I sobbed all the way to the Black Hills, as I sat in the back seat of a car between my friend and her grandmother.
|
The waterworks begin at the Jolly Green Giant statue in Le Sueur, MN |
As a recent graduate from Diamond Path elementary school, one of my best friends invited me on a road trip with her family to Livingston, Wyoming to stay with her Aunt’s family.
The presidents of Mount Rushmore observed with amusement as I pleaded with my parents to fly me home from an airport in South Dakota, and trudged through the visitor’s center. Of course, they said no.
|
“Suck it up” they say. |
My homesickness finally passed when we sat down to dinner at the Deadwood Gulch Resort restaurant and someone ordered shrimp.
When I was nine, I cracked open a piece of fish I ordered at Baker’s Square and was horrified by a blob of white goop that lay within. From that moment, I was literally nauseated by the mere thought of eating any kind of seafood. I remember wretching throughout the duration of a week-long family trip to Washington D.C. because I had bit into an eggroll and noticed the bottom half of a tiny shrimp.
|
Devil’s Tower, Wyoming |
As I sat in the Deadwood Gulch Resort restaurant, I curiously eyed the $2 plates of fried jumbo shrimp my friend’s dad ordered. He offered me a taste, and, for some reason I accepted. I savored the snap of the firm shrimp and its hot, crispy batter. My pent-up seafood phobia immediately disappeared.
From this meal forward, I paid close attention to what I ate and looked forward to each stop so I could try a new food. Yesterday, I cleaned out my childhood room and rediscovered trip photos I took with a Kodak “point and shoot” film camera, along with a journal noting memorable meals. All from the perspective of a 5
th grader who was accustomed to a diet of frozen, family-sized Stouffers meals, blue boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and chicken pot pie.
|
Stopping along the Beartooth Mountains pass |
Besides the revolutionary fried shrimp, I remember being pleasantly stunned at my first bite of chicken fried steak at the same Deadwood Gulch resort, enjoying Manhattan clam chowder on the sidewalk at a cafe in Red Lodge, and bravely ordering a glazed, bone-in pork chop accompanied by divinely creamy grits at a fancy restaurant in Big Timber.
In Livingston, I bumbled through my first fondue experience. I learned the art of oil fondue and delighted in spearing chunks of prawns with the girth of bratwursts. I also delighted in the unexpected heat that arose from consuming garlic bread sprinkled with cayenne. All this I vividly remember without the assistance of my journal.
|
Steaming hot spring at Yellowstone National Park |
I have an powerful food memory and can remember what I ate and when, dating back to elementary school. When my parents left us at home with babysitters, I immediately greeted them upon their return by asking “What did you eat” and “Was it good?” I still use this same greeting with everyone. Those who know me well beat me to the punch and share before I have the chance to drill them.
|
A colorful thermal pond at Yellowstone National Park |
I am grateful for this early road trip out West and for the consciousness it opened for me to savor food with purpose and curiosity. I look forward to continuing this narrative with you, through this blog.
A special thank you to the West family.
Related
Leave a Reply