And there’s no reason we can’t make a loaf of chocolate chip banana bread and bring it. Yes, par-baking potatoes is easy enough, and cornmeal waffles freeze fine. And sure, you could pre-marinate the meat to grill and bring it in Ziploc bags. And yeah, I suppose meatballs do hold up really well. Uhhhhh, what? I mean, okay, I guess you can just, like, make the pesto ahead and jar it. “It’ll be easier than lugging everything to cook it there.” “ I’ll just make it all ahead and bring it,” she said. As I was getting ready to pack up my pans and pots and cutlery and spice cabinet and mortar and pestle and dish towels and basically every condiment in my refrigerator, making maps of all the best local markets and grocery delivery services in the area, my friend stopped me. There is another way.Ī couple of weeks ago, after months of being stuck at home, my family decided to pod up with another family for a weeklong vacation in a Central California beach house - a bona fide rustic one, with a scraggly crew of adults and kids and dogs. But, as I recently discovered, I may have been wrong - or at least close-minded. ![]() I’ve likely designed the better part of my life around making sure I’ve had as many opportunities to do this as possible. Then, between the swimming hole plunges and front porch meditations, there’s a few hours of browsing local grocers, of pickling and prepping and marinating, and the dramatic tossing of everything in heaps on a searing hot wood grill in July’s 99 percent humidity. It’s built to look effortless, but - as we learn via the accompanying text - is in actuality achieved by packing up and schlepping the better part of your own home kitchen (the cast iron, the spices, for god’s sake the knives). This, we have been taught, is the modern vacation ideal. ![]() The centerfold star is always some fantastical rustic-but-not vacation house, its occupants eating a thrown-together-but-not feast off some massive weathered-wood slab draped with we-just-found-these-here vintage napkins and foggy coupes of chilled $47 rosé in the waning sunlight. ![]() Įvery year around May they start to arrive - the glossy food magazines with their lusty summer travel features. This post originally appeared in the Jedition of The Move, a place for Eater’s editors to reveal their recommendations and pro dining tips - sometimes thoughtful, sometimes weird, but always someone’s go-to move.
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