I think I've learned that the best camp food is burnt food. If it can be burnt and STILL taste good, put that on your camping grocery list. Examples: hot dogs and marshmallows. Camp classics. Not together of course, unless it's your last day and you're itching to be rid of your food. I won't judge you.
I want to share with you one other terrific food which survives being burnt without lessening edibility: Costco brand frozen meatballs. These things were mightily handy: even burnt, the blackened edges gave the meatballs a crispy crunch, and saddled up for use as a shish-ka-bob, snuggled down in a tortilla for a lumpy taco (tasty with salsa) or rolled around our plates, freestyle, next to a salad. They're great. Add THEM to your camping list, too.
We ran out of propane Saturday morning which saddened me, because I watched to show off my handy dandy impressive "I don't drink Folger's Instant Coffee on a Campout" Coleman Coffee Maker. This thing is amazing and essential for a caffeine addict like myself. However, it relies on a working stove. True in the Adventure Guide spirit, we ladies decided not to go to the store for more propane (how silly!) and "live off the land". Our girls, Shooting Star Rose and Pink Rose went scrambling around for little sticks for kindling. My partner, Stargazer Lily, eyed our waning wood pile, and began weighing the value of a stump for my chair against wood for the fire. I lost my chair. Dang. Double dang because I had forgotten my foldable chair.
Shooting Star Rose had a grand time choosing sticks and flinging them like Amazon tribe darts at a variety of people: mostly me. Sigh. I wanted to become closer to my daughter, not be a moving target.
"Rebecca, don't throw sticks."
"I'm not."
"What was that then?"
"I don't know." In her five year old mind, reality is as bendable as a rubber band.
"I said, Stop it."
Silence.
"We need them for the fire, " I tried the smooth parent style. "Can you put them in a pile, please? A nice pile?" It seemed to work. She began changing her target from me to the woodpile. Then I blew it. "Thank you, sweetie. You're so helpful".
"NO!" She shouted. "No, I'm not!"
"Well, I thought you were. Maybe I am wrong." I didn't care anymore. Really. Who wants to argue with a five year old? Not me. "Pink Rose, " I turned to our camping companion, "Could you hand me that stick, please?"
"No, ME!" Shooting Star Rose moved toward Pink Rose, who deftly stepped to the side. Geez.
"Honey," I spoke to my darling, "You are so amazing." She stopped short. "Do you want to help Mommy clean up the tent?" In response, she flounced off toward the river. Pink Rose followed.
I had diverted disaster once again.
