Nutritious snack for the way across the country

Ingredients
a country to cross
apple pie
ice cream

Directions
On the Road (1991, Penguin Books)

   My first ride was a dynamite truck with a red flag, about thirty miles into great green Illinois, the truckdriver pointed out the place where Route 6, which we were on, intersects Route 66 before they both shoot west for incredible distances. Along about three in the afternoon, after an apple pie and ice cream in a roadside stand, a woman stopped for me in a little coupe. I had a twinge of hard joy as I ran after the car. (15)
...
   I went to sit in the bus station and think this over. I ate another apple pie and ice cream; that's practically all I ate all the way across the country, I knew it was nutritious and it was delicious, of course.  (15-16)
...
   I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that's why it happened right there and then, that strange afternoon.
   But I had to get going and stop moaning, so I picked up my bag, said so long to the old hotelkeeper sitting by his spittoon, and went to eat. I ate apple pie and ice cream - it was getting better as I got deeper into Iowa, the pie bigger, the ice cream richer. (17)

OPTIONAL

(Dean speaking)
   O man, I have to tell you, NOW, I have IT - I have to tell you the time and my father and I and a poor pisspoor bum from Larimer Street took a trip to Nebraska in the middle of the depression to sell flyswatters. And how we made them, we bought pieces of ordinary regular old screen and pieces of wire that we twisted double and little pieces of blue and red cloth to sew around the edges  and all of it for matter of cents in a five-and-ten and made thousands of flyswatters  and got in the old bum's jalopy and went clear around Nebraska to every farmhouse and sold them for a nickel apiece  - mostly for charity the nickels were given us, two bums and a boy, apple pies in the sky, and my old man in those days was always singing ’Hallelujah, I'm a bum, bum again.’ (207)

Dinner with the little bum of Saint Teresa

Ingredients:
1 bottle of Tokay wine
1 can of sardines
1 cold boxcar
a little bread
candy
cheese

Directions:
The Dharma Bums (pp. 7-8)

   I jumped over the side and ran across Highway 101 to the store, and bought, besides wine, a little bread and candy. I ran back to my freight train which had another fifteen minutes to wait in the now warm sunny scene.  But it was late afternoon and bound to get cold soon. The little bum was sitting cross-legged at his end before a pitiful repast of one can of sardines. I took a pity on him and went over and said, ’How about a little wine to warm you up? Maybe you'd like some bread and cheese with your sardines.’
   ’Sure thing.’ He spoke from far inside a little meek voice-box afraid or unwilling to assert himself. I'd bought the cheese three days ago in Mexico City before the long cheap bus trip across Zacatecas and Durango and Chihuahua two thousand long miles to the border at El Paso. He ate the cheese and bread and drank the wine with gusto and gratitude. I was pleased. I reminded myself of the line in the Diamond Sutra that says, ’Practice charity without holding in mind any conceptions about charity , for charity after all is just a word.’
...
   The little bum in the gondola solidified all my beliefs by warming up to the wine and talking and finally whipping out a tiny slip of paper which contained a prayer by Saint Teresa announcing that after her death she will return to the earth by showering it with roses from heaven, forever, for all living creatures.
   ’Where did you get this?’ I asked.
   ’Oh, I cut it out of a reading-room magazine in Los Angeles couple of years ago. I always carry it with me.’
   ’And you squat in boxcars and read it?’
   ’Most every day.’ He talked not much more than this, didn't amplify on the subject of Saint Teresa, and was very modest about his religion and told me little about his personal life. He is the kind of thin quiet little bum nobody pays much attention to even in Skid Row, let alone Main Street.