The weather outside was I don’t know, but inside I was on the prairie in the middle of a hot day. I was hunting for rattlesnake eggs to place in my leather pouch with a river shell sewn on as a latch to keep it shut. I was ready to open it to trade at the post some imaginary coon skins for some moccasins and a paper weight with a scorpion inside of it.
It sounds like the day I fell in love with the Southwest but it’s the day I became a foodie. I was young and my imagination was vivid while we waited for our food to arrive at the table of Colorado restaurant The Fort.
Meats foreign to my experience graced the menu. Rabbit seemed cruel to eat, but I was assured it was tasty and that back in the day it was normal to consume. Buffalo was enticing, but too expensive for me to have—that would be for my grandmother and my mom. Rattlesnake seemed so very dangerous. It all seemed like such an adventure I was eager to get started on. So I opted for fried catfish and I’ve never found a version that tasted as delicious as it did that night.
That day I would put bull testicles in my mouth and enjoy it. I remember a spicy tingle. Obviously, I was never the same.
Here’s the rub. We’re going on this massive trip, and the foodie who wants to blog about local food experiences and craft brews, long story short, is broke as a joke. There’s no way around it. I won’t be eating out unless I have to, and by have to I mean that there is something within my price range that is simply too intriguing to forgo indulgence.
My mom and I, both on strict budgets for this venture, have taken it upon ourselves to can our food prior to taking off. The fanciest we’ll get save for a couple of restaurant experiences reserved for major stops in New Orleans, New York City and perhaps Montreal, is a truck stop microwave in the stead of our camp stove.
Truly, this is going to be a different kind of epic, foodwise. Today I cooked 32 ounces of taco meat and 120 ounces of “lo carb” chili. (Oh yea, did I mention I’m trying to stick to less than 22 grams of carbs during this entire trip? Tcheah. We’ll see.)
Alas, I digress, I have promised my mom she can blog about the food prep. She is supplying it and is the mastermind of how many ounces we will need to ensure we don’t end up on the side of the road begging for someone to buy us ramen, myself on the curb sobbing because the sodium and carbohydrates are going to ruin my new figure.
The point is to say that I feel like almost as much of a badass to be preparing for a 28-day roadtrip, eating mostly food I’ve made, as I would be if I were detailing that I ate some wild thing like alligator sashimi or boston baked bean ice cream.