Roadhouse blues, foraging for insects and $8.00 schooners

I'll admit it, I'm a food snob.

That doesn't mean I'm a precious, gluten-free, organic food obsessive.

It just means I like my food like I prefer my women - not too salty, and ideally, not stuffed full of chemicals.

With our plans to catch a medium-sized crocodile to feed us for the entire trip harpooned (the snappers are everywhere, so why are they a protected species?) it was time for Plan B.

Which meant foraging for food in the outback.

We named this one 'Mr Happy'.  In a case of misleading nomenclature, we found him in the West Alligator River

Truth be told, I had come prepared with some of our own supplies.  In the Toyota Tank was a 40 litre fridge, which even after swallowing a case of Carlton Draught left plenty of room for food.

So I stocked up on healthy snacks and fresh fruit.  Sadly, my co-traveller (when not bleating about the heat) hogged the lot before we'd even reached the outskirts of Katherine.

Which left us reliant on the bane of many a traveller, the 'roadhouse'.

My late mother wasn't blessed with many culinary skills, but she left me with one enduring piece of advice.

'If a place is selling fuel, food and bait, it's best to go hungry'.

She was right.  Northern Territory roadhouses specialise in fuel and bait, leaving food as a token afterthought.

Actually, in the 2,000 odd kilometres we travelled between Darwin and Mt Isa, there was scarcely a food item (and I use the term loosely) that wasn't touched with the kiss of a deep fryer.

Which meant I was forced to survive on a diet of cheese Twisties (never, ever eat the filthy chicken ones) and Red Bull for three days.

Fortunately, there was beer.  Every pub in the Territory advertises with the promise 'ice cold beer', so we road-tested most of them.

The Daly Waters Pub is 400 km north of Tennant Creek, and seems to be a favourite tourist haunt.  If you're into Zen minimalism, don't stop here.  The place is full of so much shit ('memorabilia') it's hard to find the bar.

As advertised, the beer is served at minus one degree.  Less impressive is the price, which clocks in a at a hipster-worthy $8.00 for a schooner.

Speaking of hipsters, don't even think about asking for craft beer in this part of the world.  Or coffee.

But there's plenty of fuel, and strangely, it's sold at capital city prices.

You'll need to buy plenty of it, and don't forget to top up when you get the chance - sometimes, there's up to 500 km between stations.

A group of German backpackers didn't do that.  They flagged us down after their tank ran dry 4km north of Tennant Creek.

I was tempted to put on my best Wolf Creek voice and say something like 'what the bloody hell are you buggers doing out here?' but I didn't.

Instead, I suggested four young adults should have no trouble pushing a Commodore a few kilometres.  Exercise is healthy, after all.

Coming up next, a unique tourism experience - visiting a rare and threatened uranium mine.