The culinary experience at Bonnaroo is something totally unique to the festival. We talked with Lincoln, our tent-neighbor, about how many veteran Bonnaroo-ers bring their own portable grills and coolers, and for the most part prepare all of their meals themselves. I wish I could’ve woken up to the smell of his freshly cooked eggs and bacon, if only the sun and heat wouldn’t get to me first.
We, on the other hand, went the bootstrapper’s route and for the festival prepared ourselves for a steady diet of PB&J and grocery-bought fruits. After discovering that our bread came loaded with bits of yellow plastic already baked in (flashes of Kenan & Kel’s “I! Put the screw! In the tuna!”), we knew we’d have a monumental task ahead if we hoped to keep or wallets as full as our stomachs.
On Day 4, I decided to celebrate my own survival by treating myself to the most expensive and luxurious meal possible on festival grounds: a $15 Ahi Tuna. And it sucked. Who would’ve thought that fish prepared in the middle of a music festival located nowhere near an ocean would be a bad idea? The festival’s real food winners were the $1 Grilled Cheese guys. Even the thriftiest festival attendees couldn’t resist the lure of trading a single George Washington for a hot meal.
Our experience at Bonnaroo ended in just about the same fashion as it started: one big, hot, mess. After wringing our systems of every last droplet of sweat at Phoenix’s set, we packed up and shoved off back to St. Louis. Beyond all comprehension, we managed to snake a path through the patches of space that now appear throughout Tent City, as those who couldn’t handle the heat or merely ran out of energy had already left the scene.
After a pit stop at Arby’s, we arrive home at close to 4:00am – no wiser, but not altogether worse for the wear. Bonnaroo will stand tall as a true music experience and testament to the human spirit. It just remains to be seen whether we’ll be able to build up the life reserves to partake again next year.
