On the Road Again—Road Food Memories
Motorcyclists know the sublime pleasures of riding across this country on what William Heat Moon termed the “blue highways” of America, meandering off the interstates into small towns, enjoying rest stops to fuel the body, see the sights, and check out local cuisine. For bikers like me, road trips are a low-road foodie tour.
This is definitely not the food prepared on Top Chef TV shows or written about by bloggers on the gourmet circuit. This is “road food” and it comes in some familiar forms.
Ice-cold, raspberry-flavored tea in a sweaty bottle, inch-thick wedges of real ice cream crushed between two giant chocolate chip cookies, and, of course, chips—flat, ridged, crispy, ranch-style or spicy salsa, or, for the purists—“original” with the taste of potatoes and grease that melts in your mouth, coats your fingers with salt, and makes you poke one finger into the corners of the bag for just a crumb more!
Remember Twinkies? That spongecake, cream-filled delight of younger days? Remember how the first bite into that delicious, sweet, preservative-laden center made you want to wolf the whole thing down and reach for the next?
There is something about being on the road with the sun and the wind in your face or on your shoulders, or fighting your way through adverse weather, that heightens the enjoyment of food and somehow gives permission to indulge in goodies you would never eat otherwise. Food most of us have given up. Comfort food. There’s a sense of having “earned” extra calories to keep your strength up for the highway ahead. I can’t recall ever seeing anyone I rode with eat a salad or sip a simple cup of soup with half a cucumber sandwich. Seldom, if ever, have I heard, “Does that chili have animal products in it?” Or, “I’ll take the tofu burger, hold the mayo!” Sushi or mixed field greens are not on the menus—unless collard greens cooked in bacon grease count!
Bikers look for casual places, the types of bars and diners where a trucker might stop for chow, where you can park in front and keep an eye on your ride out the window. A lot of eating between meals is done at convenience stores when we gas up. Inside, we visit the restroom, stroll the aisles, and choose our poison: sodas full of fizz, sugar, and chemicals—the first icy big gulp exploding in the throat and washing away the highway dust; the aforementioned chips, ice cream, or Twinkies; gooey, snowball-shaped, hot-pink cupcakes covered with coconut; candy bars and nuts. Everyone has their favorite, their special weakness. No one ever asks “Hey, Lefty, how many grams of fat do you think this double-size Mounds bar has in it?” We slurp, chomp, guzzle—and go. Total elapsed time: 15–20 minutes. We are on the road again.
But temporary refueling of body and machine at convenience stores is only a very small part of the road-food story. Bikers are road gourmets, the funkier the diner, the more we like it. We have a nostalgic streak in us that often glorifies the fifties-style Highway 66 diner. We prefer a Mom and Pop family-run cafe to a chain—but will not turn up our noses at a fast food restaurant when the need to feed is upon us. From the proverbial sea to shining sea, we indulge in the foods of our childhoods, the food Mom might have cooked, nourishment before the health industry and the media conglomerates drove us mad with anxiety about every morsel we put in our mouths. Do these sound familiar?
Mounds of whipped potatoes with a lake of gravy ladled into their center, perched right next to a thick slab of ketchup-covered meat loaf.
Golden-topped homemade buttermilk biscuits the size of a creme brulee for four, smothered in white gravy and chunky with bits of pork sausage. We are not talking white sauce here; we are talking gravy made with the drippings left over from frying up a batch of sweet and spicy sausage patties or links. Brown a little flour with the drippings, slowly add whole milk and watch the grease, milk, and flour thicken into a breakfast fit for a pack of hard-riding, saddle-weary bikers.
And don’t forget chicken-fried steak, crisp and greasy on the outside, moist on the inside, reminiscent of many a pay day childhood dinner.
White bread—remember Wonder Bread ?— pour any left-over gravy on a slice and sop it up!
Thick crockery bowls of chili and beans covered with chunks of cheddar cheese and diced white onions, hunks of cornbread on the side and real butter!
Have I made you hungry for the old days yet? This is just the opening salvo from my Road Rash Diaries. There is more to come. Road trips are an American tradition that never grows old—there’s still lots of open country out there and summer is a great time to explore it! I’d love to hear your own food memories from the road, whether you are a biker or not, so please add a comment below. # # #