Junk Food Junkie

A year-and-a-half ago you would have been hard-pressed to find me without a handful of Jelly-Bellys, mouthfuls of chocolate cake, raspberry pie, toasted marshmallows, melons, bubble gum and .. ooh - yuck, a jalapeno.

Travel junk food is an art. After sixteen months I am pleased to report that I have become a pro, not only at selection but consumption as well. Don't leave home without it applies to more than just your credit card; it applies to your favorite no-good-for-you, stick-to-your-ribs junk food. For me, when I started this trip, that meant Jelly-Bellys, those colored beans flavored through and through with just about everything. I gobbled them down - one peanut butter and one chocolate, one apricot and one pear, one strawberry and one licorice, all in mouth-watering combinations. But somewhere in Wyoming, the supply became to dwindle. My consumption dropped; I saved that last coconut cream pie, that last root beer, and that final pop, the last buttered popcorn - my favorite. (Janet always hated my popcorn breath). Eventually we left America, beanless. My junk food cells, high on that last kernel, went into withdrawal.

Finding a replacement food was paramount. In New Zealand I did, Ginger Nuts. I could dip 'em, dunk 'em, let 'em float in my tea and still they possessed that jaw-cracking crunch when bitten. Once again I was in heaven. Jelly-Belly dreams subsided. We stocked up on Ginger Nuts. The back seat of our car began to look like a bulk-food cookie warehouse. I plowed through them all and stocked up again.

Once out of New Zealand, ice-cream bars replaced cookies. Displayed in freezer cases, they came in so many flavors that I could go days without repeats. With the Indonesian heat, they were the perfect food. But five weeks of delightful fulfillment with nut-sprinkled fudge bars, strawberry push-ups and double chocolate ice-cream eclairs, alas, came to an end. We left for South East Asia. Once again I was suffering those pangs; starving between meals. In earnest, I began my quest, but Asian grocery store shelves proved useless; they were lined with seaweed products, spices and teas. Where was the sweets aisle? Depression set in. I tried everything - mints, extra helpings of tofu; my need for a sugar-fix remained unfulfilled.

Our move to Nepal finally saved me. Tiny packages of cookies were sold everywhere. Most were old, covered in layers of dust, but I didn't care. "I'll take ten please." Occasionally I'd stumble upon a package of wheat-meal biscuits and the smile that grew on my face would remain fixed for days.

My next high came in Eastern Europe. I turned back to ice-cream, but soft ice-cream this time. It was served up from machines on the city streets for only 15 cents a cone. "Let me at 'em." Two a day became standard, three a day a treat. What the hell, Mom's not around, "make the next one a double." But the consumption of such vast quantities of nutritionless foodstuffs had undesired effects. After all that ice-cream, I was forced to slow down. It's only a slump, I told myself. I'd eat more grains, more fiber. Soon my system would be back, better, stronger. It would be able to absorb even more.

I gave myself a two week reprieve, long enough to neutralize any lingering sugar bombs. By then we were in Turkey and I was ready for whatever this new country had to offer. I searched. In Istanbul I found Turkish ice-cream, hand kneaded, paddled into a cone. It was superb, but ice-cream cravings were behind me; I knew there had to be something more. And there it was, staring at me from the isle of the Hypermarket. A row of cardboard boxes. I scooped them into my basket and headed for the checkout counter. It was there that I found my new love - Turkish sour cherry juice; nothing like it in the world.

We stopped again at a Hypermarket on our way out of Turkey. The storage area under our back seat was full, sour cherry juice wall to wall. The supply lasted through Italy, France and Spain and, somewhere in the desert of Morocco, I had my last sip. I paused before I threw away that last empty carton "I will miss you," I said.

Once we hit Europe, I no longer worried where my next fix would come from. I was in chocolaholic heaven, not just any chocolate, but, ah, Swiss chocolate. I snuck squares of it after breakfast, before lunch, during supper. I bought chocolate bars by the dozens. For my friends at home, I lied to myself.

Now back on American soil, I have come full circle. (Luckily that doesn't also imply that I am a full circle.) I have forgotten my chocolates, my ice-creams, my Ginger Nuts. I am home now, at any time of the day or night I can reach over, loosen the lid of that Jelly Belly jar and pull out a peach, a watermelon, a cinnamon bun - all the things I've so dearly missed. "What's this green one? Ooh, yuck, another jalapeno."