CAMP COOKING
by Owen Blickensderfer
I took my family camping this summer. The first order of business after pitching our tents was to make supper before the sun went down. The only secret to camp cooking is the fact that everyone is so hungry after a day outdoors that they can eat a whole horse, raw. It is impossible to fail when it comes to camp cooking. My kids love it.
“You kids need to learn about camp cooking,” I told my offspring. “We are going to
cook over the campfire tonight.” The family spread out into the underbrush to gather firewood. I did not want to fork out four dollars to buy firewood from the campground management. Campers before us must have had the same idea because firewood was as scarce as rain last summer. It took half an hour to gather a large pile of small twigs. I lit a match to the tinder and glanced around at the other campers sitting in their lawn chairs beside their big, expensive pop-out portable houses. They all had propane stoves, ovens and refrigerators. I felt sorry for them because they do not know the joy of true camping. None of these people have had to use the skill of lighting a campfire with just one match
“Look at those poor folks sitting around with a drink in their hand and nothing to do all afternoon.” I said. “Tonight they will all watch movies on their portable DVD players. Every one of them should have stayed at home and watched movies in their living room. They have no idea what camping is all about.”
Our pile of sticks and twigs took no time at all to start burning. The wood was so dry that it probably did not need the little dribble of gas I put on. It would have been a little dribble if my son had not joggled my elbow. “This will be a fine cooking fire, kids,” I said. “When the flame burns down to embers we can throw the meat and potatoes on.” We had to step back a few paces because the heat of our little cooking fire was more intense than even I, an experienced Boy Scout was expecting. Small sticks and twigs burn faster than logs and branches. I am not saying the fire was all that big, but the flames were higher than my head one minute after I lit it. It just seemed big because I was standing on the picnic table at the time. Shucks, we had fires way bigger than that when I was in the Boy Scouts.
I heard the sound of a four-wheeler racing up the road. It was a red-faced camp manager. I thought he was driving dangerously, like he was responding to an emergency or showing off or something. Before screeching to a halt at our campsite he was already shouting something about burning the forest down and scaring all the other campers half to death. He was upset, I guess. Pity for the poor guy filled my heart. He had to cater all day to the posh owners of huge motor homes who know little or nothing about the great outdoors. He was probably the right man for the job. I doubt he had ever been a Boy Scout.
The red-faced man kept interrupting me when I tried to explain the intricate details of a good cooking fire. He was terribly rude. I gave up on trying to say anything. After years of experience with angry scout masters I learned that there are times when it is best to simply keep one’s mouth shut and nod your head vigorously when the other person stops talking. It works when my wife is upset with me too.
The fire diminished to a reasonable level just a few minutes after the red-faced man left on his four-wheeler. I had to make an executive decision that violated everything I know about camp cooking because the sun was going down and we were all very hungry. I placed the meat, potatoes and carrots wrapped in aluminum foil in the flames before the fire had died down to hot embers. “This is going to be the best meal you have ever had,” I told my kids. Everyone’s stomach was growling and I hoped the food would be done before the sun went down. I guess I should have waited half an hour to let the fire burn down more. I kept burning my hands when I turned the big wraps of aluminum foil. I wanted the meat to get done evenly on all sides. My six-foot stick I used to turn the food over was not long enough.
In ten minutes supper was ready. I knew it was ready because half the foil-wrapped packs split open, spilling the contents into the ashes. That is all right. Camp cooking has to include a little ash for flavor. Otherwise, it would not be camp cooking. You may as well stay at home and cook on a stove if you do not like to eat a little charcoal. Charcoal is good for you. If someone accidentally eats poison, they give you charcoal to eat at the hospital to absorb the poison in your stomach. I could have eaten a lot of poison before that supper and it would not have harmed me in the least. Our food was crunchy on the outside, raw on the inside and done to perfection between. Nobody went to their tent hungry that night. Camp cooking did its magic. I ate everyone’s food/charcoal and the kids found a big bag of potato chips in the car. My wife ate a box of leftover cookies.
The fire died down to embers after supper. Just right for cooking.
Authors’ note: Many of the stories featured in this column are included in "Owen’s Pretty
Good Book" which is about growing up in rural North Dakota, leaving to
have adventures and coming back to live and raise a family. They make
terrific presents. You can get copies by calling me at
701-824-2948. I offer volume discounts! They are also available at the
Herald office.
