Photo credit: Anna Caitlin
Describe your book:
In a nutshell, it's Happy Camping 101, because a well-fed camper is a happy one! We love a classic camping experience, but don't like to suffer when we're outdoors (hence the book's dedication to "Survivalists with Standards"), and the book reflects that — yes, there are foil packets, but instead of ground beef and bell peppers, we're cooking Tin Foil Shrimp Boils, and yes, we love a good old-fashioned banana boat, but we might top ours with rum caramel and flaky salt. We advocate packing enough food for an entire Scout troop, never skimping on the little luxuries like battery-powered fairy lights and Pendleton blankets, and stockpiling firewood — and the marshmallows to roast over it — for weeks. The camp canteen will never run out of whiskey (or peanut butter hot chocolate) on our watch!
What was your favorite book as a child?
Jen: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl, or anything by Roald Dahl, really. I worshipped him as a writer and read his books over and over again. I wanted to live in a giant peach (or Mr. Fox's burrow), I wanted Matilda's telekinetic powers, and I would have given anything for a golden ticket to the Willy Wonka's chocolate factory (it probably goes without saying that
The Campout Cookbook's dessert chapter is my favorite).
Marnie: Looking back, I realize that all of my favorite novels had the same basic plot — the Netflix shorthand for my preferred childhood genre might be “Willful, Misunderstood Young Writer With a Secret Interior Life.” To that end,
Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery,
Mandy by Julie Andrews Edwards, and
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott appealed to my Romantic-with-a-capital-R sensibilities. I was also enchanted by heart-wrenching novels set outdoors, like
Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt,
Hatchet by Gary Paulsen, and
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson. I still admire how the novelists used nature to introduce young readers to questions about what it means to be alive and what it means to live well.
When did you know you were a writer?
Jen: I can't remember not being a writer. I was a very introverted kid, hopelessly awkward and unpopular, so books were my best friends. I'm that kid who spent lunch in the library. I read and wrote nonstop, and I'm not sure it ever crossed my mind that I'd be anything but a writer.
Marnie: In 4th grade, I wrote a series of satirical books based on our required reading, bound my pages as miniature volumes, and shelved them in a shoebox library in the classroom. My teacher not only indulged this small rebellion, but let my classmates check out my books during reading hour. Listening to my fellow 9-year-olds giggle uncontrollably during silent time made me realize I wanted to spend my life writing.
What makes a writing collaboration work? Any tips for future coauthors?
Jen: Obviously, you should have compatible personalities, congruent work ethics, and similar opinions on just how many recipes should involve chocolate — those are the basics of a successful cookbook collaboration. In our case, it helps to share a sense of humor — we have the same sense of humor, so pretty much everything is funny (eventually), from accidentally erasing our book proposal draft from Google Docs while trying to set up the app on a road trip, to when our mascot, Winnie (Marnie's Bernese Mountain Dog) ate a whole Dutch oven-roasted chicken (and a box of butter and an avocado pit) while we were stoking the campfire. Actually, Marnie didn't laugh as much that time, probably because she's the one who gets Winnie's vet bills.
Marnie: I also fondly recall the time we scorched Jen’s lawn with our fire pit and then attempted to cover it with a toupee of fresh grass, and the time Jen volunteered us to make 200 macarons for our friend’s wedding, when it was 103 degrees outside and neither of us had ever baked a macaron. We do seem to get into some Lucy and Ethel-type pickles, but, as with all the best collaborators, we rise to the occasion and we’re in each other’s camp no matter what. If you have kids (like I do), it’s also beneficial to work with someone who likes children and doesn’t mind, say, coming to the labor and delivery recovery room to proof manuscript pages, or slipping your two-year-old a sliver of chocolate at an opportune moment. What’s more, it’s key to have a strong organizational system. For us, Google Sheets has works best for our massive master “to do list” charts, and Dropbox is our best friend when we’re drafting the manuscript. We draft our Table of Contents, work on all the elements, and then paste them into individual chapters once they’re final. We also back up obsessively, since the road trip erasure incident of 2015 still haunts us. (See above.)
How does collaborating on a cookbook differ from your other writing?
Jen: I'm a food and travel writer, so I eat out a lot in pursuit of my other writing. The difference between that and collaborating on a cookbook is that when we're working on a cookbook, I have to make my own food. Also, writing can be pretty solitary, just you and your laptop, tapping away up in your drafty garret. When I'm working on my regular writing, I can text Marnie to kvetch when I'm stuck in the middle of a tricky story, but when we're working together, I get to complain out loud and ask her to pass the Chorizo Skillet Nachos, please, which is nice.
Marnie: I’m a journalist and I gravitate to narrative nonfiction, so I’m often dropped into an unfamiliar world where I need to distill information very quickly and translate it into prose. When our editor assigned us
The Campout Cookbook, we realized we’d need to flex those same reporting muscles to get beyond our summer camp/Outward Bound/ family camping experiences and master live-fire cooking. But if the challenge of swift mastery is similar, everything else is different. Cookbook collaboration certainly has more concrete successes and failures than magazine writing. (I.e., in cookbook writing, sometimes, you literally burn your work, whereas in other writing you only want to burn it.) The biggest upside, though, is the luxury of having a coworker.
What does your writing workspace look like?
Jen: See above. (Drafty garret.)
Marnie: Ha, ha. When working on the cookbooks, our writing space is covered with chocolate bar wrappers, empty mugs of tea, and post-it notes with obscure notations about the impact of a miniscule variation on whichever recipe we’re presently obsessing over. If we’re at Jen’s house, there’s also a teacup saucer of almonds at the ready for her (nearly domesticated) backyard squirrels. If we’re at my house, we’re likely setting aside a carefully constructed puzzle or Lego fortress. Jen is a major declutterer, so I always worry that I’ll overwhelm her with the chaotic jumble of our toddler-tousled kitchen. So far, luckily, she keeps coming back.
The Top Five Books That Made Us Want to Go Outside.
60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: Portland by Paul Gerald
After all these years of living in Portland, it still delights us that you can squeeze a trip to the Farmers Market, a delicious brunch, and a hike into a single Saturday. Consider this primer of nearby adventures a well-considered introduction for anyone new to town, or new to hiking.
All the Birds, Singing by Evie Wyld
This beautifully written page-turner, set in the Australian Outback, in the perfect novel to slide into your backpack and read inside the sleeping bag with a flashlight. It’s haunting and completely original.
How to Stay Alive in the Woods by Bradford Angier
The grandfather of survivalist guides, first published in 1956, was reissued in 2012 with fetching pen-and-ink illustrations that capture the audacity and bone-dry humor of the original book. We hope to never encounter any of the scenarios laid out by Angier, yet we admire his way with a backwoods bon mot.
The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler
This enchanting picture book introduces children to the marvelous creatures living in the forest, even if only in one’s imagination, as well as the idea that ingenuity is one’s greatest strength, in any circumstance. Plus, the masterful rhymes and pacing mean the story never tires, even if you’ve read it aloud hundreds of times — as you certainly will.
The Baby-Sitters Club: The Baby-Sitters' Summer Vacation by Ann M. Martin
Our heroines find themselves at Camp Mohawk, where they are counselors-in-training at a
Parent Trap-esque summer camp. We remember very little about what, as we recall, was 1989’s most-anticipated release, other than our excitement about its inch-thick spine and the endless potential plot twists presented by the presence of a boys’ camp just across the lake. Would the diary of summer hijinks stand up if revisited today? We challenge you to find out. (But please don’t tell us if it doesn’t.)
Photo credit: Carly Diaz
Forest Fondue
Oozy, boozy coal-baked Camembert kicks off a forest fantasy meal when the teensy skillet hits the picnic table. If a Lilliputian pan is eluding you, securely wrap the cheese in several layers of heavy-duty foil instead.
Serves 4
One 8-ounce wheel Camembert cheese, or other bloomy-rind wheel of cheese
½ pear
2 tablespoons pear brandy
2 tablespoons finely chopped roasted hazelnuts
1 sprig fresh rosemary, for garnish
Sliced crusty bread, for serving
In the Backpack
6½-inch cast-iron skillet
Cutting board
Foil
Variation
Replace the pear with a handful of fresh blackberries or pitted and halved cherries to make Berry Brie Jamboree.
1. Prepare a campfire and fit it with a grill grate.
2. Line a mini (6½-inch) cast-iron skillet with foil, leaving enough overhang to create a foil packet. Place the Camembert inside and score the top with an X.
3. Place the pear half on a cutting board cut-side down and cut it into thin slices, keeping one end intact. Place your palm atop it, and gently rotate to fan the slices. Pop the pear fan on the cheese, douse the whole thing with the brandy, and crimp the foil to seal. Place the skillet on the fire pit grate or directly on coals, whichever is offering gentle, steady heat, and melt the cheese for 10 minutes or so. (Trust your nose. When the cheese is irresistibly gooey and smells stinky in the best way, you’ll know it’s ready.)
4. Remove from the heat and open the foil or, if you’re a glutton for aesthetics as we are, tear off the foil from below as well, so the Camembert sits directly in the warm skillet. Sprinkle with the hazelnuts and garnish with the rosemary sprig. Dip bits of bread into the oozy cheese.
Excerpted from The Campout Cookbook by Marnie Hanel and Jen Stevenson (Artisan Books). Copyright © 2018. Photos: Carly Diaz
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Jen Stevenson is the coauthor of
The Picnic, winner of the 2016 IACP Award for Best General Cookbook. Stevenson eats and tells on her Portland food blog,
Under the Table With Jen, and is the author of
Portland’s 100 Best Places to Stuff Your Faces.She lives in Portland, Oregon. Her most recent book is
The Campout Cookbook, with Marnie Hanel.
Marnie Hanel is the coauthor of
The Picnic, winner of the 2016 IACP Award for Best General Cookbook. Hanel is a journalist who writes about the wild, wonderful way we live. Her essays and articles have been published by
The New York Times Magazine, Food and Wine, and
Vanity Fair. She lives in Portland, Oregon.