Words by Jamie Peck
Photo by Nate Dorr

Jamie Peck travels to and back from Austin shitting and eating vegan all along the way. Below is a collection of her first week’s experiences.

West Philly

I asked Stephanie at Danger Danger where I could get some decent vegan grub, and she pointed me to Mariposa Coop and Fu Wah grocery down the street. Before she’d finished saying “tofu hoagies,” I was out the door. I picked up some primal strips, sesame crackers, and garlicky black bean hummus at Mariposa, then stopped by Fu Wah for the famed Vietnamese-American hybrid. $3.50 got me a decent sized grinder with fluffy brown tofu that tasted like it had been marinated in sweet soy sauce for many an hour. Carrots and daikon added crunch, jalapenos and hot sauce added kick, and a sprig of cilantro added, well, cilantro. I like Sriracha chili sauce a lot so I added some more from my private stash. My only complaint was the bread was a bit soggy, but to be fair, I did leave it sitting for a while before I ate it, and it wasn’t so moist as to ruin the experience completely (or really at all).

The bathroom at Danger Danger was firmly middle of the road. It earned points for a crumbling exterior, complete with a sign clearly stolen from a public toilet. Ample wiggle room and a place to hang my bag were bonuses. But then I saw the condition of the throne. Suspicious yellow spots felt tacky to the touch of the toilet paper. When I tried to wipe them they made it clear they were going nowhere. I covered them in TP and made a mental note to practice my squats. This will be a long trip indeed if I cannot train my leg muscles to hold me aloft as I release urine.

I interviewed Kieran from Ecstatic Sunshine on the tour-toilet experience, and he had a lot to say.

Kieran: They’re all we have! We weren’t just at our house ten minutes ago so we have to use what we get and if what we get is not so good…it’s kind of a problem for us. Some people are more worried about it than other people…some people can deal with anything they find and some are like ‘oh, that’s a Barnes and Noble, we gotta pull over!’

Impose: What’s the bathroom set-up like at Floristree?

Kieran: We have one really bad one, the seat’s broken, that’s mainly for the guys…then we have another one on the other side that’s a little bit secret, but anyone can still use it…then we have the main one.”

Note to self: find secret bathroom at Floristree, poop.

Baltimore

The “secret bathroom” at Floristree was everything Kieran had promised and more. The shower/bath was housed in a room blocked off on three sides by those ribbed glass tiles they use in public swimming pools, and on one side by a curtain. The toilet was clean, and there was A+ reading material for that crap I’d planned (Wire, the Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes), but when the time came, I was unable to perform. Why couldn’t I bring myself to eliminate in what was by far the nicest bathroom I’d encountered on tour to date? I’ll tell you why: THERE WAS NO FUCKING DOOR. A sign outside reads “Weird Bathroom So Knock,” and the pooper is shielded via a tortuous hallway…but I just didn’t trust everyone to respect the sign. No matter how many times I told myself it was going to be ok, I just couldn’t summon the courage to take a crap, or even a piss. Luckily, the “main bathroom” was lockable and quite decent. I feel 10 lbs lighter.

Shawn at Floristree told me about a place that had Caribbean vegan food, or ital, but we left before it opened in the morning. The ride to Richmond was long and un-halting, and it was only a matter of time before I digested my cereal and grew hungry again. Luckily, I’d brought a bag of rations designed to take me through lean times. Health Valley makes some great dehydrated soups: in a matter of minutes I had a steaming bowl of lentils and couscous, which I doctored up with some nutritional yeast and yet more Sriracha. Spicy, filling, simple, delicious. No complaints here.

Richmond

The Richmond show was at a restaurant called Nara Sushi, which I assumed would no longer be serving by the time the music started. Not so: the chef, a jocular Japanese man named Khim, stuck around to hear the bands, and offered around 2am to make us some sushi on the house. A plate of barely-dead sea creatures came out first and I tried not to look too horrified as my male companions gulped them down like frenzied sharks. I asked him if he could make me something vegan and his eyes twinkled: he was up to the task. “Potato roll” was all he said, but this was enough to get me very excited. My stomach loves starch late at night, especially when I’ve been drinking, and this hit the spot: a rice-on-the-outside roll with chunks of fried sweet potato and cucumber in the middle. In the moment it took to bite down, my tongue hit sweet sticky rice, chewy seaweed, crunchy cucumber, crispy batter, and lastly, warm, mushy sweet potato. With ginger, soy sauce, and wasabi, it was heaven. Domo arigato, Khim.

The bathroom at Nara Sushi was fine: not the lap of luxury, but clean and spacious. I was especially pleased to find a one-holer complete with sink, because whenever I find one of these, I take a French shower of sorts. This is an important strategy for anyone who thinks they might want to get laid on tour, especially if one is partial to oral pleasure… unless you don’t give a shit how your stuff smells. In which case, you are an asshole.

We stopped for lunch at Burger King, whose deliciously tortured grade B meat is appealing to some, disgusting to others. Luckily for me, across the road from every Burger King/McDonald’s there is another plaza, one invariably containing a locally owned Chinese restaurant. They’re not always great, but every single one of them has vegetables and most of them have tofu, which they will probably sell to you for $5 or less. It’s also fun to wonder how these recent (judging from their accents) Chinese immigrants came to settle in West Bumfuck, Virginia and open a restaurant.

After some discussion with the lady at the counter, I got mixed vegetables and soft tofu in a simple brown sauce that I was reasonably assured contained no animal products. Like the Chinese joint in my own Brooklyn ‘hood, fried chicken, plantains, etc. were also on the menu. However, the food here was more flavorful, the vegetables nicely al dente, and that slight chemical tinge absent (wtf, Sunny Garden?). I got enough to save some for when we get to Birmingham, where everyone will probably stampede straight for the barbecued animal parts.

Asheville

The Grey Eagle serves Southern specialties like fried green tomatoes, alligator meat, and shrimp gumbo. For the likes of me, there were red beans and rice and an organic side salad. This was a pretty simple meal but it was filling and yummy, especially once I doused the beans with every last one of the crazy hot sauces they had on the offering. My esophagus might not have been happy afterwards, but my taste buds were, and at the end of the day, isn’t that what really matters?

The Grey Eagle’s john was fairly unremarkable, but welcome after a day spent in the car unable to poop for fear our black water levels would rise to unacceptable heights. I took the most satisfying crap of the trip thus far, during which I was entertained by some local lesbians gossiping about their cheating, flip-flopping ex-girlfriends. Direct quote: “It really upsets me to think about a cock in her vagina.” I feel exactly the same way, except replace “upsets” with “excites” and “her” with “my.”

Drained by a morning of RV troubles and delays, we stopped by Rosetta’s for some much needed sustenance. I had the “mini-meal”, which advertised itself as “perfect for kids or lunch!” Because I thought it would be small, I also got a side order of their vegan mac and cheese, which turned out to be by far the best vegan mac I’ve ever tasted. Most vegan mac is bland and runny, but they somehow got their fake cheese to be a nice thick consistency. Chunks of tomato added moisture, and the top was slightly crispy from having been baked. As for the “mini-meal,” it was large enough to be my dinner as well. Peanut butter tofu, sautéed kale, and a hearty scoop of mashed potatoes with a thick nutritional yeast-y gravy coated my stomach and then some. Though I was stuffed, I couldn’t resist getting dessert to go, and chose a chocolate coconut swirl custard that tasted much like the instant pudding of my youth (this is a good thing). One would be wise to go here both before and after a night of partying.

Birmingham

After salivating unwillingly while watching my companions gnaw on giant pig ribs, I was ready to either puke or pass out. Derek (Impose’s publisher and our RV chauffeur) was nice enough to bring me to the Bottletree, where they also have good rock shows, for some grub. The bartender recommended the “blackened tofu tacos,” which I hate to say were edible but hardly delicious. They consisted of two cold flour tortillas with two smallish pieces of (not blackened) tofu inside, in addition to big chunks of VeganRella, not enough black bean and corn pico de gallo, some tofu sour cream, and a slathering of guacamole that gave me unpleasant raw onion burps for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t bad for bar food but it was not enough to keep me from hitting up Al’s later for a Middle Eastern sampler plate of hummus, falafel, babaganoush, tabouli, wild rice, warm pita, and of course a drizzling of Frank’s Red Hot. Everyone in there was wasted and it smelled like yummy grease. Good stuff.

Due to Derek’s girlfriend’s parents amazing hospitality, we got to stay at a freaking mansion in Birmingham. We each had our own room, and each was attached to a bathroom of epic proportions. Two sinks, a shower-bath, clean towels, and a toilet discretely located around the corner greeted me with shining faces. There was also a bucket of snacks and toiletries, because Derek’s girlfriend’s parents are too nice to be real. We took no pictures for fear its sparkling brilliance would overload the camera. I am going to dream about this bathroom for the rest of the trip.

The bathroom at Cave 9 was also great. In true keeping with the all-ages theme it was plastered in pages from comic books, so you can read The Incredible Hulk while you poop. It was also surprisingly clean. A+

Stay tuned for further shits and eats along the way as Jamie Peck continues her trip to Austin and back (to Brooklyn).

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