$68 and a Stomach Full of Dreams


There are a lot of reasons I’m excited to finally get deployed and start working in the field—but I’ll be honest, one of the biggest ones?
The $68 per diem.
That’s right. My employer is handing me $68 a day to eat—and Frugal Nate sees an opportunity.

See, whatever I don’t spend on food, I get to keep. You do the math. If I play it smart, I could be pocketing a decent chunk just by skipping the overpriced airport sandwich or resisting the siren song of Cracker Barrel.

But here’s where it gets complicated. Because inside me—right next to the practical guy with the calculator—is the fat kid who remembers that old Frosted Mini-Wheats commercial. You know the one. “The adult in me loves the fiber. The kid in me loves the taste!”
Well, my inner child wants tacos from food trucks. He wants barbecue so smoky it makes your eyes water. He wants everything bagels from Queens, shrimp and grits in Charleston, and pie from some place where “pie” is pronounced with two syllables.

Back in the day, before Jamie’s stomach betrayed her and declared war on Garlic, spices, and joy—we used to play one of the best road games ever invented: Stomach Roulette.

No chains. No apps. No reviews. Just two hungry weirdos walking into wherever looked local and smelled good.
One of my favorite wins? A tiny after-hours Chinese joint deep in Chinatown where nobody spoke English, and we just smiled, mimed “fork to mouth,” and waved cash like confused tourists in a sitcom. Eventually, a dishwasher appeared from the back and said, “What do you want?” in a perfect New York accent.

“Whatever you eat. Not picky at all. No forks if you don’t use 'em.”

They served us the best Mai Fun I’ve ever had—shrimp dumplings, pork buns, stuff I still can’t name. We didn’t get menus. We didn’t ask questions. And we ate like royalty for 15 dollars

Now, it wasn’t always a home run. There was the fish bread from a Caribbean place by the Brooklyn Botanic Garden that tasted like regret. But even then, it was still an experience.

I’m looking forward to playing stomach roulette again.
Most days, sure, I’ll be smart. I’ll hit the hotel gym. I’ll eat like a sensible, middle-aged human being. I’ll remind myself I’m not 22 anymore, and that my doctor (who weighs 50 pounds more than me, thank you very much) told me I’m “already fat enough.”

But at least once or twice during each deployment, I want to treat myself to something regional. Something the locals love and do well.
I’m not talking about eating Rocky Mountain oysters or lamb fries (and if you don’t know what those are—pause now and look it up, I’ll wait).
I’m talking Philly cheesesteak.
I’m talking Key lime pie in Florida.
Maybe boudin in Louisiana or green chile stew in New Mexico.

It’s not about splurging—it’s about soaking in the experience. Eating something that says, this is where you are.
And for a guy who’s spent most of his life fixing busted cars, building a second career, and raising a big loud family—these little bites of joy feel like the biggest reward.

So yeah, I’m excited for the $68 per diem.
But I’m even more excited to spend it wisely—and occasionally, gloriously.

Saving where I can, splurging where it counts. See you at the next fork in the road

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