Ah, here’s one, I thought. This might be lunch, or maybe a snack?
Actually, I can’t tell what it is. It’s one of those meals I packed months ago. I find them in my hunting coat, in the glove box and under the boat seat. Some are dry and chewy looking. The majority are green and hard to identify.

Some of these meals are partially eaten. Others haven’t been touched: Apparently, judged too bad to eat, but too good to throw away.

My son says the Army has some food they call MREs – Meals Ready to Eat. He claims they are pretty good. The food in my coat pocket could be called SIFs – Stuff I Found. It might have been good when I packed it, but it’s pretty bad when I find it weeks later.
If I packed better lunches to begin with, I probably wouldn’t find so many leftovers. There’s an art to packing a lunch. One can’t just throw a bologna sandwich in a bag and expect it to look appetizing at lunchtime.

The best lunches I can remember belonged to my old friend, Steve. Steve’s lunch always featured a main course and at least four side dishes.

He would have fried chicken, ham and cheese on sourdough, pork tenderloin wrapped in a dinner roll, gourmet potato chips (with dip), two kinds of pickles, smoked salmon for a snack and chocolate pudding for dessert.

Nobody ever found one of Steve’s lunches ripening under a boat seat. He ate every bit of them.

One day I was marveling at Steve’s lunch and questioning how he got his wife to pack it, when I recalled a story by the late outdoor writer Gene Hill. Hill’s story describes his friend, who always showed up with a beautiful lunch and all of the garnishments. Hill’s hunting buddy wouldn’t think of venturing into the field without a perfectly packed lunch and a little glass of wine to go with it.

“That’s the only thing missing,” I told Steve. “Your wife packs a nice lunch, but she forgot the wine. I guess it’s pretty hard to carry a glass of wine when you’re chukar hunting.”

A couple of weeks later, my friend and I were climbing along the same ridge, hunting the same chukars, when we decided to stop for lunch. Steve stifled a grin as he unpacked his fried chicken, pickles, potato chips, a little cheese roll (with crackers) and a cupcake for dessert.

Then, he pulled out two wine glasses and one of those little bottles like they serve in expensive restaurants. Next, he fished out his corkscrew and said, “I’m sorry we don’t have a better selection of wines today – I just wasn’t sure what would go with your bologna sandwich.”

Readers with questions or comments for Roger Pond may write to him in care of this publication.