I find that I have this strange attraction towards foreign occupation food. It hits all the spots; resourceful, soulful, and extremely delicious. Okinawa taco rice is one of those dishes. This dish originated from the American occupation of Japan after World War 2. The small island of Okinawa flooded with an influx of US military bases, and with it, American soldiers. These Americans weren’t used to the taste of Japanese food like we are today. Instead, they craved the taste of home. And for many of these soldiers, it was Mexican food. Local restaurant owners wanted to capitalize on this food vacuum and thus, taco rice was born.

Bulgogi, traditionally enjoyed with rice or as lettuce wraps, is to Koreans what phở is to the Vietnamese, matzo ball soup to the Jewish, the taco is to the Mexicans, and spaghetti and meatballs are to Italian-Americans. It’s the single Korean dish that has transcended far beyond its humble, and also some royal roots. Everyone has their own rendition of this sweet and savory meat dish, there’s no single “this is it” recipe. It’s even been popularized by Korean-American chef and restaurateur, Roy Choi, when he opened up the Kogi BBQ Taco truck in Los Angeles where he combined the City of Angel’s two favorite foods, Mexican and Korean, together into a taco. And now, you too can enjoy this unique blend of cultures at camp.

Pizza at camp? Yes you can. With the portable and versatile pizza ovens out there these days, you can easily transport one to the campsite. And with some smart prep at home, assembling and baking up that pie in the open air is a breeze.

Hot pot. It’s a phrase that is synonymous with parties, get togethers, celebrations, and good times for many people around the world. Ever wonder how to feed a bunch of people delicious food without breaking the bank? Hot pot is the answer. Growing up, the lẩu thái (thai-inspired) variant of Vietnamese hot pot, was the go-to dish for my mom to serve whenever we knew that the rest of the massive Nguyen clan was coming.

Phở is the spaghetti of the Vietnam. It’s the country’s most known dish, the most talked about, and somehow translated extremely well to non-Vietnamese people when made the leap over the pond to western countries. And, like spaghetti, mom always makes it best. The next best thing while you’re traveling on the road? Make phở yourself and have a full on chill day at camp.

The most American I ever felt as an immigrant kid growing up in America was when I was 18 and I ordered my first French dip at Applebee’s. Nothing felt as far removed from home-cooked Vietnamese food than, to me, a decadent meat filled sandwich where you dip the whole contraption into its own juices. In those few moments of enjoying the sandwich, the feeling of being included and accepted as just another American kid, and not an immigrant kid with strange cultural traditions and stinky food, was incredibly powerful.

There’s never a right or wrong way. Especially with food. We’re all so fixated on this notion of authenticity that it almost blinds us from actually enjoying meals. If the food is delicious, and if it has all the right hints and notes of the culture it derived from, it’s authentic because the cook made it that way…

A little bit of effort goes a long way. Camp Mexican-style beef birria on a warm-in-the-sun-but-chilly-in-the-shade sort of day hits the spot like very little else. Marinade the night before, toss it into a dutch oven in the morning, and you have incredible soul touchingly good tacos and soup by lunch…