Eating in Thailand was a bit of a challenge for me. Sarah is far more adventurous when it comes to food, while I am—how should I put this—considerably more suspicious of anything I cannot immediately identify.

It also did not help that I have never been a huge fan of Thai food.

Street food was everywhere, and normally that would be part of the experience. But after seeing raw chicken sitting outside in buckets in more than 90-degree heat, my appetite packed its bags and left Bangkok without me.

Even Sarah, who will usually try just about anything, took one look at some of the food storage situations and decided that perhaps this was a good time to temporarily suspend her adventurous-eater status.

The same problem followed us to the floating market, where food was being cooked and served from boats all around us. Everywhere I looked, someone was grilling, frying, chopping, stirring, or handing something across the canal.

There were hundreds of things to eat.

And somehow, I wanted none of them.

After walking around for a while, I became absolutely starving. I had officially reached that miserable stage of hunger where everything should have looked delicious, yet I still could not convince myself to eat a single thing.

And then I saw it.

There, sitting inside a freezer like a tiny frozen beacon of hope, was a Good Humor ice cream bar.

Completely sealed.

In its original packaging.

Frozen solid.

No mystery sauce. No questionable bucket. No ingredient I needed translated.

It was beautiful.

To everyone else, it was probably just an ice cream bar.

To me, it was salvation on a stick.

I bought it immediately.

For reasons I still cannot explain, I suddenly felt slightly guilty about eating an American Good Humor bar in the middle of a Thai floating market. Apparently, after refusing every authentic food option available, I still wanted to maintain the illusion that I was culturally adventurous.

So instead of proudly eating it in public, I slipped down a quiet side street, tore open the wrapper, and started eating it like I had just completed an illegal dessert transaction.

And I swear to you, it was the best ice cream bar I had ever tasted.

I had been standing there for maybe a minute when another American woman came around the corner.

She was holding the exact same ice cream bar.

We stopped.

We looked at each other.

Neither of us said a word.

We did not need to.

In that moment, we both understood exactly what had happened.

Two Americans had wandered through an entire floating market filled with authentic Thai cuisine, rejected every available option, somehow located the same freezer, purchased the same factory-sealed dessert, and then independently chosen the same hidden side street to eat it in shame.

It was less like meeting a stranger and more like discovering another member of my culinary survival team.

There was no judgment between us.

Only respect.

Understanding.

And the quiet relief of knowing that somewhere in Thailand, another person had looked at all that incredible local food and thought, You know what sounds good? Good Humor.

Apparently, we had stumbled upon the unofficial American Good Humor lounge.

After that, vending machines became another trusted member of my Thailand food strategy. Whenever I saw one, I approached it with the enthusiasm other travelers probably reserved for Michelin-starred restaurants.

Chips? Yes.

Cookies? Absolutely.

Something sealed in a recognizable package? Put it in the bag.

By the end of the trip, I had eaten enough vending-machine food to qualify as some sort of regional expert.

Fortunately, our culinary situation eventually improved dramatically when we discovered a restaurant that served both Italian and Thai food.

It was the perfect compromise.

Sarah could continue enjoying Thai dishes.

I could eat pizza and french fries like a woman who had finally found civilization.

Was it the most authentic culinary experience Thailand had to offer?

Absolutely not.

Did I spend part of an international vacation hiding in a side street eating a Good Humor bar with a complete stranger?

Yes.

Did I survive the week without starving?

Thanks to Good Humor, pizza, french fries, and an impressive number of vending-machine purchases, I am happy to report that I did.