By J.B. Salter

For The North Jefferson News



Editors note—the following article first appeared in the July 19, 1990 issue of The North Jefferson News.



Meals cooked in the outdoors always seem to be the most memorable when old friends or family members get together and talk about the past.

Sometimes just the way an outdoor meal is prepared makes it unforgettable, and more often than not, a certain ingredient or the lack thereof makes it a memorable outdoor dish.

In the day before throw-away plates and plastic forks and spoons, the problems of planning an outdoor meal were more complicated. When one meal was over, the task of preparing the next one wasn’t very far away. Anyone who was picky about what they ate had to lower their standards a little bit.

Many years ago, Chris Sorensen and I were camping near Big Bridge Fishing Camp. Chris’ son David informed his dad that he didn’t like scrambled eggs. Old Chris didn’t make a big fuss about it. He just informed David that all the eggs we had were already scrambled. The truth was that Chris couldn’t even break an egg open without it becoming scrambled.

My brother Joby and I always talked about the time when we were growing up.

When we sat down and started to reminisce about the good old days and all the great times we had in the outdoors, our most vivid memories were not what we bagged or how many fish we caught, but what he ate.

However, our most vivid memories of the hearty outdoor meals were not always centered around the good, but the bad that we ate also.

My father hosted many outdoor gatherings when we lived on the Lassiter Mountain. One year my dad made big plans for a Fourth of July barbecue. The big outdoor feast featured barbequed goat.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the meal and Joby probably enjoyed it more than anybody. That’s until he started looking for his pet goat.

Being a little older than him, I explained, the best I knew how, that every farm animal had a purpose.

After the outdoor meal, Joby learned quickly not to get overly attached to any of the farm animals.

In fact, several days after the barbeque one of our small dogs got under my dad’s feet and caused him to stumble.

“Joby if you don’t keep that dog out of the house, I’m going to kill him,” roared my dad.

Joby scampered up to the little hound dog, picked it up and placed him underneath his arm. Having to get the last word in, Joby said to my dad, as he walked to the door, “Go ahead, I like dog.”

One thing about Joby, whether he was at home or away, when it came to food he didn’t have any standards. Joby liked everything and come to think about it, he still does.

I have always tried to instill in my son, Johnny, that when you are going camping you must plan everything out for the trip to be as safe as well as enjoyable as possible. That precision planning included the meals.

One year before the turkey season opened, Johnny and I planned a camping trip to Oakmulgee Management Area near Tuscaloosa. We were going to scout the area for turkey.

We loaded all our food and gear into a camper and that hitched to the back of our Jeep. It was very convenient since all we had to do was drive to the area near our chosen hunting spot and un-hook the trailer, lock-up everything and drive off.

We didn’t plan to return until dark, so I loaded our lunch into a small backpack and off we went.

We couldn’t get the turkeys to cooperate, so about mid-morning we decided to climb out of the deep hollow and search for turkey signs on the ridges.

We walked back up the old logging road enjoying the cool breeze that gently moved through the pine tree tops, when we both realized that we were getting hungry.

After a short search, we found a giant whiteoak log that had weathered away over the years. The bark had rotted off and it made a perfect dinner table.

We sat down on the log facing each other and started setting the table. I opened the Spam, while Johnny sliced the tomato. I had even brought along salt and pepper.

To top it off, I reach my way into the bottom of the pack and withdrew a big yellow onion.

I had to swallow hard and fast to keep from slobbering all over the food. I was so proud of myself for planning such a perfect outdoor lunch in such a perfect surrounding.

Suddenly, I noticed that Johnny had a very strange look on his face. He just sat there looking at me.

I was almost afraid to ask what was wrong.

After a long pause, he asked, “Where’s the bread?”

In all my years as an outdoorsman, I had never felt so foolish. I had forgotten to pack the most important ingredient to any outdoor lunch—the bread.

Well you know what they say, man cannot live on bread alone, but is sure is hard to make a sandwich without it.