Everything I Know About Camp Cooking I Learned From the Boy Scouts

One food editor. Zero camping experience. 12 Boy Scouts.
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Photo by Danny Kim

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In 1998, I was a Boy Scout for 17 days.

Even at 11 years old, I knew the whole thing wasn’t for me. First off, there was the never-ending series of American Gladiator-esque tasks built around the mundane act of…tying knots? I could tie my shoes just fine, thanks.

Then there was the issue of sleep. I couldn't understand why anybody would sleep on the ground when they could sleep in a bed.

And bugs. I had—and still have—an absurd fear of bees, hornets, and wasps (no, I’m not allergic).

That was just the beginning. The list of reasons why it didn’t work out between the Boy Scouts and me goes on and on.

Two decades later I find myself rehashing those reasons as a I listen to my colleagues discuss plans for this week’s Cook It Like a Camper package. My coworkers know a thing or two about campfire cooking—they talk about foil pack meals and dough boys. Me? I talk about...nothing.

Because I don't know anything about camping. Because I'm a Boy Scouts dropout. Because in this conversation I am the exact opposite of what a Boy Scout is supposed to be: very much not prepared.

So I offer the only thing I can: To learn all the things I missed. How to build a campfire. How to cook on it. And how to sleep off the meal on the ground, surrounded by bugs.

And I know just the people to teach me.

Photos by Danny Kim

Two weeks later, I'm officially a temporary member of Troop 19 out of Staten Island, NY. When I first meet my cohorts (a group of Scouts ages 11 to 16), they are piling out of an old, painted-over school bus. They look...normal. I'd expected marching in formation and compulsive flag saluting. But no. They're running around, laughing. They seem to really, really like the outdoors.

Things get a little more formal as soon as we arrive at our campsite, along the Delaware river in upstate New York. It's 4 PM—a bit later than ideal due to what Scoutmaster Nick describes as an “extremely competitive game of capture the flag” on the morning river canoeing trip. Everyone kicks into high gear to get back on schedule so that all of the cooking, eating, and, most crucially, cleaning can be done before sunset. From this point on, everything will revolve around food. A hungry Boy Scout is a serious Boy Scout.

The troop splits into three patrols, each with leaders and a specific set of goals to accomplish. Troy, 15, begins building the large campfire that will serve as the cooking engine for the evening. EJ, 16, starts prepping the ingredients for the chicken fajitas that will eventually make its way into a Dutch oven on Troy’s fire. And Scoutmaster Nick watches over everything to make sure the process goes smoothly.

But, honestly, he doesn’t have to intervene very often. Each of the kids knows what their tasks are—and that no one eats if they don't accomplish them.

Photos by Danny Kim

It's only when I take a few of the kids aside for 10 minutes to pose for a portrait—the silly one up top featuring me (aka the grown-ass man dressed as a Boy Scout)—that the kids break from their assigned routine. Miles, 11, takes the opportunity to show me something else entirely: “Would you like to see a magic trick?” he asks.

He shows me a ring on his ring finger. But with a wave of his hand, the ring disappears.

Another wave of his hand and the ring is back.

I want to ask him how he does it, but everybody's back to the food. Troy's fire is progressing nicely, and I notice that he hasn't employed the "teepee" method I expected. Instead of propping pieces of wood against each other in a circular formation ("they tend to fall in on each other and can smother a fire"), Troy has stacked the wood pieces in a square formation, Lincoln Logs-style. It's how I'll build my fires for the rest of my life.

Troy wraps chicken quesadillas in heavy-duty aluminum foil and places them just on the edge of the campfire's pile of smoldering coals—close enough that it melts the cheese and crisps up the flour tortilla, but not enough to scorch the things, he explains. Meanwhile, EJ is prepping sliced chicken breast, onions, and bell peppers for fajitas—these kids seem to really love Mexican food—with the care that a Michelin-starred chef might, except he's using cheap tongs instead of tweezers. With his messy curly hair and thin-rimmed glasses, he's the picture of a kid who hasn't quite grown into himself yet.

I settle in next to him, start slicing onions, and ask him what he likes to cook. EJ thinks for a second, then serves up some Jacques Pépin-level wisdom: “Sometimes the simplest meals are the most delicious ones,” he says.

That general ethos carries over into everything we make that night: crunchy, hard-shell tacos filled with ground beef, cheese, and shredded lettuce and EJ's fajitas cooked in a Dutch oven (yep—just surround the thing in coals and you can make just about any Dutch oven recipe work without the need for a propane stove). And then there are those quesadillas. They may not call to mind authentic Mexican street food, but they're damned delicious—the perfect intersection of creamy, crispy, and chewy.

I'm starting to realize that everything tastes better when it's tossed into the hot coals of the campfire. Even dessert. EJ decided to make the most complicated dish of the whole evening: Hollowed-out orange halves filled with thick brownie batter (made from a boxed mix), wrapped in aluminum foil, and tossed onto the campfire coals. The result is the naturally occurring version of those milk chocolate-orange candy balls.

Why these? Because they saw it on Pinterest.

I take the orange's top off and dive spoon-first into the thing. They're exactly what you'd expect: A messy, overly-sweet version of the two foods that birthed its Frankestein-esque existence. And a heck of a lot of fun to eat.

Photos by Danny Kim

As dinner wraps up, the troop mobilizes into what amounts to a human dishwasher. A few of the scouts have been assigned to KP, or Kitchen Patrol—that's how the Boy Scouts refer to (or disguise?) the crew that's responsible for clean up. Troy sets up three dish tubs on the floor next to one of the tables: one contains hot soapy water, another has just hot water for rinsing, and a third is filled with cold water and two Steramine sanitizing tablets.

If none of this happens, the troop can't have their next meal. Plain and simple. (Oh yeah—and dirty dishes can mean bears, as everyone keeps reminding me.)

As the Scouts clean up, I recap the events of the day with Scoutmaster Nick. Does he hope the kids learn how to cook? Or that they'll be able to defend themselves in the wild for the rest of their lives? Not exactly. "All of these things we teach the kids," explains Nick, "they're just tools to teach them the importance of leadership and accountability." They don't have to cook Mexican food for dinner—they decided to because that's what they wanted. Camping put them face to face with the basic function of cooking: Feeding yourself and others.

The night ends with a game the troop calls Guns and Roses. Sadly, no part of this involves Troy and Miles dressed as Axl and Slash air guitar-playing hits from Appetite for Destruction. Instead, each of the scouts has to name three things: something that happened on the trip that they're thankful for (their "rose"), something they wish had gone differently (their "thorn"), and something to look forward to for next time (their "bud"). A popular thorn is that EJ and another Scout, Sam, tipped a fair number of canoes over on the river trip earlier in the day.

After everyone goes around the circle, listing off their roses, thorns, and buds, it's my turn.

I wonder about my thorn. Should I have stayed in the Scouts all those years ago? Probably not. I don't regret the way I grew up. But I can't help but wonder if I could have discovered the importance of simple food at a younger age? Chances are it would have taken a lot less time for me to get there.

The one thing I'm definitely thankful for? Learning the glory of a campfire quesadilla.

My "bud"? Learning how Miles pulled off that magic trick.