Altitude Cooking: How Moving to Colorado Changed My Kitchen (and My Pasta)
From New York to Colorado; Why Does My Pasta Take a Lifetime to Cook
Altitude Cooking: How Moving to Colorado Changed My Kitchen (and My Pasta)
When we moved from New York to Colorado, I expected some big changes. The mountains, the weather, the need for way more chapstick. 💄 What I didn’t expect was a full-blown kitchen betrayal. Suddenly, my pasta was staging a protest, my baked goods were collapsing like failed science experiments, and my perfectly seared meats felt… off.
At first, I chalked it up to figuring out the new stove in our place. Maybe it’s just me, but I swear every stove has its own quirks and personality type. Some run extra hot, some take ages to preheat, and some have mysterious cold spots that make you question reality. I was convinced I just had to learn the new rhythm of our kitchen. But weeks passed, and things still felt off.
Then one night, while cooking up some ground bison, I casually mentioned to my best friend on FaceTime that everything just felt different in the kitchen. She immediately hit me with, “Oh yeah, it’s the altitude.” Cue my jaw dropping. Apparently, while I’d been blissfully unaware, high-altitude cooking was out here ruining my tried-and-true recipes. Maybe I’d been living under a rock, but this was news to me.
Altitude Changes Everything - Even Your Cooking Confidence
Here’s the deal. Remember this: The higher the altitude, the lower the air pressure. This means water boils at a lower temperature, which sounds like no big deal until you’re standing over a pot of pasta that refuses to cook. At sea level, water boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit, but up here in Colorado, it boils at a lower temperature, which means food takes longer to cook.
Baking is another beast entirely. Less air pressure means baked goods rise too quickly and then deflate like a sad birthday balloon before they’re fully set. My first homemade loaf of bread here was a tragic, doughy pancake.
The more I learn about altitude cooking, the more it feels like a whole science in itself, and honestly, I kind of love that. To be completely honest, it makes me want to deep dive into everything - from how alpinists cook in extreme conditions to how campers adjust their meals in the backcountry. If people can make a decent meal at 10,000 feet while battling the elements, I should be able to figure out how to get my pasta to cook properly in my cozy kitchen (lol).
That Time I Blew My Friend’s Mind in Jackson Hole
Fast forward to a ski trip in Jackson Hole. After a long day on the slopes, we were starving and decided to cook a big meal together. We call it pasta night, but really, it gives the feel of a team dinner (remember those? 💖) - between hanging out, sharing our day on the slopes, and most of all, getting stuffed in a pasta coma. I mean, who doesn’t love that? Sometimes we even play a game afterward, though let’s be honest, there’s a 50-50 chance we’re all too full to move.
One night, one of our friends was making pasta and handling the meat, and after about twenty minutes, he was poking at the pot like it had personally offended him.
“This pasta is taking forever,” he grumbled.
I saw my moment. “It’s the altitude.”
He gave me the same blank stare I’d given my friend months ago. So naturally, I launched into my newly acquired knowledge. The boiling point of water, the baking struggles, the whole science of high-altitude cooking. I could see his mind doing cartwheels as he began to realize everything he thought he knew about cooking was now irrelevant in the mountains.
Plot twist? The same best friend who had shared this knowledge with me months earlier was on this exact trip when I got to pass the wisdom along. Isn’t that such a circle moment?! We cracked up when we realized that I’d learned it from her, only to turn around and sound like the altitude expert in front of our friends. Honestly, if I ever write a book on mountain life, she deserves a whole chapter.
We all had a good laugh, dinner took a little longer, but we walked away with full stomachs, and my friend walked away with a new respect for physics.
My Survival Guide for Cooking at High Altitude 🏔️
Now that I’m no longer in the dark, I’ve made some key adjustments that have saved me from many future kitchen meltdowns.
Boiling water requires patience. Pasta, rice, and beans take longer, and there’s no way around it.
Baking needs a makeover. More liquid and less leavening keep things from rising too fast and then crashing down.
Meat requires precision. I stopped trusting my instincts and started trusting my thermometer.
Accept the quirks. Between the altitude and my stove’s very specific personality traits, I’ve learned to adjust and embrace the chaos of cooking at elevation.
Moving to Colorado has been full of surprises, but I never expected my kitchen to be part of the adventure. At least now, when friends visit, I can save them from their own pasta-induced frustration and impress them with my hard-earned altitude cooking expertise. 🕵🏼♀️
Have you ever had to adjust your cooking because of altitude, or were you blissfully unaware like me? Let’s chat in the comments!
Love and Light,
Jess 🍝
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