Jane and Michael Stern On The Road

My favorite Roadfood authors are on the road once more, heading to Seattle next week for a talk at Town Hall. Last time Jane and Michael Stern came by, I had the pleasure of trying to show them a taste of Seattle cuisine--and the problem of trying to define it. Some say Seattle's specialty is teriyaki, some figure salmon (although plenty of ours come from Alaska), some have devoted books to the topic. The Sterns, in the end, were gratifyingly happy with the Top Pot Donut as our symbol of cityhood. 

Wherever they eat this time, I know how much food-loving wanderers nationwide will benefit from every bite. One of the most formative eating experiences of my life was a six-week trip across the country with my own husband and a copy of Roadfood. We test-drove it by checking out Dr. Mike's super-rich ice cream in Connecticut, and ruled it a memorable success. Everywhere we went thereafter, from pies in a roadside shack in Arkansas to our first taste of Hatch green chiles (right in Hatch, N.M.), we had a trusted guide.

This was back in our dialup days, well before Chowhound or Yelp or any other place people think to get advice now on traveling food. Yet Jane and Michael would still be the first people I'd seek out for recommendations. That's the advantage of their vast knowledge, the consistent and good-natured voices that (in print and in person) make them feel like instant friends, the pinpoint accuracy of their observations.

An early night on that long ago road-trip, we pulled into Tonawanda, N.Y. for dinner at "Ted's Jumbo Red Hots," where the Sterns had painted this picture of the charcoal-grilled hot dogs: 

"What makes these dogs great is less their ingredients and more the way they are cooked: over hot coals that infuse each link with pungent smoke flavor and burnish its taut skin with  a seared crust. As they cook, the chef pokes them with a fork, slaps them, squeezes them, and otherwise abuses them, thus puncturing the skin and allowing the dog to suck in maximum smoke flavor." 

We walked in, and saw the dogs on the grill. They were being poked. Punched. Squeezed. It was letter-perfect. We set out the next day even more eager for the next meal. In some ways it feels like we've never stopped.

-- Rebekah Denn