Men have some weird ideas about food.
In most households, women buy and cook the meals. Perpetuated, maybe, by fuzzy memories of Mom serving dinner, by the time we kids grow up, it seems natural for the girls to be responsible for getting the victuals from the supermarket to the table. Like many women, I’ve often resented the implicit role, and I’m always happy to relinquish it and let my husband do the cooking.
Except on the trail.
Maybe it’s just that I’ve had some bad experiences with what men think is adequate trail food. But whenever I go backpacking, I insist on taking charge of meal planning. If there are other women going, I’ll happily abdicate to them. But I’ve learned never to let a man plan the backcountry menu.
I was a junior in college the first time I ever went backpacking, with my boyfriend. Since he was the experienced one, he planned everything, including the food. The first day’s lunch was peanut butter and crackers. So was dinner that night. And you can probably guess what we had for breakfast the next morning.
It’s the idea of simplicity in the wilderness, I think, that appeals to them. No planning, no cooking, no cleaning. Just a bagful of Powerbars, and they’re ready to head out into the woods. One of my climbing partners brings nothing but cold leftover pizza (pineapple and extra cheese) on the trail. Another guy I know hates cleaning dishes in the woods, so for a backcountry breakfast he eats instant oatmeal raw, straight from the packet.
Even if I could talk my stomach out of rebelling against the strange fare that men delight in bringing, I think I’d still end up hungry. They never seem to bring enough. There’s some sort of macho delight in eating sparingly, in hiking twenty miles on a handful of GORP and six grapes.
When you go hiking with women, you know you’ll be well fed. Maybe it’s the nesting instinct at work, the desire to provide for everyone. I went on a backcountry ski trip once with three other women. They brought enough food for three people -- each. I, the most experienced woodswoman, brought only enough for two. We spent the trip trying to talk each other into eating our food to lighten our own packs. But we ate well!
Recently, in the rec.backcountry newsgroup, one man jokingly suggested a “perfect backpacking food.” It’s cheap, calorically dense, and needs no cooking: Mazola corn oil.
If you’re a woman, you’re probably rolling your eyes and making gagging noises, just as I did. But I made the mistake of mentioning this “perfect food” while mountain biking with a bunch of male friends.
“Not bad,” said one, thoughtfully. “You could use it to help you get your fire going, too.”
“If you took it biking, you could lube your chain with it,” suggested another.
“You could put it in your CamelBak so you wouldn’t even need to stop to eat.” Everyone nodded.
Except for me. I was rolling my eyes and making gagging noises. And thinking that peanut butter and crackers are sounding better all the time.
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