Conquering Vertigo

Camping Cookbook, Vol. 1

As with any great chef -- Escoffier, Pépin, Boyardee -- my husband has never met an ingredient he couldn't use. Tell him a pigeon pooped on the car and he replies, "Ah, the French have such a classic way of preparing squab."

This isn't revenge; this is a mind wide open to innovative, seasonal and contextually appropriate ingredients.

Recipes are constantly cooking in Richard's brain. Any other activity or conversation is merely an onion skin facade, behind which simmers some new sauce.

Left-overs are a particularly rich source of inspiration for him. He loves to rummage around and make never-again-to-be-recreated dishes out of random yet still fresh bits and pieces. Meals stay with him mentally, and often he'll call to say, "You know those roasted beets we didn't finish last night...?"

Richard is also an enthusiastic outdoorsman. Show him a mountain and he climbs it. Give him a river, and he fords it. Lead him to Bambi, and he grills it.

Sunday, all of this collided in a sleepy, late night conversation about meals he could prepare for a several-day hiking and rafting trip.

To set the scene:

Our friend L. had been over for dinner. We all enjoy tapas, so there were a variety of small dishes and courses, including make-your-own Pita Pizzas with ingredients such as tomatos, mushrooms, onions, cheese, zucchini and eggplant.

L is a local pastor in the process of resigning from his church to explore a more monastic life. He is going to live at a campground owned by a Christian group south of San Francisco, and begin to develop wilderness programs for church groups.

I used to lead hiking, kayaking, camping, etc., trips for youth and church groups; Richard is an experienced expedition cook and an all-round good camper; and so the three of us spent a few minutes brainstorming about potential trips.

Conversation then turned to other things, L went home, we cleaned up, and went upstairs.

The San Francisco area has been having wintry weather this March -- snow, ice, freezing conditions. Right before L came over, a hail storm swept over our house, and frost formed on the windows.

So, it's cold and windy outside. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore is a clear and comforting lullaby. We're warm and sleepy. I in fact am much more asleep than awake, and while Richard is talking softly and slowly about possible hiking trips, I'm slipping away into the arms of Morpheus.

Then Richard says two words that bring me into sudden wakefulness:

"Eggplant roll-ups."

"What?" I ask.

"When you bring the kids down river," he said, clearly having been ruminating on the remains of the meal, "I'll be waiting at a pre-arranged spot with dinner for them. We could start with eggplant roll-ups. Sliced thin-thin, spiced and filled with..."

My silent shaking turned to helpless, unrestrained laughter, and after a moment, he joined me.

Eggplant roll-ups on a youth group river trip.
It's "Deliverance" meets the Galloping Gourmet.

I'll never know what was to be rolled-up in those thin, thin slices of eggplant.
Richard won't talk to me about them any more.
But it was one of the best and longest laughs we've ever had.

Ready to go camping with us?

posted by Woman In Love @ 10:13 PM