
It was now Thanksgiving proper, and Red and I assembled our 4-star kitchen whose primary fixtures were a camp-stove and a frisbee,

and in no time flat we were serving eggrolls and quesadias.

They were at least edible,

and all the little kitchens in our camp brought out little desert-defying delicacies. As the old expression goes, "The ingenuity of (wo)man isn't proven by his being able to merely survive in a desert, but by her ability to go to a desert and cook apple crisps and pizza."
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