Really Bad Travel Meals

Almost daily, I flip through food and leisure magazines upon whose pages are sumptuously-lit photographs of perfectly-cooked food...."Here is the baccala we enjoyed at an out-of-the-way cafe in Venice as we watched the serene gondolas float by," or "Nobody does barbeque like the mountain folk of North Carolina and nobody enjoys better views" or even, "The simple salsa fresca, as made by the capable hands of the Senora with her local bounty, is elevated to pure manna in her sunny Mexican paradise."

Every meal is brilliant and every vacation is perfect for these writers.

Are they just unapologetic liars? Or...what am I doing wrong? I love food and I love to try new things when I travel, but I just don't seem to have their good luck. My travel meals, I am sorry to report, are generally not the transcendent experiences the magazine folks seem to have. Maybe I'm too picky. Maybe I'm not paid to write good reviews. Maybe, and most probably, I don't mind a misadventure or two so I hold on to the "bad" travel food memories because I find more than a little humor in them.

Some choice memories include the plate of "wets" (gravy-soaked french fries) I enjoyed at a Lower East Side diner in New York. They were delicious, but shortly thereafter sent me doubled over to a corner bodega where I was willing to pay any price for the last bottle of Pepto Bismol on the shelf. I ate an authentic Irish meal in a small-town family restaurant outside of Dublin that included a flaccid piece of poached fish surrounded by potatoes...3 whopping servings of them cooked 3 different ways. Although stupefied, I had the presence of mind to photograph this meal and have retained the snapshot to this day. I would gladly scan it in to share with you here if I only knew how to operate my slumbering esposo's scanner-contraption. In the days before the Starbuck's craze had gone global, I remember wandering the streets of London absolutely bitter that they were all in such a jolly-good hurry to get me a cup of tea while all I wanted was a decent cup of coffee, which was NOWHERE to be found. Sheer necessity forced me to warm up a "Hungry Man" frozen dinner on a wood stove in Hawaii, which I chased with a nearly non-potable glass of "Volcano Wine" (there is a reason our 50th state is not renowned for their fine vintages). Sheer necessity also forced me to eat half-cooked potatoes over a fire on a camping trip in the middle of nowhere. I will not burden you with the results, but dear reader, if you don't already know, please take warning that potatoes, like poultry, should only ever be eaten after being thoroughly cooked...in these instances, "rare" does not get it. I've had gritty lettuce in salads, plastic-y cheese on my "elegant" appetizer, partially frozen desserts they've tried to pawn off as freshly-baked, and on and on, all over creation.

I'm not angry, or complaining, I think I have retained these memories even more clearly than the really terrific meals because it is a little bit funny and it is a whole lot grounding. Really, who do I think I am? I am not a food critic. I am not a celebrity or political figure. I am not close, personal friends with a cadre of brilliant chefs worldwide. I am a regular gal who has been lucky enough to get out of town a time or two and even luckier to find sustenance to keep me going on to the next adventure. Some of that sustenance offered little more than a few kilocalories to keep me fueled until I could reach better offerings. I may appreciate finer food, but who do I think I am to ask for much more?

That being said, I hope I can gush to you, food-and-leisure-magazine-style, when I stumble on that perfect baccala in Venice, the quintessential barbeque in North Carolina, and the transcendent salsa fresca in Mexico.

In the meantime, do enjoy that bag of nuts at the corner gas station because it really may be the best thing in town!