A Week of Shorts: Roadside Lunch

I remember those days on road trips, those baloney sandwiches with mayonnaise, so much mayonnaise, and, if it was breakfast time, I remember my dad lighting the Coleman stove and opening a can of potatoes to dump in a cast iron frying pan before cracking five eggs, one for each of us, and using his pocket knife to cut chunks of cheese to add.

I remember the tablecloth with antique cars around the edge and the picnic table set with paper plates and forks from the silverware drawer at home. And how my dad would wipe out the frying pan with a wet cloth and then rinse the cloth out with water from a blue water jug with a white spigot.

We made all our meals this way, eating hash and beans and many whole cooked chickens in a jar, always with a tablecloth and a set table like the roadside was our dining room. I remember this and it was fine. We never thought any different. We envied no one.