To Eat or Not to Eat
… that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler to steal from a fellow survivor or suffer the slings and arrows of the dreaded munchies, or to take arms against a sea of zombies, and by opposing eat them: to die, to eat no more!
Sorry, I have pigs in a blanket on the mind, and for some reason it’s been making me think of Hamlet. Why pigs in a blanket? Well, sometimes you just have to eat and run; and being raised on fast food, eating and running (often at the same time) has been a key to my survival. Whether you call them snacks, appetizers or, my personal favorite, finger foods, quick meals can be essential.
I can’t tell you how long it took me to figure out how to roast an animal on a spit (or whatever I managed to find that somewhat resembled an animal; you’d be surprised how much a good charring can make you forget that you don’t actually know what it is you’re gnawing on). Apparently dry wood is not a good idea for a spit. Green wood doesn’t burn before the meat cooks. Dry wood drops your only pheasant in the ashes making you cry like a little girl who found out Santa wasn’t real (or found out Santa was a zombie who ate Rudolf and all the elves, and turned the Easter Bunny just for spite).
The problem with spits (besides that they’re called spits I mean; why don’t they just call it an ‘Anal Impaler’ and be done with it) is that the fire beneath tends to draw nosy undead passersby (I’ve heard them called ‘Walkers,’ but I must say, ‘Limpers,’ ‘Crawlers,’ or even ‘Flopping on the Grounders’ are more apt nicknames). And since having to make a fire in the wild is almost as annoying as a political discussion at a bar (between two guys who couldn’t find Washington DC on a map no less), having your fire attract the world’s most inefficient (but nonetheless effective) predator to eat your only kinda-looks-like-a-squirrel-ish meal because you were forced to flee would ruin anyone’s day.
So when I do hazard to make fire, I make it hot and fast (the exact opposite of zombie women), and I bury the smoldering embers. I wrap the food in leaves, clay, tin foil (I wish), or simply bury it with the embers and let it smolder. Since it’s buried, it works like an oven, and best of all, it’s smoke-free (are you happy now, California). But all this talk of slow cooking reminds me of the last time I laid out on the beach without sunscreen, and really has little to do with finger foods (unless we’re making jerky; I guess we’ll have to see about that one). So without further ado, Finger Foods (and here you thought I would make a joke about eating fingers).