for sale. Taken from the McCrea residents! Slightly used so only 2$ for both.
Sorry, couldn't resist.
Nah, I know DougD wasn’t here in the shop, or I’d have received a call from him, en route from New Hampshire to the Pennsylvania line, after he noticed he had just passed the Welcome to West Virginia sign.
Doug, I have not yet looked for the propane tanks under the blue ice packs in the camp cooler. Sorry, I can’t resist. . . . .
. . . . . On group trips one person or team would prepare a group dinner each night, and there was some vying to camp chef outdo. We were all salivating at the thick prime steaks Doug had promised he packed, enough for everyone.
Come dinnertime Doug couldn’t find the steaks. Nor could hungry we; considerable time was spent on a group search in every likely and increasingly unlikely place (Cooler?, Food bag?, Your dry bag? Tent? Inside the canoe somewhere? Inside your boots? WTF dude?
We did not find the steaks, which had grown to mythical Kobe beef deliciousness. There were accusations (“Come on your guys, this isn’t funny!”) and creeping paranoia (“I bet those backpackers that came through snatched them!”). Eventually some odds and ends hash meal was made, and more beers were cracked.
Until finally Doug, digging in the depths of his cooler, found the steaks still lightly frozen under a layer of form-fitting blue ice packs at the bottom of his cooler.
The denouement was Doug’s insistence that we feast on mid-night stakes prepared over the fire. More beers were consumed and unhelpful comments directed, but Doug was determined to show us just how tasty his prime cuts could be when flame broiled over the fire in such skilled hands.
Skilled, but clumsy; when the steaks were finally ready Doug piled them proudly on a plate, promptly stumbled and dropped them all in the sand. He may have actually stepped on a couple.
I never knew Kobe beef was so gritty.