A Cook in the Wild

H uman ingenuity was at its finest during my recent two-week road trip out West, as I learned how to feed five people using minimal cooking utensils and while having little access to running water. I’m well aware that people have been camping, roughing it, and cooking in said conditions since time immemorial. This cook, however, had only ever roasted s’mores over an open flame, so her culinary skills were about to undergo quite the trial.

By the end of our trip, my co-chef and I had become quite adept at using both the butane stove and the campfire. We were also pros at cooking and cleaning up in the dark (on the numerous occasions we arrived at our campsite after sundown). It took some time, however, to get in the groove.

Operation Western Adventure saw four intrepid travelers journey from Ohio to Denver in a day (our fifth member later met us in Las Vegas), then work our way through national and state parks all across the West. To save money, and for the fun of it, we camped the entire trip, looking up new sites each day as we worked our way from Colorado through Utah, Nevada, Arizona, California, Oregon, and finally to Idaho (which is, in fact, a real state). From a desert-and-sagebrush site right outside Vegas to a beachfront lot in California to an RV park in Vale, Ore., we had our fill of both sights and sites, and I now have opinions on what constitutes a positive outdoor cooking experience.

Our first meal was concocted in a quart-sized pot precariously held over a single butane flame — this was our backup stove that came in clutch when we bought the wrong-sized butane cans for the larger stove. We managed to make a strange ground meat and potato hash that night, all done on a tilted stone next to a stream. For flavor, we had a large can of Aldi seasoned salt, which would see us through the entire trip, and an onion that I diced rather awkwardly.

The precise reckoning of our cooking utensils is as follows: One very sharp chef’s knife, one large wooden spoon, one small wooden cutting board, two cast-iron skillets (one medium, one small), and one small metal pot with lid. We did have plates and utensils for each member of the party, but while I generally prefer the real deal, paper goods would’ve made cleanup significantly easier. As it was, we went through a large amount of paper towels, and foil became my new best friend.

Breakfasts consisted mainly of a dozen eggs (and a few shells) with chunks of cheese stirred in, sometimes sausage, and the occasional pound of bacon. Yogurt was a popular option near the end of the trip as well, and more than once I simply ate granola bars for a meal. Lunches, which were eaten on the road or at the peaks of various mountains, were the ever-simple PB&J, Goldfish crackers, trail mix, and fruit snacks.

My co-chef (a delightful young woman and newly graduated doctor) and I managed to come up with quite the variety for dinners, and our efforts were rewarded with much praise from the male members of the group. Most anything tastes delicious when you’ve climbed the rocky equivalent of 178 stories, but our chicken fajitas were truly appetizing, as were the Sloppy Joe sandwiches, chicken alfredo, kielbasa and hash browns, and chicken quesadillas.

Raw ground meat and pork sausage, while still handled with care, didn’t worry me quite as much as raw chicken. And given that our cleanup standards were only as good as paper towels, bottled water, and some dish soap could make them, there were food shortcuts I was quite happy to take. Canned chicken, for one, went into our alfredo, along with sauce from a jar. And rotisserie chicken was essential for fajitas and quesadillas. Also, if you’ve never tried to eyeball the right rice-to-water ratio, it does give one a little thrill. Will the rice be crispy, soggy, or just right? Wait 15 minutes to find out!

Over the course of our trip, we ate out only twice, because it was scientifically necessary to compare California’s In-N-Out with Oregon’s Burgerville. In-N-Out won, though I prefer Burgerville’s fries by a mile. Where In-N-Out also shines is in its wonderfully simple menu, and, at least at the location we patronized, tidy facilities and excellent service. Burgerville also excelled in these areas, but I preferred the in-person ordering experience of In-N-Out rather than the kiosks that are now taking over the rest of the fast-food industry.

Shockingly, during this two-week outdoor culinary adventure, we ladies managed to not burn a single food item. I came close with one quesadilla, and we did serve some slightly frozen broccoli a few times, but our track record was nigh on perfect. Yes, there were plenty of accidents, from the bag of hash browns that scattered itself far and wide across one campsite to me puncturing a large plastic water jug with the chef’s knife. We had plenty of marshmallow casualties as well, but that is to be expected. And even though we were in bear territory for much of the trip, the only animal to steal our supplies was an enterprising racoon, who made off with a package of graham crackers. The blame for this breach, however, I lay completely at the men’s door, since we women had cleaned up and headed to bed, and they had forgotten to close the bear-proof food safe.

The most popular night, by far, was when we served walking tacos.

Well, they were a very general sort of taco. We played fast and loose with our definition of dishes, but this was close enough. One of the tires on the Ameri-car, our nickname for the sturdy Nissan Murano that transported us across hill and dale, had seen better days, and you can drive only so far on a donut, so while that was being remedied, our driver (titled the Creative Genius behind Operation Western Adventure) was also tasked with buying the supplies for dinner.

This is how we ended up with three pounds of beef, a large block of cheese, salsa, and two bags of Doritos. The rest of us, having hiked close to ten miles through redwoods at Murrelet State Wilderness, were indeed ready for anything, and once the meat had been cooked and liberally sprinkled with seasoned salt, the only sound was five contented travelers crunching their way through multiple helpings. Never have I so enjoyed a Dorito, which normally I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

The takeaway? Almost everything tastes better when cooked over the open flame, especially when you’ve hiked through 25 switchbacks. But more important, anything will taste wonderful when you’re eating it with dear friends in the wilds of the glorious American West.