One morning, courtesy of Delta Airlines and five short hours, we left Atlanta’s early spring behind and touched down in the heart of a snow-drenched fairytale—the mighty Rocky Mountains. Salt Lake City greeted us like a scene from a snow globe: soft flakes dancing under streetlamps, evergreens dusted in frost, smoke curling from cottage chimneys, and the jagged silhouette of the mountains holding it all together like the spine of an epic novel.
A few days later, nearby Park City would turn into a full-blown cultural pilgrimage site. Since 1981, it’s hosted the holy grail of indie film—the Sundance Film Festival. But for now? The city was quiet. Peaceful. Only the ski resorts around Salt Lake were buzzing, and the legendary Sundance Resort—yes, the one owned by Robert Redford himself—was no exception.
We pulled into the resort’s famed restaurant for breakfast, barely snagging a parking spot. Built from Redford’s own vision, the place wrapped around us with crackling fireplace warmth and mountain views that made the eggs taste better. After plotting our week over pancakes, we decided to meander. Just wander the streets of a city smoothing its coat and straightening its tie for the coming global crowd.
Then—there it was. A sign that practically purred: Spicy Lady Saloon.
We looked at each other and grinned. “Hmm… In this neck of the woods, that name’s either a bold stroke of genius or the start of a scandal.”
We stepped inside—and the story grabbed us immediately.
Behind the bar stood Jai, the saloon’s owner. Full of energy and stories that spilled faster than whiskey on a Saturday night. Born in Korea, adopted by a Danish family, raised and educated in Europe. After a stint in the army, Jai somehow skyrocketed from office security guard to stockbroker superstar in a matter of months.
Money came fast. So did the divorces. Eventually, the thrill turned flat, and Jai found himself asking The Big Question: What’s it all for?
Then—plot twist—he stumbled across an eBay listing. A small plot of land near Park City, Utah. Ten thousand dollars. Jai didn’t know a thing about Utah. But Park City? That rang a sweet little bell. On a whim (and a credit card), he bought it.
Months later, curiosity got the best of him. He flew out to see what he’d accidentally become the proud owner of—and fell hopelessly in love with the rugged beauty of the place. He stayed. At least, as he said, until the wind changes.
He built a home on that land. And then, came his next move: buying one of Utah’s oldest buildings. A building with a…colorful past. Once home to a saloon of spicy reputation, owned by a woman known far and wide as the Spicy Lady.
This woman—whoever she really was—had guts, grit, and just enough sin in her smile to open a saloon in the middle of Mormon country. She sold alcohol, coffee… and yes, women’s company. Cue the scandal. And business? It never dried up.
When the whispers turned nasty and the glares sharpened, the Spicy Lady didn’t back down. Oh no. She commissioned a nude portrait of herself and hung it front and center in the saloon. Yahooo! A high-society slap in the face, served with a wink and a snifter of brandy.
Her story fades into legend after that. What we do know is that the portrait still hangs on the wall—now modestly altered. She’s dressed these days, though not without flair. Let’s just say, the outfit could still raise a few eyebrows and possibly one monocle.
Naturally, Jai was hooked. He restored the saloon to its vintage glory. And Spicy Lady is thriving. Packed with curious visitors and loyal locals. The chef serves up comfort food with a nostalgic twang, and the Spicy Lady herself—framed on the wall—still smiles. Some say she even winks, especially if the viewer’s had a couple bourbons too many.
“And what about bad girls?” I asked, unable to help myself.
Jai looked at me slyly. “Who can tell these days who’s good and who’s bad? But a little spice? It does wonders—for food and for women.”
The Lady in the portrait gave us a look. And I swear—she nodded.
