Josh Bennett considered himself many things: a decent climber, a fearless driver, and a man who could quote entire scenes from Die Hard. But a cook? Absolutely not.
That didn’t stop him from volunteering to be “head chef” for their three-day hike into the Rockies.
“It’s camping food, guys,” Josh said as they loaded their packs into the trunk of Lisa’s Subaru. “How hard can it be? We’ll boil some noodles, maybe fry up some bacon, roast marshmallows. Easy.”
Mike, his best friend since college, raised an eyebrow. “Josh, last time you tried to cook, you set off the smoke alarm making toast.”
Lisa laughed from the driver’s seat. “And he burned frozen pizza once. Frozen, Josh. It was already cooked.”
Josh waved them off with a grin. “That’s city cooking. Nature brings out my instincts. You’ll see.”
The first day of hiking went smoothly. They climbed through pine forests and meadows bursting with wildflowers, their packs heavy with tents, sleeping bags, and food. Spirits were high, jokes flew freely, and when they finally found a clearing near a creek, Josh clapped his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Chez Bennett. Tonight’s special: macaroni and cheese, campfire edition.”
Lisa looked skeptical as Josh unpacked a bag of elbow macaroni, a block of cheddar, and a dented pot. “You did remember to bring oil or butter, right?”
Josh froze. “...Butter?”
Mike groaned. “Oh no. This is going to be good.”
They gathered wood, lit a small fire, and set the pot of creek water on top. Within minutes, the pot wobbled dangerously on the uneven stones. Josh, sweating from both effort and pride, dumped in the noodles.
“You’re supposed to wait until it boils,” Lisa pointed out.
“They’ll boil eventually,” Josh said confidently.
Twenty minutes later, the noodles had turned into a starchy mush welded to the bottom of the pot. Josh poked at them with a stick, his expression grim.
“Uh… maybe it just needs more cheese.” He grated half the block into the pot, stirring furiously.
The result was something between wallpaper paste and glue. Mike leaned over and sniffed. “Smells like regret.”
Lisa laughed so hard she nearly fell off her camp stool. “We should’ve just brought instant ramen!”
Josh refused to admit defeat. He scooped a portion onto a tin plate and handed it to Lisa. “Try it before you judge.”
She took one bite and immediately reached for her water bottle. “Oh my God, it’s like cheesy concrete.”
Mike cautiously tasted a forkful, then shrugged. “Hey, at least it’ll fill us up. If we don’t die of indigestion first.”
Josh sighed, tossing the stick into the fire. “Fine. Tomorrow I’ll redeem myself. Breakfast will be legendary.”
But as they crawled into their tents that night, bellies heavy with starchy disaster, none of them realized that the real comedy of campfire cooking had only just begun.
Morning in the Rockies came with a chill that cut straight through the tents. Josh emerged from his sleeping bag with a dramatic shiver, rubbing his hands together.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “breakfast is served in twenty minutes.”
Lisa poked her head out of the tent, hair sticking up in wild tufts. “You mean disaster is served in twenty minutes.”
“Have some faith,” Josh replied, hauling the food bag over. He had planned this one: oatmeal with dried fruit, “a simple classic.” Surely nothing could go wrong.
Mike sat cross-legged by the fire pit, smirking. “Want me to start a timer for how long it takes before something burns?”
Josh ignored him. He poured oats into the pot, added water from the creek, and set it carefully over the flames. The fire popped and hissed as a bit of moisture hit the wood.
“All about patience,” Josh muttered, stirring with exaggerated professionalism.
For a moment, it looked like things might actually work. The oats softened, the water bubbled, and the smell wasn’t half bad. Josh even added a handful of raisins, tossing them into the pot like a chef on TV.
But then he made the mistake.
“Needs sugar,” he said, rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a plastic baggie and dumped the contents in without hesitation.
Lisa frowned. “Wait… Josh, did you just—”
The first taste confirmed it. He hadn’t grabbed sugar. He’d grabbed salt.
The three of them stared at the pot of oatmeal now ruined by several heaping tablespoons of salt.
Mike burst out laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. “Oh man, salty oatmeal! You’ve just invented breakfast jerky!”
Lisa groaned, holding her forehead. “Josh, even the bears wouldn’t eat this.”
Josh looked at the pot as though betrayal itself stared back at him. “Okay, fine. Mistakes were made. But we’ve still got coffee.”
Unfortunately, the coffee turned out worse. Josh hadn’t packed filters, so he dumped the grounds straight into boiling water. The result was a gritty sludge that Lisa spit out immediately.
“This isn’t coffee,” she sputtered. “It’s liquid dirt.”
Mike lifted his tin mug and toasted Josh. “To our chef: master of mush, champion of salt, pioneer of dirt water.”
Josh groaned and flopped onto a log. “You people have no vision. Cooking in the wild is an art form.”
Lisa smirked. “If this is art, it belongs in a museum of bad ideas.”
Breakfast ended with granola bars—emergency rations Josh had sworn they wouldn’t need. Spirits lifted once food was in their bellies, but Josh sat brooding, determined to prove himself.
“Dinner,” he muttered darkly. “Dinner will redeem me. You’ll see.”
But neither Mike nor Lisa had the faintest idea that Josh’s “redemption dinner” would involve beans, an exploding pot, and a close encounter with a very curious raccoon.
By the time evening rolled around, Josh was a man on a mission.
He stacked firewood like a lumberjack, arranged stones into what he proudly called a “professional-grade fire pit,” and announced his masterpiece plan: “Tonight, my friends, we feast on beans and rice. Simple, hearty, foolproof.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Key word being foolproof. You sure you qualify?”
Mike chuckled, already unwrapping a chocolate bar he’d stashed in his pack. “I’m just glad I brought backup food.”
Josh shot them both a look. “Laugh it up. You’ll be begging for seconds when I’m done.”
The setup looked good at first. He dumped a can of beans and a bag of instant rice into the pot, added water, and set it on the fire. He even remembered to stir. Confidence oozed from him like smoke from the flames.
But then came the mistake—Josh got distracted telling a story about his high school football days and stopped paying attention to the pot.
The beans began bubbling violently, foaming up, hissing as water boiled over the sides. Josh scrambled, trying to lift it, but the handle was scorching hot. He yelped, dropped it back on the stones, and the pot sputtered like a miniature volcano.
Lisa jumped back. “Josh! It’s going to explode!”
As if on cue, the lid rattled and popped, spraying hot bean-foam in every direction. Mike doubled over laughing. “This is better than TV!”
Josh flailed, finally knocking the pot off the fire. Half-cooked beans and clumps of sticky rice oozed into the dirt.
“Dinner is served,” Lisa said dryly, holding up a spoonful of the mess. “Five-star mud pie.”
Before Josh could defend himself, a rustle came from the tree line. The three of them froze. Out of the shadows emerged a pair of glowing eyes, then a striped tail.
“A raccoon,” Mike whispered.
The animal waddled straight toward the spilled beans, completely unafraid. It sniffed the gooey mess, then began eating enthusiastically, smacking its little jaws.
Lisa burst out laughing. “Even the raccoon thinks you’re a terrible cook, Josh. He didn’t wait for seasoning.”
Josh threw up his hands. “Great. Even the wildlife’s mocking me.”
The raccoon paused, staring at Josh with what seemed like judgment in its beady eyes, before returning to its meal.
Mike wiped tears from his face. “Forget the trail. Forget the mountains. This trip was worth it just to see a raccoon rate your cooking.”
Josh groaned but couldn’t help laughing along. The scene was too ridiculous—the three of them sitting around a ruined pot of beans while a raccoon dined like a king.
That night, they settled for energy bars again, laughing until their stomachs hurt. Josh lay in his sleeping bag, staring at the stars, his pride battered but his spirits strangely high.
“Tomorrow,” he muttered, “I’ll finally get it right.”
But in the back of his mind, he knew his friends would never let him live down the Great Bean Disaster—or their unexpected furry dinner guest.
The next morning, Josh rose before dawn. He wasn’t going to let beans—or raccoons—have the last word.
He built the fire carefully, fed it with dry kindling, and pulled out his final secret weapon: pancake mix.
“Simple, foolproof, and delicious,” he whispered to himself. “This is it. Redemption.”
When Lisa and Mike finally crawled out of their tents, they found Josh crouched over the pan, flipping something golden and round.
“Pancakes?” Lisa asked, rubbing her eyes.
Josh grinned, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Not just pancakes. The best pancakes you’ve ever had at 9,000 feet.”
Mike squinted at the pan. “They’re not burned… yet.”
Josh slid a pancake onto a plate and handed it to Lisa. She cut a cautious bite, tasted it, and paused.
“Well?” Josh demanded, his voice trembling with anticipation.
Lisa chewed slowly, then broke into a smile. “It’s… actually good.”
Mike grabbed his plate. “Hold on. Let me test this miracle.” He took a bite, then nodded solemnly. “Josh, you’ve finally cooked something edible. History has been made.”
Josh puffed out his chest, triumphant. “See? I told you I had instincts. It just took a little practice.”
Just as he was basking in his victory, something rustled in the bushes. The three froze. Out from the trees came the same raccoon, waddling with bold confidence. It sniffed the air and stepped closer to the fire.
Lisa burst out laughing. “He’s back for breakfast. Your number one fan!”
Josh groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Mike tossed the raccoon a tiny piece of pancake. The animal snatched it, chewed with visible delight, and looked up expectantly for more.
“Even the raccoon approves,” Lisa said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Josh, you’ve finally passed the wilderness taste test.”
Josh shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Great. My only positive food review comes from a raccoon.”
They ate the rest of the pancakes together, sharing bites with their unexpected camp guest. It wasn’t gourmet dining, but it was warm, filling, and, for once, not a disaster.
As they packed up camp later that morning, Lisa slung her pack onto her shoulders and grinned. “You know, Josh, this trip has taught me something important.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Josh asked.
“That simple recipes are the best recipes in the wild. And,” she added with a smirk, “never let you near beans again.”
Mike laughed. “I’m just glad we survived with minimal food poisoning.”
Josh rolled his eyes, but deep down, he knew they were right. Simple meals weren’t about showing off—they were about keeping things easy, light, and shareable.
As they headed back down the trail, the raccoon scurried after them for a few steps before veering off into the woods. Josh looked over his shoulder and sighed.
“Goodbye, little critic. May you never taste my mac and cheese.”
Lisa and Mike laughed until their packs rattled. And though Josh’s culinary reputation was forever tarnished, the memory of the Great Campfire Kitchen Disaster would become one of their favorite stories to tell—proof that sometimes, the best part of the trail wasn’t the food, but the laughter it stirred.