It's funny what we look back on years after the vacations are over. I'm thinking about road trip food. Not the oodles and gobs of burgers and fries, and disappointing cafe food but our own food from home to curb costs and extend our healthy choices.
My idea of travel food was Italian chicken sandwiches on ciabatta rolls that we toted across Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming during our summer vacations. I'd boil up several chicken breasts, then pull apart the meat from the bones. Into a bowl, I would place chicken, jarred pesto sauce, sundried tomatoes, parmesan cheese, extra virgin olive oil and mix. Then in a large ziploc bag, would go the mixture, ready to be spread upon the ciabatta rolls. No additional condiments needed. No mayonnaise to worry about turning and poisoning us.
My husband's domain was gorp, otherwise known as trail mix. Wikipedia says that it was once known as "good old raisins and peanuts". That wouldn't fly for Tina and Rod. We like craisins, M&M's, and other legumes, and nuts with our granola.
Bagged, peeled carrots, sliced red, yellow, and/or orange peppers, and other various crudite´items were at the ready. Capri Sun bags and bottled water tucked away. Unhealthy treats as well. Cracker Jacks, Nutter Butters, Cheetos, and such made their way aboard the Subaru-abago.
We would find a scenic overlook or something of interest close to our route, pull over, break out the camp chairs, and feast. We've feasted high up in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, beside the still waters of Earthquake Lake, outside of Yellowstone National Park, holed up inside a screenhouse pop-up, surrounded by swarming mosquitos, inside Yellowstone National Park, beside a wheatfield in the Palouse region of eastern Washington.
Oh, I think about the pure joy of indulging my wanderlust as I lay here practically attached to my hospice bed. But I take flights of fancy carried by my imagination through a constant stream of audiobooks. What I miss is food prepared by my own hand. So does my husband. I run, jump, dance, walk, even fly in my dreams. So there's that. I miss eating good food.
My idea of travel food was Italian chicken sandwiches on ciabatta rolls that we toted across Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming during our summer vacations. I'd boil up several chicken breasts, then pull apart the meat from the bones. Into a bowl, I would place chicken, jarred pesto sauce, sundried tomatoes, parmesan cheese, extra virgin olive oil and mix. Then in a large ziploc bag, would go the mixture, ready to be spread upon the ciabatta rolls. No additional condiments needed. No mayonnaise to worry about turning and poisoning us.
My husband's domain was gorp, otherwise known as trail mix. Wikipedia says that it was once known as "good old raisins and peanuts". That wouldn't fly for Tina and Rod. We like craisins, M&M's, and other legumes, and nuts with our granola.
Bagged, peeled carrots, sliced red, yellow, and/or orange peppers, and other various crudite´items were at the ready. Capri Sun bags and bottled water tucked away. Unhealthy treats as well. Cracker Jacks, Nutter Butters, Cheetos, and such made their way aboard the Subaru-abago.
We would find a scenic overlook or something of interest close to our route, pull over, break out the camp chairs, and feast. We've feasted high up in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, beside the still waters of Earthquake Lake, outside of Yellowstone National Park, holed up inside a screenhouse pop-up, surrounded by swarming mosquitos, inside Yellowstone National Park, beside a wheatfield in the Palouse region of eastern Washington.
Oh, I think about the pure joy of indulging my wanderlust as I lay here practically attached to my hospice bed. But I take flights of fancy carried by my imagination through a constant stream of audiobooks. What I miss is food prepared by my own hand. So does my husband. I run, jump, dance, walk, even fly in my dreams. So there's that. I miss eating good food.
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