Gibb River Hilton – Part 3 “Doritos Are A Meal, Aren’t They?” …

What does your other half refer to you as?  Mine, god bless him, often calls me his “cook”.  Now, I used to get rather offended at this title … but a few months in, I’m beginning to understand that this is just a term of endearment (well, I’m going with that ok, otherwise I’m going to start crying again).

Anyway, I’m not alone in my status as “cook”.  Mr W. was not stupid when he came camping with all these chicks … he has his own team of personal chefs, although, that’s not to say that he doesn’t pitch in … or at least pick up the wooden spoon when the camera is around.

We have been eating like Kings since arriving … we’ve had spaghetti and meatballs, the most amazing chicken curry, “bush cheeseburgers”, a rather impressive bbq complete with garlic bread and couscous, pork chops and scotch fillet … and that’s not to mention the Turkish bread and chilli oil we had for entree last night.  It really has been a culinary affair.

Mr W.'s "Bush Burger" ... who needs the Golden Arches?

Well until the fourth night when we got a bit lost, missed the turning to James Price Point and ended up in Middle Lagoon at about 6.30 … completely pitch black dark and had to set up camp … so it was just a bag of Doritos for dinner that night.  And not pointing any fingers … Mr W. … 😉

I think the thing that makes me laugh most about camping is the massive effort that goes into every meal.  Maybe it’s cos there isn’t much else to do … but it is always such an ordeal to get everything ready.  I mean, take my attempt at making spaghetti and meatballs on the edge of the Great Sandy Desert.  We had to get the neighbours to boil the spaghetti (cos we only had a single gas burner and you’re not allowed to light fires here) while we cooked the sauce and the meatballs.  This nearly resulted in The Gibb River Inferno as the little gas burner caught alight inside.  A rather intoxicated Mr W. just stood and looked at me while I explained to him that our kitchen was about to burn down.  Five minutes later his brain must have returned to the building and he managed to put out the fire and save the Hilton.  Lucky.

And this doesn’t even begin to compare to the home made colander we had to make in order to drain the rice for the curry.  Turns out if you punch holes in the bottom on a 2L Mount Franklin bottle it is the perfect way to drain rice.  We want to cook rice every night now just so that we can use it again.

Now before I go, I would like to share with you some wisdom that Mr W. imparted upon us last night while we were all sitting around looking at the stars.  He said, I learned a long time ago not to upset the room cleaner, the cook or the bar maid.  I looked over to Mr W. and I said, honey, I’m all of those things to you and you upset me all the time.  I think this was the first time I’ve ever seen Mr W. speechless.  He didn’t have answer to that one.  Ha ha love it.

pp xx

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