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International Picnics

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I find it more reliable to bring my own creations in a cooler and a hamper, including the niceties of the table which we take for granted at home. In my picnic basket, I pack two rugged plastic plates that are shaped so they can serve as a plate or a bowl if need be and two plastic mugs. I bought both these at L.L. Bean's many years ago and they look as good today as they did when I bought them. In a couple of cloth napkins, I roll up forks, knives and spoons from the cutlery drawer in my kitchen. Since many picnic tables can be in scenic places but the spills of the last folks (or critters) who sat there are sometimes evident, I always take a tablecloth. In the evening, in the motel room, the dishes are washed and dried and made ready for the next day's journey.

Into the cooler goes cheese and yogurt, fruit, bottled drinks, greens for the salad. I like to make up tabouli or couscous salad or potato salad made with vinaigrette as well, because these can endure some brief failures of refrigeration. In the hamper, I carry salt and pepper, salad dressing, a Ziploc of my favorite teabags, wet naps, crackers, whatever will fit and will remain intact for the journey (for instance, I take apples rather than pears because they are more rugged and don't bruise so easily). All that's needed is a good picnic table site, which, where I am right now, is not hard to find. But, even when they are, I prefer this way of providing for myself to any other and will stage the picnic in the car or the motel room, if need be.

The only thing I've discovered is that the border guards are intolerant of one's picnic hamper. They are inconsistent. Some guards have not even glanced at it, while other have rifled through it with glee. One emerged with my lemon, brought so I could make iced tea for myself in the morning. I make strong tea in the motel room, pour it into my sipping bottle. Then I fill it with ice from the motel's ice machine. Add lemon. Voila! Fabulous iced tea. However, at one crossing, the guard burrowed into my trunk like a gopher. He was in there a long time, rummaging. At last, he emerged with my prize lemon! My heart sank. "Sorry," he said, "I can't let you go through with this." He strode to the nearby garbage barrel, lifted the lid, and ceremoniously dropped the lemon into the barrel. When he closed the lid, he all but dusted his hands off with the satisfaction of a completed task. He explained all about USDA stickers, boring insects and so forth. That didn't make me any happier. So, my advice to you is to pack a picnic and make it fun and elegant. But, if you are crossing the border, leave the lemon at home.