Two for the Road: Our Love Affair with American Food

Jane grimaced at the sight of it. Michael tried to convince her that it had a rugged look, befitting the intrepid travelers we wanted to be. He lifted the hood and looked at the engine, pretending to know what he was inspecting. And just to show the salesman that we were no patsies when it came to purchasing a roadworthy vehicle, we both walked around and kicked all four tires. They didn't pop on impact, but neither did any of them appear to have a lot of tread.

One thing the car had in its favor was vast amounts of room inside. To save money in our travels, we planned to camp out in it, forgoing motel rooms. "I'll sew curtains and we can hang them on the back windows for privacy," Jane said optimistically, never having sewn anything in her life.

Roadfood experts Jane and Michael Stern (Todd France) [enlarge photo] BOOK EXCERPT • Two for the Road: Our Love Affair with American Food • Southern Café Stewed Apples • New Haven White Clam Pizza TRENDSPOTTING • Haute Diners SEPTEMBER 2006 ISSUE • Table of Contents: September 2006 • Australia: The Great Ocean Walk • Germany Castles • Road Trip: Lake Champlain • Trip Coach: Jamaica • 40 Best Vacations

"And it does have two air conditioners," Michael noted. "We won't be hot!"

By the time we wrote the check, we were convinced that this heap would be a rather deluxe residence on wheels for the next two years.

The following morning, on the way to the grocery store, the left rear tire blew. And that summer gas prices doubled. We faced the first big gas crisis in a vehicle that got approximately eight miles to the gallon.

Jane had plenty of time to sew curtains for the back windows, because five months into the research for Roadfood, we had not yet left Connecticut. In fact, we hadn't even left New Haven County.

Yale had trained us to be meticulous in our research, and, ever the diligent academics, we commenced work on the guidebook by picking up the local Yellow Pages and opening to "Restaurant." We began with those starting with the letter A. We ate at the Acropolis Diner and made notes about the good souvlaki. We went to Addie's Café, where we didn't much care for the hash browns, then on to Angela's Pizzeria, where we thought the pepperoni pie was better then the sausage, and Archie Moore's tavern, where the beer inevitably distracted us from our mission of sampling the menu.

At the end of five months we had gotten to Donat's, an overreaching French restaurant where rich professors ate, and had yet to travel more than twelve miles from home. We envisioned the millennia that stretched out before we began reviewing restaurants in, say, Kansas.

Something was wrong with our plan.

"People will not take us seriously if we haven't eaten everywhere," moaned Jane, who, like so many writers, lives in constant fear that someone will discover she doesn't know everything--or anything at all.

"Tough shit," Michael responded. Jane thought he had a point.

We sat down at the kitchen table again, scrutinized the map, and came up with a new plan.