Burger on a can

April 22, 2020

When I was in Junior High one of my school’s claims to fame was an annual all-student extreme camping trip called “Survival.” Survival was a week in the woods, living in close, rustic quarters with limited amenities, learning basic outdoor skills, and bonding with your classmates and teachers. It was a rite of passage both anticipated and feared for all of the elementary school years preceding it.

Social anxiety is defined by an overwhelming fixation on the possibility of being judged, observed, of accidentally standing out, of drawing negative attention. Much of my life has been shaped and shadowed by this glitch in my brain. Living with this compulsion takes up so much mental space it is hard to think straight under pressure, pick up on jokes, banter, focus. I think of it as self-fulfilling anxiety. Your worst fear manifested by your inability to rid yourself of that fear. The other consequence of the condition is that it often robs me of memories. The inability to be fully present at iconic life moments - first days at new schools, proms, graduations, first dates, awards, presentations - leaves many of my recollections blurry and hard to access.

In junior high, the most frightening part of social anxiety is that it is not all in your head. Your peers are constantly evaluating you. People scrutinize what you dress, what you eat, what activities you do. That observational and assessment period is a natural part of each of us developing a sense of a self. For me it meant existing every day in absolute fear of the humiliation I knew would overtake my mind in gym class, class activities, locker rooms, presentations, performances, assemblies, sports, and extracurriculars. My memories of that time are defined by a certain clenching, rigid, defensive mode.

Survival Week should have been something up my alley. My parents started taking us camping when we were toddlers. My sisters, neighbors, and I spent whole days tromping through our woods, building shelters, and scraping hands and legs on pricker bushes. I had no fear of bugs or sleeping on the ground or eating hot dogs every day for a week. I was even immune to poison ivy! But when the time came to sign up, it was the thought of a whole week in close quarters with classmates and teachers without a moment of relief, of spending all day every day in an unfamiliar setting with no idea what to expect, that led me - to my profound shame - to opt out.

For those rag-tag few of us who did not go on the trip, the school hosted a week of optional field trips and activities. I don’t know how the teachers who hung out with us - for that’s what it felt like - got this assignment, but I appreciate them to this day for doing their best to give us our own memorable time. I remember experiencing my hometown in new ways - a bike ride along the beach, a day spent eating junk food and watching movies in an empty classroom because of a rained out field trip, and a long hike along the power lines not so far from my own house.

It was on this last excursion that I had the burger I will never forget. Maybe because of lingering sympathy for what we were missing out on, or maybe because the hike itself was so flat and unremarkable that they thought the day needed some spicing up, the pair leading that day’s trek had us stop periodically to do a series of “wilderness” survival activities. One of the challenges was to cook a burger on a coffee can. There was nothing special about the burger. What is special is my memory of it. Without any hazy anxiety overlay, I can picture all the details. I see the dirt road we sat on. The little coffee cans scattered across the path as they warmed up like burners, suddenly obvious in their rightness for this function. And I see the simple burger on a white grocery store bun in my hand, as I sat cross-legged on the path that beautiful day in the woods. It would be a long time - honestly maybe not until this very week - before I recognized that the choice I’d made to stay at home from Survival was not a failure of courage, but an early triumph of caring for myself in my own way.

During this time of quarantine and heightened fear I have been periodically overwhelmed, despairing, terrified, and all of the things of which others have spoken. Just like everyone else I desperately miss my family, my friends, and my local hangouts. But a strange side effect for me has been that my body feels better, unusually healthy, with the absence of my baseline anxiety. Without the burden of choosing outfits, applying makeup (or not), and interacting with strangers. Without the constant wondering if the clothes I’d ended up wearing were appropriate, the makeup clownish, and the words coming out of my mouth ridiculous. My heart rate is lower, my mind more focused, and my stomach remarkably ache-free. Right now I find myself back in that week of Junior High, full of guilt for feeling calm and content with the decision to stay home. Every day I uneasily ask myself the questions: Is it possible that in quarantine I am able to be more comfortably myself than ever before? If so, what will it be like to reemerge?

Over the years I’ve come to accept the conflict of being a person who loves the world, loves humanity, loves fresh experiences, but who also finds the most comfort and inner calm with solitude, away from the conflict of interaction. I don’t know what I would have experienced had I gone on Survival, how it may have changed or strengthened me. But I do remember with unusual clarity the casual, relaxing fun of the week I spent exploring the hidden corners of my town with a band of people I may otherwise never have known. And for some reason, I have never forgotten how to cook a burger on a can.

Ingredients: Serves 1 Solo Quarantinee

Burger (Feel free to sub in your favorite)

¼ lb ground beef

Diced onion

Worcestershire sauce

Toppings and embellishments of your choice

I had mine quarantine provisions-style - on an english muffin, with cheddar, arugula, red onion, and ketchup. Pickles and, in tribute to my homeland, Cape Cod chips on the side.

Preparation: Make a Can Stove

• Peel the label off an empty can of instant coffee or something of a similar size.

• Cut a flap in the bottom of the can as wide as your heat source (about 3’) and fold up to create a small door.

• Punch holes around the top to let the smoke out.

• Original survival instructions include using a tuna or cat food can, filled with spiraled cardboard, and covered in wax, which can then be lit like a candle. Since I’m staying at home and don’t have wax, I used a sterno I had from my fondue pot, open as wide as possible.

• Wipe down the bottom of the can and place it upside down over the heat source and light the flame.

• The bottom of the can becomes hot like a burner, spray with cooking oil and use to cook the burger of your choice.

• Be sure to use a thermometer while cooking, to ensure that the can is getting hot enough. (Editor's note: especially if using meat.)

Serve and enjoy!

Kate Preissler is a writer and museum director who is currently serving as public information officer for her city's COVID-19 response team. She is adventurous.