stout Nigel, but it was worth a shot.

Fat flakes fell furiously as we neared the self-proclaimed “Ski Capital of the East,” and I began to joyfully suspect that I had satisfied your latest craving. We all ordered hot dogs from the kids’ menu that evening, and lo and behold, we awoke to more than a foot of fresh powder. When I fist-bumped a complete stranger on the hill that day, oh yellow-mustard-preferring Nigel, it wasn’t only because of the sublime conditions. It was also because I had made my way back into your blessed favour.

Needless to say, before heading to Fernie Alpine Resort in early April, I joined my daughters in sacrificing half a pack of franks to your glorious, duosyllabic and relatively common name. Upon arrival, I witnessed a great omen -- Fernie’s annual Eighties-themed Hot Dog Day -- that foretold of many snowy days to come. It also foretold of some serious hangovers and vintage-store remorse, but that’s another story.

You again unleashed your powers of precipitation that night, compelling me to hike up Snake Ridge and glide down into Cedar Bowl the next morning. If that's what dining upon tube steaks gets me, oh munificent and elastic-waistband-requiring Nigel, I’ll renew my Epic Pass ASAP and see you at Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest in July.

Love,

Adam “Kobayashi” Bisby

Pity the parents who have yet to make a plan for March Break, which starts on Monday here in Ontario. I've been there: I still hear about the Arctic waters of the swimming camp we booked at the last minute, the soccer debacle with a single lonely ball, and the five days of French that were “worse than school.” Quelle horreur!

In our defense, choosing camps isn’t easy. Something that seems fun and enriching can turn out to be anything but. Consider these seven options: They appear to have it all, but as any experienced parent knows, appearances can be deceiving.

MacGyver Camp: Hosted by Richard Dean Anderson, this camp gives kids the skills to turn fallen satellites into hang-gliders and to safely defuse explosive devices by always cutting the red wire.

Cryptocurrency Investment Camp: Invest in your child’s future by giving them the tools to make bazillions of dollars by buying and selling Bitcoin, Zcash, Bunko and Ponz-E.

Asbestos Abatement Camp: Worried about those suspicious-looking panels in your basement? Turn your child into an abatement expert who can safely identify and handle asbestos for $275 an hour (plus HST).

“Sleepaway Camp” Camp: Perfect for budding slasher-movie directors who want to get into some seriously messed-up shit.

Cooking With Edible Slime: Is your child obsessed with making slime and MasterChef Junior? Combine their passions at this week-long camp hosted by Rachel Ray look-alike Ray Rachel. Be sure to make room in your fridge for up to 30 pounds of goo that looks and smells like pond scum, and tastes much, much worse.

Spanish Inquisition Camp: Designed for teens, this historically accurate recreation of the 300-year-long religious tribunal covers topics that are more relevant today than ever: Heretic expulsion, freemasonry suppression, dating etiquette, the list goes on.

Blogging With Bisby: This 15-minute camp, hosted by yours truly, will impart many of the “skills” needed to turn blogging into a source of income worth tens of dollars a year. Although, on second thought, maybe the cryptocurrency or asbestos camps are better bets…