A spice called hunger

Ever since Brett, Zander and I enjoyed some lean-to burritos last weekend, I've been thinking about one of my favorite proverbs: "Hunger is is the best spice."

I'd forgotten to pack the cumin to spice the meat, and our burritos were without beans, lettuce, or tomatoes (though we did have plenty of Cholula). But, the food was twinged with the scent of pine needles that were still stuck in our hair and clung to our clothes, giving our pan-Mexican dinner an exciting olfactory twist. I couldn't get enough -- especially after a day of traipsing around the mountains, and falling in and out of Spruce traps.

Today, I got home from riding the Derby and two training crits at about 3 p.m. The efforts were hard, and took a toll. I was pretty close to bonk stage by the time I rolled back to the triangle. In my house I didn't have enough food for lunch, but the stale carrot cake cupcake I found hiding in the back of my refrigerator was delicious. It was sweet and still held moist carrot shreds. It was, so good -- although, under different circumstances, or to a different, less hungry person it might have been inedible.

Hours later, after I'd slayed an Italian sub from Armetta's, showered, had a little snooze on the couch, took care of some household chores, and settled back onto the couch, I started thinking again about the power of hunger to imbue flavor into otherwise distasteful food. Doubtless, I've had a few really wonderful meals over the years. Some prepared in my own kitchen, or in that of friends or relatives. Some were served at restaurants. But most of those meals fade after a time. In fact, looking back, there are very few meals that I remember.

Here's one that stands out: On a long day in the Wind River Range in June or July of 2002, myself and other students on my NOLS course were traversing rocky terrain interspersed with glaciers and snowfields high in the mountains. After walking all morning under heavy packs we reached a saddle that marked the top of a pass by which we would cross the continental divide. Approaching from the west, we'd walked up moderate grade on a rocky slope. Upon reaching the top, though, we found a steep snowfield dropping away below us to where we were planning to camp that night.

After roping up, donning crampons and settling our ice axes comfortably into a ready position (at your side, adze forward with fingers cradling the pick and shaft), we began down the slope. It was tough going. Progress was slow, and roped up as we were, there were no easy opportunities to stop for a snack or drink. Someone fell and wasn't able arrest their slide before the rope tethering them to other climbers drew tight, stopping them with a jerk that reminded us all how dangerous that kind of terrain can be.

Eventually, we were back down on level ground where about all I could think of was dinner after a long day afoot. Soon, my cook group unpacked our food bags and surveyed our options. It was getting close to a resupply midway through the month-long trip and our stores were lean. It was decided that we'd prepare a bag of dried TVP. For anyone keeping score, that's textured vegetable protein. Sitting around eating dinner, I remember being amazed at how much the brown mush looked, smelled and tasted like chili. Like, the meat kind that I'd make at home, with fresh chillis and onion, and with cayenne pepper. It was so good, maybe the best I'd ever had. And, in that moment, my friends and I were all completely content.

And, as you know if you've tried to get me to eat vegetable protein of any kind in the past 10 years, it was a meal that I know I'll never be able to recreate without the perfect amount of that spice called hunger.