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I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. We were in rural Virginia, surrounded by peanut fields, at a laundromat. The conditions could not have been less ideal. But I did it anyway. I bought two slices of pizza. From the laundromat.
It was called Hunt Brothers Pizza. Hunt Brothers franchises their product to gas stations, convenience stores, and any small business that has enough room for a couple small ovens. The company was started by a couple brothers who had never tasted pizza before. Their gimmick is that all toppings are free. This appeals to those who like an oily meat salad on a salted red pop tart. Many people seem to like this, since Hunt Brothers has been successful enough to sponsor a NASCAR driver—the ultimate benchmark for achievement in American business.
I love two foods on this earth above all others: pizza and bagels. You find these in widespread perfection in New York City, which is where I fell in love with both. It has been a hard few years in Portland for the pizza/bagel lover in me (not to be confused with "pizza bagel" lover; those are gross). I am always excited to return to the East Coast to get my pizza/bagel fix. I began devouring both in mass quantities once we arrived in New York, and I continued to eat them as often as possible as we proceeded South. From Jersey, to Philly, to Delaware, to Baltimore, to D.C., the quality of these foods declined tangibly. By the time we hit Virginia, I was no longer enjoying either, but still clinging to the hope that, somewhere in the South, an exiled New Yorker was cooking up a mindblowing slice just for me. Could this pizza closet nestled in a laundromat have that slice?
No, it could not. It was, without a doubt, the worst slice of pizza I have ever had.
I remorsefully gagged down the first slice, then turned the box over to look at the ingredients. There were approximately 70,000. I'm not above eating things like maltodextrin, but I don't want to be eating food with an ingredient list that long unless I'm stuck in a fallout shelter. In addition to the abundant chemicals, I also discovered a list of Hunt Brothers' guiding principles. The first is "Trust God In All That We Do." It's offensive enough to serve this chunk of wet cardboard and call it food. To drag God into this is just blasphemous. And honestly, if this is the kind of results they're getting, maybe they need to trust someone else .
Some would argue that a diet limited to pizza and bagels sounds unbalanced. I would counter this argument by explaining that, one day in Maryland, I ate five bagels I had stockpiled the day before from a bagel joint in Delaware. And they weren't even very good. Now that's unbalanced.
Eating on any kind of tour is always a challenge. Refrigeration is rarely available and most foods need to be crush-proof. In the case of bike tour, things are even harder. Our options were plentiful from NYC to Richmond, but once we ventured into the truly rural areas, the food choices got pretty rough. Even on days when we found grocery stores, they were often sparsely stocked with exclusively Kraft-type processed foods and very small and wilty produce sections. There's no way out of this on bike tour. We can't make the spontaneous decision to drive 50 miles out of the way to find hummus. Going 50 miles out of our way means taking an entire day to get there and another day to get back. No chickpea puree can justify that kind of effort.
On an average day, we boil water and eat oatmeal for breakfast. After 20 or so miles, we stop somewhere and get a cold drink, then stop again for some lunch. When options are plentiful, we bounce from supermarkets to Subways to local lunch spots. When they are not, we eat bagels and peanut butter, since neither get smushed and both last forever. Mind you, bagels are not supposed to last forever. But the processed crap I bought from a store with a meager selection didn't go moldy for three weeks. It is unreasonable to take three weeks to eat six bagels and more unreasonable to carry them 700 miles on a bike. But if you had one of these, you'd want a four-day breather in between each bagel, too. For dinner, we eat out if something is tempting nearby. Otherwise, we'll have a can of soup and instant rice, or some dehydrated camp food. It's basic, but I carry a salt and pepper shaker and a small bottle of hot sauce and it turns out pretty tasty.
We also eat a lot. At one supermarket, I bought a container of hummus, a bag of pita, a block of cheese, and a 64 oz. V8. I ate half for lunch, the other half for dinner, and I was still pretty hungry. We burn twice as many calories a day than we normally would, so we actually have to eat a lot of high calorie food. I call this the Bike Tour Diet. It's pretty simple: ride your bike for at least 50 miles a day, then eat whatever you want. You should really get into it.
Our best meals, of course, have been the ones we've made with friends or the people we meet along the way. n New Brunswick, a guy named Tim who was in one of the other bands at the show invited us to breakfast at his place the following morning. He offered simply because he was enthusiastic about the bike tour and wanted to support us. His breakfast burritos of tofu scramble, beans, salsa and guacamole were totally bomber. We made soyrizo tacos with Brett and Jonell in Philly, a Mexican feast with Katie and Dave in D.C., and fake sausage and peppers with Casey in Wilmington. Good food, great friends, and comfortable digs keep us going through the mediocrity of oatmeal and the disappointing slices of pizza.
For reasons already discussed, I shan't eat at Hunt Brothers again. We pass their locations quite often, and I still fleetingly consider it as an alternative to the unknown of the local lunch spot across the street. I think that's why chain restaurants are so successful. You could try something new, but it's truly a gamble. When I lose on a bad chimichanga with no beans (yes, I found a tacqueria that served no beans), it really makes me wish I had eaten at Taco Bell instead. Sure, I'll feel terrible after Taco Bell, but I know what kind of terrible it will be. And in a way, that's sort of satisfying. I guess that's why Hunt Brothers has over 5,000 locations. Still, our desire to support local businesses and spurn the behemoths leads us frequently to the cuisine casino, where we take a chance on even the most inadvisable-looking dishes. When the gamble pays off, I find it immensely pleasing. It transforms my day in a way that no predictable fast food chain can.
Several days after the Hunt Brothers fiasco, I played a show in Norfolk, VA. The venue was called The Boot, a mid-sized fine-dining Italian restaurant with a stage in the corner. We arrived a bit early and found 1/3 of the tables full with people still eating their dinner. I was told that I would be playing in an hour, before dinner officially ended. I was also told that our dinner would be on the house.
This was a mix of good and bad news. Free dinners are awesome, even if they're terrible. Playing to a dinner crowd who didn't expect a live performer, let alone one who sings about Guantanamo Bay and gets a little screamy sometimes, is just plain terrible. The last few shows had been a little hit or miss, and I was feeling unmotivated to play. I've found it harder to bring that vivacious energy to solo shows, especially under such odd conditions. With a band, there's other people running around, and we share the blame for whatever happens. When I'm playing alone, I am truly alone, with no one else to provide a little distraction.
We sat down with our friends Chris and Colin. Immediately after our drinks arrived, the server brought us what can only be described as an enormous boat of penne. I think I could've used this dish as a dinghy. It was huge. The penne was tossed with eggplant, zucchini, onions, garlic, and seriously the most delicious sauce I have ever had at an Italian restaurant. In order to adhere to the Bike Tour Diet, Blake and Jon and I ate the entire boatload ourselves.
The dinner was so enjoyable and my friends' mood so festive that I felt like I was in my own home for the first time in a month. We continually gushed over how tasty our dinner was, and I felt completely at peace when I got onstage. I turned to the dining room with its patrons scattered amidst tables and booths, and began singing with the confidence of a man playing to a packed house. It felt really good.
About halfway through my set, one of the patrons sitting in the nearest booth shouted something to me. The booth was off to the side, and I hadn't been paying much attention to the people there. He said, "Hey, did you used to play in De La Hoya?" I turned to him, dumbfounded. I could believe that someone who knew my band from eight years ago came to see me play. I could not believe that someone who knew my band from eight years ago didn't come to see me play, but happened to be there through sheer coincidence. "I used to put on shows for you in Syracuse," he said. His face became instantly familiar. I spent the next three songs trying desperately to think of his name. A split second after I finished the third song, I blurted out, "John!" Luckily, I was right.
We talked more after I played and he told me that he joined the Navy years back and he's stationed in Norfolk. He and his friends just came to The Boot to eat dinner. I found it incredibly invigorating that such a chance encounter could happen in a place that initially felt cold, even hostile. Now, I'm not going to claim that I manifested John's presence or something like that. But I will say that it was simultaneously so perfect and so implausible that there had to be some explanation. It must've been the penne.
Links:
Attica! Attica! Website
WorldBicycleRelief.org
Photos courtesy of Attica! Attica!
WWeek 2015