Yes, I went for the cheap pun. Deal with it.
This past weekend several friends and I spent three days canoeing down the Potomac River, and it was perfect. I'm not talking about the part of the Potomac near D.C., which is only slightly less disgusting than the Hudson. Instead, we drove hours northward and launched in Green Ridge State Park in the Maryland panhandle, floating lazily, occasionally rowing, consistently drinking, and tracing the boundary between Maryland and West Virginia.
Our flotilla was ten canoes strong, with twenty people and a dog. Frequently we stopped rowing, and linked two to eight canoes, drifting slowly, sharing Trader Joe's cheetoes, Heineken, Schlitz, summer sausage, and fresh fruit, while relishing the amazing weather and beautiful landscape rising up on either side of the river. Occasionally we joined in song, butchering and belting as we pleased. At one point as we glided along, one of our trusty companions read to us from Moby Dick.
The first night we docked at a campground shared with Adventure Scouts. I had not heard of these, but an inquiry revealed that they are like scouts, but more adventurous. Less rigid. A little less like Mussolini's brownshirts, maybe. (Yes, I hated scouts). Some of us camped down by the river, some of us up on the hillside above. The hillside had a wonderful vantage point over the river, but was very close to the port-a-john. We made ourselves feel better by referring to our exclusive little neighborhood as The Heights (of Port-de-Jean). The rest of our group slept down the hill in The Devil's Crappy Camping Spot, as I liked to call it.
Food duties were split among the various posses, and the first night produced excellent burritos. This was followed by a long campfire parley, wherein much bourbon and tequila was drunk, and wherein jokes were exchanged, many of which cannot be repeated in so wholesome a blog as this. We learned much about some of our travelers that evening.
The next morning there was a beautiful fog on the river. It was very peaceful.
Day two held more beautiful weather, frequent sips of Knob Creek bourbon, a tipped canoe (which, I promise, was unrelated to the Knob Creek), and another excellent campsite. Frisbee was thrown, someone broke out a box of wine (scoff not, ye pretentious quaffers), and while some gathered firewood, others sat around a picnic table playing Rummy or Egyptian Rat-Screw. Brad & posse prepared an excellent vegetarian curry, quickly devoured.
Many conversations were had around the fire. We learned about who of us had been arrested and what for. We learned about who of us hated Bruce Springsteen (not me, that's pretty much like hating freedom as far as I can tell. If you hate The Boss, you have basically let the terrorists win) (I'm half-kidding). We learned about who of us had been on secret missions in Afghanistan (not me) and who had somehow accidentally filled the trunk of a friend's car with gasoline (also not me). Good times!
Kitchen Monkey, not being 100% the party monkey he used to be, turned in around midnight, but there must have been some late goings-on, since this was the scene around the campfire the next morning:
Finally, we get around to talking about the crepes. This is, after all, supposed to be a food blog. KM has made crepes numerous times, but this was the first time while camping. KM's posse was essential to the cause, cutting fruits and mushrooms. The first batch didn't have enough flour in it, but the later ones turned out quite good. All the lads and lasses were appeased. May I just say that crepes, nutella, and fresh strawberries go together like Johnny Cash and June Carter. All in all, a phenomenal trip, with new friends made and much good food eaten.
Kitchen Monkey will try to post more often in the near future, but, sadly, it won't be a regular thing until after the bar exam on July 29-30. Then it's done. Finit.
Until soon . . .