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 5th 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.