Spinnings

Road Food

From an Old Folks Home DSQ on August 18, 2000:

When on a road trip: At what restaurant do you stop? Do you opt for fast food, and if so, which restaurant? Do you decide to try a national chain? Or do you take your chances with a local greasy spoon?

---

You know, I hear all this talk about "making time" and I think to myself that never ever in my life am I ever going to go on a family trip and "make time". I’m going to stop at every third rest stop, odd overpasses every 40 miles, and any restaurant that will strip mine my wallet.

One month from now, I’m going to embark on our bi-annual Flagstaff, AZ to Elk City, OK death-trip. This year, I will have two children, and one very frustrated wife joining me. It’s her family, so that’s not what’s frustrating her. Yep. Exactly. The two children in a car part.

And if Grinwing was driving, none of the food issues would matter anyway, what with pulling the trip in under 15 minutes, and that’s including the 5 minute cooldown period before you can exit the car without burning yourself on the exterior.

As it is, we’re going to stop at more restaurants than I can count. I won’t remember tasting any of the food, I’m sure. And in my mind, I will try to imagine what it would be like to do 850 miles in under 11 hours…and I will laugh a bitter little laugh. And as I jab a french fry or some other processed potato food in my mouth, I will think about whether the Hotel we stop at in New Mexico will be infested with fleas.

We will stop anywhere that the collective hunger dictates. It could be a disgusting Luv’s Truck Stop where we will mirthlessly consume heat-lamp burgers on flattened buns while staring at feathery, turqouisey, real-live southwestern faux-Indian tourist nick-nacks. Or it could be a Burger King, where there is no way that doing the drive-thru is an option because if my brood isn’t released from bondage every 20 minutes, the caterwauling would build up to critical resonance levels and I’d risk having splintered glass fall in my lap. And yes, I bring target shooting earplugs, so I don’t worry about my hearing. The health of my exposed sinuses is another matter.

At some point along the trip, I’ll get the bright idea to take us to a nice, national chain restaurant as a reward to my children for making my life a river of tears for the past seven hours. And we will go in, and as any national chain will do, crayons will be distributed to kids with motor skills and I’ll relax for a few minutes as the coloring begins. And I’ll order some sort of linguini and shrimp entrée. I am also out of my mind. Five minutes before the meal arrives, the table will be covered in salt, Equal®, and crayon peelings all mashed into a lumpy paste with a generous portion of Pepsi and Milk. When the plates arrive, the screaming and seat dancing will begin. Out of sheer panic, I will ask for styrofoam boxes, toss my debit card at somebody and sprint for the door. The wife and kids will be hungry and mad, and the car will smell like shrimp and garlic for the next week.

Ten miles later, we will stop for car-friendly finger foods at Wendy’s and I will masochistically order one of Dave’s chronically undercooked Chicken & Salmonella Sandwiches. I will think this time will be different. And I will also spend the rest of the night fouling up the hotel bathroom. The next morning, I will buy my first set of Adult Undergarments and continue the journey.

Much later on the second day, we will probably stumble into a greasy spoon somewhere in Shamrock Texas. Choking down a crisco coated ingot of Chicken Fried Steak will be the best meal experience of the whole ordeal, seeing’s how nobody cares what sabatoge my kids do to the table & furniture because it all looks that way to begin with.

It all starts over on the way back. I will be on a ventilator by then, and driving with my knees. But it only happens every two years right?

Posted by Jeremy at November 20, 2003 12:00 AM