Lee’s Saltinutallows

Growing up, I spent a fair amount of time with my grandparents. Both sets lived in the same town, which was just a couple of hours away from where we lived until I was 11. Even after we moved, first from South Carolina to North Carolina then to Illinois, I would fly down by myself to spend school breaks with them.

My maternal grandmother, Mary, always required a bedtime snack – “something to take my pills with” – and my grandfather, Lee, would dutifully prepare something for her. Lee (note: I actually called my mom’s parents by their first names) never cooked full meals. That was definitely Mary’s domaine. But, he had a decent repertoire of bedtime snacks. My favorites were Lee’s Saltinutallows.

My family is big on the toaster oven. “Slotted toasters are a waste! You can only toast plain bread in those contraptions.” In a toaster oven, you can prepare all kinds of goodness: cheese toast, cinnamon toast, English muffin pizzas…so many things, including saltinutallows; sort of and indoor s’more, if you will.

Ingredients:

Saltines (or similar)
Peanut Butter
Large Marshmallows

Directions:

1. Place a piece of foil on the toaster tray. (Things will melt. Messes will be made.)

2. Smear a generous dollop of peanut butter on top of each cracker. (Here, I have 4 regular Saltines on the left, 2 gluten-free by Schar on the right.) Top each one with a large marshmallow.

3. Toast!

The marshmallows roast under the heating element, browning and getting all ooey gooey on top of the also melting peanut butter. Keep an eye on them! You know how quickly roasting marshmallows over a fire can go from golden to burnt? Same rules apply here.

You can serve them two ways – exactly how they come out of the toaster, or topped with a second Saltine for those who like a little extra salt to balance the sweetness. Either way, they’re delicious. And so easy!

CAUTION: Melted peanut butter is almost as hot (and sticky) as melted sugar. Let them cool a bit before handling…and especially before popping them in your mouth!

Mmm… Enjoy!

Is Your Wanderlust Genetic?

Do you come from a family of travelers, or were you raised on a series of staycations? Did that lead to a lifetime of wanderlust, or a preference for the comforts of home? When it comes to the jet-setting lifestyle, are you a chip off the old blocks, or your family’s black sheep?

Travel + Leisure completely baited my click with the headline: The Scientific Reason You Love to Travel. I must admit that my wanderlust feels built-in, ingrained in my deepest DNA, but it’s not always readily obvious how it was passed down…assuming, of course, that it even was.

Most of my childhood traveling was done with my maternal grandparents. Though, for many many years, my grandfather was quite content with the annual trips I took with them – to Florida. Same route, same rest stops, same hotel, same two weeks…year after year after year. Touring Europe and cruising the Caribbean didn’t come for them until their retirement years. My mother didn’t take her first trip outside of North America until her 65th birthday.

That said, my great-grandmother was a Red Cross nurse who traveled to France during WWI. Was it the practicalities of work that spurred her journey, or was her career choice driven by worldly curiosity. How I would love to know!

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t itching to see the world. My dad always said that I would’ve been on the wagon train headed west. I joined every group or club that might involve a trip. Chorus – Toronto. French Club – Quebec. In middle school, I was devastated when a European trip was cancelled. Would I ever manage to cross the pond?! I have, of course, several times since. With each trip, my wanderlust further fueled. My daydreams continue to be at least 98% travel-related.

Having attended private schools, many of my classmates were constantly on the go. Quite a few complained about impending treks, wishing they didn’t have to endure the long flights and strange locales. But…but…that’s part of the great adventure!! Every tedious moment of getting there worth it to ski the Alps across two countries, cuddle koalas, or sport a ushanka when you arrive. Alas, not everyone’s cut out for adventure.

That click-baity Travel + Leisure article links to a much better one on Nomadic Matt, where his scientist friend explains in more detail that a specific variant of the DRD4 gene, a gene that codes for a single type of dopamine receptor called the 7R+ allele, might account for feelings of wanderlust. This genetic expression has been studied widely in terms of seeking out risky behaviors, but there has been a shift towards considering the compulsion for seeking novelty rather than risk. This speaks to me.

I’m generally not a risk-taker in the slightest. I’m certain that homebodies would disagree. Who rents their house to a stranger, packs up their cats, and shuttles off to Spain for two months?! But…but…I don’t jump out of airplanes! Or gamble. Or take drugs. Of course, speed demons likely feel about racing cars much the same as I do about travel. It’s thrilling. Essential. A given. It’s the novelty, though, that really appeals. New sights, new sounds, new tastes, new traditions. Novelty activates my brain, my creativity, in a way that nothing else can. Is it a genetic quest for risk, for novelty, or just plain old FOMO – who knows? Who cares?! It’s amazing.

To those who say, “I would love to, but…time, family, money, whatever excuse.” I call your bluff. Just admit that you’d prefer to stay home. That’s ok! Those who have the urge to travel living inside their bones can’t ignore it. There’s very little that can keep us from hitting the road. There’s no choice other than it being a priority. So yes, I’m pretty darn sure that wanderlust is in my genes.

Wanderlust Wednesday: Encore or Nevermore?

Growing up, I spent the first week after school let out in Florida with my grandparents. On the first day of summer vacation, my parents would drive me halfway to their house where we would all meet over lunch for the exchange. The next day, my grandfather would fill the cavernous trunk of “the old Buick” with suitcases and rafts and fishing tackle; my grandmother would pack snacks; and, off we’d go!

It would never fly these days, but I always rode shotgun. My grandmother typically fell asleep in the backseat before we crossed their town line, and my grandfather liked the company up front. We listened to mix tapes he’d prepared for just this occasion, usually Big Band music borrowed from his brother’s collection. We told each other stories, wrote silly poems, made up road games, and, as we neared our destination, finalized the grocery list for when we stopped on our way into town.

Every other year, starting when I was five, we stopped at Disney World first, but the final destination was always Indian Rocks Beach. My grandfather loved the warm, calm waters and wide white sand beaches on the Gulf Coast. I’m not sure how they settled on Indian Rocks for our trips together, other than I know they had made many visits slightly further south to Madeira Beach over the years and really liked the area.

My grandfather was what you might call a lifer, working at DuPont for practically his entire career as a chemist. Most men of his age in their area were the same. None of this job jumping that we have today. When you got tired of your job, you didn’t dream of the next one, you dreamt about your next vacation. Florida was my grandfather’s daydream. Beach, pool, fishing, reading, oysters, stuffed flounder, bourbon, ginger ale, and a good cigar. “Good” is such a relative term. Knowing his thriftiness, I’m certain it was no Montecristo or Cohiba. But, as the only cigar he might have in a year, it sure was good to him. And that week of goodness carried him through the year to the next week when we’d do it all again.

For a long time now, I’ve sworn off the rinse and repeat vacation. Where is the adventure in going to the same place over and over again when there are so many incredible destinations out there and so very little time? In retirement, my grandparents travelled further afield. They got around, but by then, my grandmother’s health was too poor for them to make it to all of the places they might have liked to have gone. I don’t want to be too sick or feeble, or otherwise infirmed, to enjoy traveling. Besides, the job jumping lifestyle of today doesn’t ensure that retirement will even be an option! We’ve got to go where we want to go now. There is no waiting. No taking a chance on the future.

Except…

I’m not sure if we’re getting older, or wiser, or lazier, or smarter, or tired, or finally coming to our senses…but recently RF and I have been dreaming about going to The Bahamas. Again. We’ve been there three times now. My grandfather would consider us rookies. But that’s a whole lot of rinse and repeat for us! Granted, we’ve been to different islands, and we’re contemplating another one still. There are lots of warm, sunny, sandy beaches around the world that we haven’t been to. Closer ones. Maybe even better ones! But we know these islands, and their crystal clear water, and the kind locals. And there is just something so incredibly appealing to us about the empty beaches on The Out Islands. That’s so rare. At least without an even longer journey.

Maybe we’ve just finally grown up. Perhaps everyone has their one true heaven in this world and we’ve found ours. We knew each other was “the one”. Maybe The Bahamas are our vacation soulmate and we need to stop agonizing about it and commit. Maybe it’s ok to have an encore *and* a nevermore. We don’t usually take just one vacation each year. Perhaps there’s room for something old and something new.

If my grandfather were still here, he would probably tell me that I’m overthinking it. (I usually am.) I suspect that the better part of why they went to Florida every year was because he didn’t want to have to choose another place to go instead. Always a practical man, he knew that Florida suited him just fine. Florida got him through the year. Alas, if The Bahamas suits us enough to be the subject of our many daydreams…well then…I think it just might be time for an Encore!