Lord, can we talk about the oatmeal

This week I am doing culinary research in New Hampshire.  Ferdinand and I are tenting in a camp that has been going for close to one hundred years.  The lake is beautiful, the air is fresh, the people are an incredible bang for the buck, but I worry that there must have been a message posted somewhere that the crowd is post op, and can tolerate nothing more than what is, appears to be, or smells like smooth oatmeal.

There is no time like the present to slim, or to improve your knowledge of what you can eat in the woods.

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