The roadtrip foods of importance

Sweet, salty or smelly, the car food makes the trip

Jun 20, 2025

Release Date: June 20, 2025

A can of dry roasted peanuts

We took a lot of road trips when I was a kid, which, in hindsight seems a little odd, since my dad hated driving. But there you have it.

There were the long trips from Minnesota to Colorado and back each summer when Dad was attending grad school. I was three when those started, so don’t have a lot of memories, although there is a family story about me throwing my baby doll out the rolled-down back window, and Dad having to tramp through the tall grass looking for her.

Even after Dad graduated, we still made the trip out to Colorado every few years, more often than not hauling our little pink camper behind. Good times.

There were also road trips to Texas and Arkansas, California and Canada, and every state neighboring Minnesota, of course. Dad was loyal to Chevy trucks, so the four of us, Mom, Dad, my sister and I, would climb up into the cab, get situated on the bench seat, and hit the road.

Within a few miles of home, my mom and sister would be sound asleep, leaving me in charge of navigating with the perfectly folded paper maps Dad had picked up at the gas station.

And, maybe more importantly, I was responsible for Dad’s can of peanuts.

You see, when Dad got nervous, which happened any time there were other vehicles on the road, he got snacky. And his snack of choice was dry roasted peanuts.

Keeping his eyes glued on the road, and one hand on the steering wheel, Dad would blindly fling his hand in the general direction of the can. And it was my job to make sure he found it.

If successful, he’d grab a handful, shake them in his closed fist like dice, toss them in his mouth, and eventually start breathing again.

If unsuccessful, the can would clatter to the floorboards where it would roll around, potentially getting lodged under the accelerator, and send us headlong into oncoming. traffic — or so I was warned.

Ok, maybe not warned, but I’ve always had a good imagination and a penchant for worst-case scenarios thinking.

Fortunately for all of us, however, I was also born with pretty great eye-hand coordination, as well, meaning, although a stray peanut would often hit the deck, the can never did.

To this day, the smell of dry roasted peanuts — which I still find disgusting btw — brings me back to those family road trips and the special bond Dad and I forged while everyone else slept.

A giant jar of pickles

When my daughter was 13, her favorite car food was a giant pickle.

I have no idea how it happened.

I’d taken a gig as a syndicated travel writer that year, so the two of us spent a lot of time in the car, exploring small, local museums and out-of-the-way roadside attractions across America. One day she was sitting in the passenger seat unwrapping colorful Starbursts and the next she was happily crunching on a wet, drippy pickle the size of a small torpedo.

Maybe she’d picked it up at a gas station deli. Maybe at a grocery store. However it happened, giant pickles quickly became her “thing”. Not her only “thing”, I should mentioned. Butterfly hair clips were also her “thing” that year, as were non-prescription glasses with colored lenses, cherry chapstick and Beanie Babies.

But back to the pickles.

It started out innocently enough. We’d stop for lunch and she’d grab a pickle for the road, or add a small jar of baby dills to the grocery basket on shopping day. Then, I made the mistake of leaving her alone in the condiment aisle at the Walmart in Shreveport, LA. Next thing I knew, I was paying for a gallon jar of whole dill pickles and trying to convince my soon-to-be-teen it belonged in the cooler in the back, and not with her in the front.

Things went south fast after that.

Every week or so we’d find a Walmart and replenish the pickle supply. And before I knew it, my daughter had crafted a pair of tube socks and a baseball hat into a pickle jar bed that she then installed up against the floorboard at her feet.

What’s a mom to do? She was happy, she was being creative, and she wasn’t asking for junk food, right?

To her credit, my daughter took great care to make sure the jars didn’t break and the lids were always screwed tight. And I finally got her to agree to only retrieve pickles when we were stopped, tho I probably should have been more specific.

Live and learn, right?

More than a quarter century has passed since our year on the road, the year of the pickle. My daughter and I still love taking roadtrips together, and do it as often as it makes sense, which is less often than we’d like.

A few years ago, however, we strapped her little ones into their car seats, packed the back of her SUV to the roof, and drove from Texas to DC, taking the backroads, and stopping at anything interesting we saw along the way.

Including a Walmart, where her oldest conned his nana into buying a giant jar of pickles.

Somethings never change.

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A bag of something red

After six decades of long-distance car travel on three continents, I can say without a doubt red licorice is the ultimate roadtrip food.

Before anyone starts getting yippy, let me explain:

Red licorice is 100-percent portable. No special handling required and it can fit anywhere — glovebox, console, that handy little spot under the handle on the door, even your lap.

It doesn’t need to be unwrapped, and can easily be eaten with one hand, leaving the other hand available for steering, for example, or changing the radio station.

It doesn’t spill, drip, ooze or make your fingers sticky, so no napkins or wet wipes required.

Unlike chocolate — the only logical choice for long haul flights — red licorice doesn’t melt. You can leave a bag of it on the passenger seat all day long, and it won’t turn into a puddle of goo or stain the upholstery.

No crumbs to brush aside before your passenger notices them.

And, it doesn’t stink up the car or require anyone to roll the windows down while being eaten. (I’m talking to you, Mr. Peanut!)

In many ways, red licorice is the pipe of the candy world: Effortless, calming, thoughtful, undemanding and perfect for long car trips where your mind can contemplate life’s big questions like how can a full set of dentures in Missouri cost just $59, why are there so many adult DVD stores in the Bible Belt and just how many Mud Lakes are there in America (677, btw).

Sure there may be other acceptable car foods out there, but give me a good playlist, a full water bottle and a 2-pound bag of red licorice and I can happily drive from here to the horizon.

In fact, I do just that several times a year!

Your turn and your culinary traditions

What was the one snack or food item that always signaled the beginning of a road trip? Who packed it, and why was it chosen? Describe how it felt to unwrap or taste that food as the car pulled out of the driveway.
Did your family have a specific routine or tradition around car trip snacks—stopping at the same gas station, packing a cooler the night before, or making sandwiches at a rest stop? What roles did different family members play in this ritual?
Think back to a time when you passed snacks around the car. Who sat where? What was said as food was shared? What do you remember about those crumbs on the seats, napkins in laps, or arguments over the last cookie?
Was there ever a snack or meal on a trip that surprised you? Maybe something new, unusual, or homemade that you didn’t expect? Who packed it, and what do you remember about the first bite?
Did your family stop for meals along the way, or was everything packed in advance? Describe a memorable roadside diner, picnic area, or gas station find that has stuck with you over the years.
Were there any car trip foods you weren’t usually allowed to have at home—like soda, candy, fast food—or something that only appeared on the road? What made those treats feel extra special?
What was kept in the cooler (if you had one)? Who was in charge of it? What foods were packed with care—and how did people react when the cooler was opened hours into the trip?
Describe a specific food smell that filled the car during road trips—whether good or bad. How did it blend with the scent of vinyl seats, sunscreen, or open windows? What emotions or memories does that smell still bring back?
Think about a car trip snack you loved as a kid. Have you tried it as an adult? How did it taste, and how did it make you feel? What does that say about how you’ve changed—or stayed the same?