Camp Cooking: Brinkman Eggs and Toast

I bought one of those camp toaster things when a few years ago; you know, the metal disk that goes over the cook flame, with wires that hold the pieces of bread at an angle? You’re supposed to put the flame on high to get the thing hot, then turn the flame down, place the bread on it and magically gauge the exact moment when the bread transitions from not toasted one bit, to burnt black in one small section. Turn over and repeat.

It sucked.

No matter how hard I tried – shield the thing from wind, rotate before flipping, pray to the ToastMaster…it still produced a fairly unsatisfactory piece of toast. No type of bread, from high brow to low bran seemed to have an impact.

I gave up after a few tries, though that didn’t stop me from buying a second toaster when Delta Airlines once lost my luggage with ALL my camp cooking gear and clothing inside(never, ever to be seen again, though they did reimburse fully without pause).

Besides – who needs toast, when there’s delicious oatmeal recipes to try (wait until you get the apples and maple recipe… I promise to put it down before autumn kicks in), and crunchy peanut butter and honey, etc. on a bagel. Or even French toast – which isn’t toast as I ever knew it.

But sometimes a person just wants simple eggs and toast, and though you can’t beat the Main Street Bistro in New Paltz for their special (2 eggs, toast AND potatoes for like $1.95), if you are like me, and don’t have a car to get into town, that breakfast is as unattainable as the halfway decent toast I was seeking in the first place.

Until now, that is.

I don’t travel light; that’s always been a problem of mine and even now, I still carry enough crap for a weekend upstate that I get at least a few comments each trip (“Is that ALL you have?” Or “Running away from home?” YES, dammit. To both those questions.) Usually I am up there for Friday night’s dinner, and leave on Sunday afternoon. And I have Teddy of course. So, I pack a lot of crap.

Usually, I bring a loaf of bread, to have with pasta one night and a sandwich on Sundays, when I do trail work and have to share a sandwich with Ted in order to keep him from cajoling others out of theirs. Even so, that loaf barely gets cracked, and back to the city it comes.

A few weeks ago, I was looking at that bread and thinking “I have got to find a way to use more of these loaves when I am up here.” Looking around, I accept the fact – Camp Slime is not Hidden Valley Campground at JTree, where there are dirtbags chirping at various nesting sites in the vicinity. Slime, even for it’s rustic (read: complete) shabbiness, is rarely host to anyone who might be hungry. Offering leftovers or unused goods at a stay’s close will bring looks of suspicion rather than intense gratitude. So, sharing wasn’t an option.

It was at that moment that it occurred to me I could toast the bread in a buttered pan. Now, having only one fry pan, I quickly understood I faced a dilemma. For toast is not really a stand-alone food; toast likes to partner up, usually with eggs. I could have done the poached eggs, in my small pot, I thought. Of course, that’s still always an option. But as anyone who cooks outside knows – everything needs to be cooked and ready to eat at the same time, unless cold food doesn’t bother you. I know – some people aren’t bothered; I am. Poached eggs are tough enough to time properly (in MY opinion), but to have decently made toast at the same time? I don’t know how I could expect that.

And out of that distaste for flawed food, Brinkman Eggs and Toast was born. I know I’ve kept you waiting for the recipe(instructions, really) long enough, but I think you can wait a bit more, as I should say it’s called “Brinkman” Eggs and Toast because my tabletop stove(2-burner, I told you I don’t travel light) is that brand. It’s a Coleman knockoff, but stainless steel. Classy.

So – here’s what you do.

First – use good bread. If you’re going to be taking my advice, take it properly or don’t blame me if you’re not duly impressed with your attempt. Grocery store pre-sliced bread-like food is not really bread as I understand it. To me, good bread is chewy and dense in the center, and the crust is NOT crunchy. I didn’t like scraping the roof of my mouth on Cap’n Crunch as a kid, and I don’t like bread crusts that remind me of the trauma as an adult.

Bread can be simple, or abundant with bran, seeds, olives, fruit and/or nuts. Your choice, but BE&T (Brinkman Eggs and Toast) was conceived with a more humble white bread. That’s not to say crappy (as in …well, we already discussed that in the above paragraph.

One issue that will arise is the fact that camp fry pans are small. Seven inches diameter, unless you’re car camping with the kitchen sink. I may travel heavy, but the cast iron 12-inch pan stays at home. So – choose bread that is not too highly domed. That leaves out round loaves, although I suppose you could simply cut one slice off and then halve it for your two pieces of toast(for toast also comes in sets; am I wrong?).

Alright….the other important thing is to get all your stuff ready before you turn on the stove. Pepper, salt (not needed, since using more butter than a French pastry for this recipe), eggs, plate, turning utensil, butter. Of course, you should slice the bread you’ll use before beginning too.

It should also be mentioned that these instructions are for one plus a small share for a dog. Or one person alone if you don’t have a dog like Teddy, who has become accustomed to sharing meals. Couples and groups – I’m sorry. You’ll have to figure it out for yourselves. It shouldn’t be too difficult. If I had a man (hint, hint), I would simply make one set and share it, and then make another one and share that one too. With buddies and groups, similar concept, only you’ll be sharing the pan, instead of the food. First one in line gets the first meal.

So – FINALLY – Here’s what you do.

Get all the stuff ready and set up your stove. Put a good sized pat of butter in the pan and melt it at a low heat. Oh, yes. I cook as heavily as I travel. If you don’t use old-style basic foodstuffs, you’ll be disgusted by my cooking. Or will have to adapt with ingredients you prefer.

So….the butter has melted. Be careful with the heat. Burned butter is gross.

Set the two pieces of bread in the pan and heat till the bottom is warmed through (you’d guess) but not fully browned. While this is happening, thinly slice some more bits of butter, and place them on top of the bread. You’ll flip the bread, when ready, and the softened butter will work better than having a dry pan.

Flip the bread when you feel like it, and try to get them placed toward the outer edge of the pan, with a ditch in the center. Crack two eggs and put them in that ditch. Depending on your bread choice, you may not have much of a ditch. That’s okay. Just put the damned eggs in the pan. We’re not having a beauty pageant.

Time for the pepper. I like a lot of pepper. And I like good pepper, too. Don’t use Roundy’s Crappy Cracked Pepper and think that’s pepper. Good pepper is….well, you know. Better.

If it’s cold out, cover the pan loosely. Or, if you are in a hurry, or wishing to conserve gas, do the same. Hell – cover the pan. Dinosaurs died for that fuel and there aren’t any more waiting to make the sacrifice. Your loathsome leader might have you believe we have good young men and women doing just that (dying so we can have gas), and maybe you hold that stance too. But, waste is waste. Cover the pan and save the fuel.

Now…. The eggs are beginning to set. It’s time for the flip.

Keep in mind that you’ll be toasting the other side of the bread now, and don’t overcook the eggs, if you like them less than over hard.

Take out a spatula (yes…you NEED a spatula. Well, maybe not. You could probably stab one side of the thing with a fork, pick it all up in one piece and turn it just fine). Yes – everything will be “melted” together. That’s the charm of the thing.

Now, continue to cook the other side…..

Time to eat! Get your plate ready, grab that fork or spatula and turn the entire thing out onto the plate. Now…you’re going to make a sandwich-y sort of maneuver. Remember, the eggs are stuck to the bread. Don’t try to separate them fully, or you’ll end up frustrated. Just get the most of each egg away and place them on one of the piece of bread (well, now it’s actually toast). Then, turn the other piece of toast on top, eggs layered inside.

I eat mine with a knife and fork, because the bread will have butter and eggs all over it. But you can eat it with your hands if that is what you want to do.

This is actually more like a grilled cheese sort of toast as opposed to an in-the-toaster sort of toast. But – the great thing is that it will ALL be one temperature. Nice and warm. And you won’t be buttering cold toast, while you’re eggs get cold in the interim. Unless you didn’t eat it right away.

Anyway –that’s Brinkman Eggs and Toast. The photo's the meal on my stove, just after the eggs were set in the pan.

Elvis Arm?

A few weeks ago, I was following someone on CCK(Cascading Crystal Kaleidoscope at the Gunks). It was my first time on the line, and though I’d heard it was as spectacular and real as that chick’s breasts on “Seinfeld,” I knew little else about the route other than to expect exposure. At the Gunks, that’s like saying to look for sunny skies in Florida; to expect the expected.

Climbing onsite, whether on lead, following or on a toprope, is my preferred style. I’ve found that, while I like repeating routes well enough, the fun is definitely in the unknown. I’ve also found that, on lines I hope to lead in the not distant future, to know what’s coming sometimes makes me afraid to get on the sharp end! Going in blind puts me on a higher state of alertness that makes dealing with events as I confront them seem more manageable.

But, I lead 5.5, and CCK on lead for me is not going to be happening this year or even probably in the next season or two. My partner that day leads 7’s 8’s and 9’s, which is a good challenging range for me to second. And so, when he asked what I’d like to get on, I suggested the route.

It was a hot, sunny day, and we were behind a party of three. Waiting at the hanging belay before the meat course of the meal, I found myself… a little nervous about the opening moves. Obviously, I don’t want to give away the goods, but suffice to say that…some things I’d have no problem with at ground level suddenly seem rather severe a hundred or so feet up in the air on the face of a near-vert cliff. One could consider that sequence an hors d’oeuvre for the main course at the crux, I suppose.

Giving myself just enough time to build up an appetite for fear, I took the plunge(or rather…I didn’t!), and the feeling of success was exhilarating.

Still, the climbing ahead was what had given the route its reputation as a classic line, and though I am able to block observing sequence information as I belay my partner (it’s actually very easy, if you focus on giving your best belay), I couldn’t help but get the feeling that the operation was a delicate procedure.

Again, I don’t want to detail anything, in case you haven’t been on the route. I will say that I wasn’t completely sure I could grasp the matter at hand and stay on my feet (I wear size six street shoes, and I like footholds that fit!), and the path of trajectory should I slip would be…unfortunate.

Alas, as in all things climbing, the best way through is usually up. And that is where I began to head. Timidly. Very, very timidly. Even my sense of humor was tainted, as I came up with old standby nervous energy chatter. I pride myself in a quick wit, but what came out of my mouth was “I don’t think I like this route! Whose idea was it to climb this thing anyway?” Who hasn’t heard THAT one a million times already….

Compounding matters, there was another party coming up from below, on the direct version of the route(We had taken the original, traversing line). So, there I was, on thin moves facing a penji, with a partially innocent stranger coming into the line of fire. I couldn’t help but giggle(but just for a moment, and I kept it to myself) at the vision of swiping this guy off the face as I tarzan’ed past him. I’d definitely have making SOME sort of guttural scream, and who knows – maybe he’d have become tangled in my vine, I mean my line, and, clinging to me like Jane or Boy, went along for the ride. That was certainly more exciting that the imagery of a dull “thwack” and dead drop, which was more realistically what would have happened.

Scared for him as well as myself(ever the thoughtful one, I am) I told him I wasn’t sure I’d stick. This guy looked up at me with the calmest, just out enjoying a day, eyes I’ve ever seen on a leader. If Disney ever makes an animated climbing film, this would have been a “hakuna matata” moment. Even as he sacrificed himself to the moment, he was in complete control, and had no worries.

He patiently told me he’d wait if I preferred.

I did.

Between his encouragement, and my partner’s patient and attentive belay, I eventually committed to the sequences needed to get out of there. Again - I am not going to give beta, but if you are like me, this climb with have you swearing, crying, wishing for an exit stage left miracle, and generally trying to stay composed at least enough to avoid complete meltdown.

It was pretty ugly and embarrassing. But I know one ethic about climbing is that it’s cool no matter what happens, so long as you don’t fabricate the style you did it in. So let it be known – I stunk up the wall with noise pollution and a traffic jam.

Finally I made some moves and came to a gear placement that held a blue Camalot. I set my stance and pulled the trigger. Out the piece came, easily enough. A perfect extraction.

But then….THEN! Then I couldn’t believe what happened. As I adjusted my finger position to move toward clipping the piece to my harness, I noticed a most unusual sight…… My forearm was doing the rhumba! Or acting like a drunk on Red Bull trying to walk a cop’s commanded straight line. Wasn’t happening.

I seemed to be seeing double, I knew my arm was bent at the elbow, with the cam still trigger-pulled in my hand, but my hand and wrist were just….not…behaving. Mexican jumping bean, the tracers of a fire-dancer at a pagan festival. Use whatever imagery you prefer; the fact was – I was under the effect of Elvis Arm!

What a rip off! I have to tell you(and if you have ever climbed with me you already knew this). I always prided myself in having never experienced the sewing machine leg. Seen it a million time(well, maybe not that many) in others, but I’d never had so much as my foot tapping a rhythm. And I was good about adjusting my stance when I felt a little stiffness too. Hold my heel down, take a breath, make a body shift to reduce tension. Whatever was needed, I seemed to automatically render the adjustment and avoid yet another Elvis sighting from cliff bases across the country.

I just have to be different, I guess. Elvis leg is for….other people. I got the King’s Swing in my front legs, dammit.

And so it was. I was astounded by the betrayal and brought attention to the scoundrel arm immediately. As if it wasn’t a part of me…. I could have stayed there longer, in awe and shock. But of course, I had kept my partner waiting too long already, and the guy below probably would have liked to get on his way too. And so, I continued on the route.

I don’t recall right now if there was still more difficult(for me) climbing ahead. I believe there was. But forevermore, my memory of CCK will not be about the beautiful colors - twinkling quartz crystals glinting in the sun, as it was for the supposedly tripping first ascentionists. Nor a slow-mo recap of the delicate traverse to powerful pull through sequence. It will be the bad, truly campy, impersonation of the elvis leg phenomenon that my body performed that day.

FreeBird

Supposed to meet my partner at 8:30am in the Uberfall, and I was hurrying because I was late. Only by a few minutes, but I do like to be prompt. Besides, I had not had my morning constitutional yet, and that's something one doesn't want to leave til the last minute, which usually occurs at some point,finding ousrself deep in fear leading a wild pitch or slung into a hanging belay while our partner takes.....waaaaayyyyy to lonnnnngggg.

Scurrying toward the area, I don't see David anywhere. And I spy the UberPooper, as the outhouse at the Trapps in commonly called. There's no pack set on the ground out front, nor is there a line of people, so that means it's available. David seems like the sort to be on time too, and so I am pretty pleased to get this reprieve from his punctuality.

As I pass Ken's Crack, a popular classic route that is one of the few true crack lines at the Gunks, I notice a blue backpack along the trail.... Not thinking twice, since my eye's on the stall and I don't want to get sideswiped by someone in the short distance I need to travel, I ignore it.

Almost to the pooper, I become aware of some movement on the wall and look up to see a person climbing the route Boston(5.5). Realizing it's my partner, I look down to see who he's roped up with. Nobody! He's freesoling the route.

Now, I knew David was a punctual sort of person, but I never figured him to be a freesoloing type. I was a bit taken aback, since I'm such a chicken that I can get nervous on a Less Than v0 bouldering traverse if it goes more than four feet off the deck. It always surprises me when I realize someone else has a different mindset than I do.

Not wanting to disturb him, I try to sneak off to the side, while getting out my camera. The big question was...of course... Do I snap the shutter if he starts to come off? I KNOW! That's terrible. But...well....? Would YOU, or wouldn't you?

At any rate, David has seen me, and he shifts his stance to downclimb. He's just coming into the crux of the route, an offwidth chimney with a tricky exit, and I suppose it would be a good time to bail. If there was any hesitation on his part.

Still unsure what was up, I told him to continue, and not worry about keeping me waiting, which was his reason for starting down. After all, it was my lateness that gave him so time that needed filling in the first place! And so, up he went.

I did get some shots, and was pretty nervous as he hesitated at the crux. I guess perspective is a little bit sharper when your climbing style passes the realm of a clean lead into the purity of freesolo. At any rate, David took his time, assessing the moves needed and being sure he was solid as he made the sequence. Relief was palatable as he topped out.

.....

Funnily enough, that UpberPooper is featured in an other freesoloing experience I witnessed at the Gunks. It was probably two years ago, and I was climbing with Richard, known to many in the climbing community as DrKodos. We were headed to get on Apoplexy and I stopped to use the john. When I came out, Richard was nowhere around. Then, I spied his pack, a grey haulbag, resting along the trail at about the same spot as David's blue one in the story above. But...where was Rich?

I finally saw him; he was soling Ken's Crack, as two young women dilly-dallied over starting the route on a toprope.

That was my first time seeing someone climb completely free and it shocked me that he'd choose a stage such as this, in the overly popular Uberfall, on the most visible 5.7 in the Gunks, on a beautiful(crowded) Saturday afternoon.

But...that's Richard. All the world's a stage, and he's taking the lead role.

Watching his intentional movements scared the crap out of me, but he told me he'd done this line, in this style, literally hundreds of times. Even so - I couldn't help feeling a sense of outrageous fear, as I imagined myself up there.

Freesoling is not for me, I'm pretty sure. Although, I was watching some friends climb Three Pines(5.3) last weekend, and I sort of had an urge to go for it.(Boy, would they have been mad. I had turned teaming with them on the route!). I knew, beyond all doubt, that I could do that first pitch, up and down, with no problem.

And I have done some scrambling in Joshua Tree - a place where the line between third and fifth class climbing or highball bouldering is all a matter of personal perspective. But, I'd kept a read on each move's reversal, and backed off when I couldn't fully guarantee the next move upward.

I still have plenty of room to grow with my climbing experiences before freesoloing would be a viable way to take it to another level. Perhaps I'll never know what it's like to go fully free. But I do admit that I have some admiration for those who can. The most common arguments (selfish, dangerous) may make sense to some people, but I have witnessed enough of those same folks making selfish and/or dangerous decisions on high to question their authority on the topic. Dead is dead, whether it's a freebird who took a mistep and found their wings clipped, or a roped climber who fell on badly placed gear and one piece too many pulled.