Scene 3: How Does Smart Preparation Save Energy for the Next Road Ahead?
Seven years on the road.
Seven years of frosty mornings, mountain campsites, and Margaret’s cards arriving every month. The woven basket is so full now the lid barely closes.
Suzy lifts the lid and runs her fingers along the rows of cards. “Our archive,” she says. “Every card Margaret has ever sent us.”
“And she’s kept every card we’ve ever sent her,” Eoin says. “Her own archive of us.”
“In three more years, we meet up with Margaret and James.”
“And give the treasured archived cards back to one another.”
“Then each of us writes a book with our own archived writings,” she says.
Eoin grins. “Could be even a few books!”
She laughs and sets the lid back on the basket.
The van door slides open on another frosty morning. Eoin steps out and stretches. “Frost again.”
“Sparkling,” she says, right behind him.
He builds the fire the way he has for seven years. Two oak logs. The pine kindling. One match. The flame catches, and the pine crackles and pops.
She fills the percolator and passes it to him. He sets it on the grate.
“Steak?” he asks.
“Steak,” she says. “With a new habit.”
“What’s that?”
She climbs into the van and comes back with the cooler bag in one hand and two mixing bowls tucked under her arm. In the other hand, she holds up a pair of kitchen scissors.
Eoin tilts his head. “Kitchen scissors?”
“Seven years of whole steaks,” she says, smiling. “Let’s try something.”
She sets the two bowls side by side on the picnic table and holds the steak over the first one, the kitchen scissors gliding right through it, cutting it into tender cubes, scrumptious morsels tumbling into the bowl one after another, then shakes on ginger, garlic, onion, and parsley powders with a pinch of sea salt and a grind of black pepper, tossing it all together with her hands.
Eoin leans over the bowl. “That smells incredible already.”
“Wait till it hits the heat.”
She pulls the second bowl close. “Want to help with the vegetables?”
“Sure.”
She cuts the green tops off the carrots and hands him the kitchen scissors. He holds a carrot over the bowl and cuts. Thin, sweet coins of carrot drop in, bright orange.
“That’s fun,” he says.
“Easier than a knife.”
He cuts the rest of the carrots and hands the scissors back. In a few easy moments she cuts the broccoli into delicate florets, deep green and crisp, the celery into thin, fresh crescents, and each Brussels sprout into quarters, the tender leaves falling open, then dusts them with the same ginger, garlic, onion, and parsley powders, sea salt, and black pepper, tossing until every piece is coated.
Two bowls, side by side. The steak in one. The vegetables in the other.
She sets the pan on the grate for the vegetables and slides them in. They hiss. The sweetness of the carrots and the nutty scent of the Brussels sprouts rise up with the warm ginger, garlic, and onion.
Eoin stirs them. A few minutes later, he sets the skillet right beside the pan.
“Now the steak,” she says.
She slides the steak into the skillet. It sizzles, and the spices bloom in the heat. A warm, savory aroma of ginger, garlic, onion, and parsley rolls across the whole campsite.
Eoin closes his eyes and breathes in. “Seven years, and it’s never smelled this good.”
“Every cube gets all of it,” she says.
She stirs the steak once, twice. Eoin stirs the vegetables.
“Can you grab the plates?” she asks.
“Already?”
She just smiles and keeps stirring.
The percolator starts its plop and gurgle as Eoin comes back with the plates.
She stirs one more time. The Brussels sprouts are golden and caramelized at the edges. The carrots are tender and sweet. The broccoli is bright green with just enough crisp. The celery is soft and fragrant with parsley and garlic.
“It’s ready,” she says.
“It’s ready?” He looks at the pans, then at her. “The coffee’s barely done.”
“Then we’ll have them together.”
She fills both plates, and he pours two mugs. They sit down together on the log bench, close to the fire.
Eoin takes a forkful of the steak. He stops. He closes his eyes.
“It melts,” he says. “It melts right in my mouth.”
She takes a bite. Tender and savory, warm with ginger and garlic, the onion and parsley coming through rich and clean. “Every morsel.”
Then she takes a forkful of the vegetables. The carrots are sweet and buttery soft. The Brussels sprouts are nutty and caramelized. The broccoli has just enough bite, with black pepper warming every floret.
“These vegetables,” she says. “The spices got into every one.”
Eoin tries them and nods slowly. “I could eat a whole plate of just these.”
“Every bite is just right.”
They eat slowly, savoring every morsel, the frost melting into drops on the grass around them.
He sets his empty plate on the bench and stretches his legs toward the fire.
Then he sits up.
He looks at the fire ring. He looks at the woodpile. He looks back at the ring.
“That’s still the first two logs,” he says.
She looks. The two oak logs glow orange, still holding their shape.
“Seven years I’ve been adding logs every breakfast,” he says. “Today we’re done eating, and I never added one.”
“That’s the kitchen scissors,” she says.
“The scissors?”
“Cubes of steak and thin vegetables cook fast. For seven years the steak went in whole, and the vegetables went in whole, and the fire had to keep burning to cook them all the way through. Today everything was prepared first, so it cooked in just a few minutes.”
Eoin looks at the kitchen scissors resting on the cutting board. “So simple.”
“Would it work on the butane stove?” he asks.
“On the butane stove, on the gas burner, and on the solar cooker too,” she says. “Campfire, butane, gas, or solar—whichever one we cook with, when the food is prepared first, the energy lasts longer every single time.”
Eoin lifts his mug to hers. “Seven years, and now we have a real food prep way to save energy.”
She clinks her mug against his. “The steak is cut into cubes for morsels that are scrumptious before it ever touches the heat.”
“That is how Nomads save energy,” he says.
She smiles at the fire. “New habits to cook with.”
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