Mid-morning munchies hit. What do I want? Plain yogurt? No. Milk? No. Cold quinoa? Definitely no. Nothing inside the refrigerator beckons no matter how long I hold the door open.

Giving a wide berth to my baking goods cabinet which I know holds chocolate chips I wander over to the pantry. Mixed nuts? Maybe. Crackers? Yes! But they’re not on the new “low-carb lifestyle” we’ve recently adopted. Three boxes of them huddle on a shelf. I should toss them so they don’t tempt, but my mom’s ingrained frugality forbids it.

I sigh and look directly at the mostly full bags of snacks on the Healthy Shelf. Goji berries,  prunes, Craisins, shaved coconut chips, pumpkin seeds. (I will never tell my mom how much I paid for these uneaten superfoods.) And the one bag, never opened, peeking out from behind the others – mushroom jerky,

At the Omaha airport the TSA agent studied it much like I am now.

“Hmmm. Mushroom jerky. How is it?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Maybe he was an undercover Omaha Steaks spy.

“I’m afraid to try it,” I said sheepishly.

And that is the truth.

This bag of mushroom jerky has covered many miles with me – to Nebraska, to Baltimore, to Philadelphia, to Salisbury. When I travel, especially by car, I munch.

I remember seeing it in the store and thinking, “What a great idea!” In addition to lower carbs, we’ve given up meat. But I do crave jerky every once in a while. Who doesn’t love gnawing on a salty hunk of dried-out beef for a half-hour?

When I got home from the grocery store, I set the mushroom jerky beside my purse along with my other travel snacks–pistachios, veggie stix (yes-the extremely processed, carb-dense, nothing vegetable-ish about them chips), spicy trail mix, and a few mandarin oranges – for my trip to Nebraska the next morning.

Just me and the mushroom jerky returned.

One day I will summon my courage. But I’m not feeling brave this morning. Mixed nuts anyone?