The Best Turkey I Ever Had

No, this isn’t the same turkey. But it strongly resembles it.

You know how to spot a bullshit story, right? It starts like this—”Well, there I was…”

This Thanksgiving Day tale begins like that. Except that it really happened, Thanksgiving Day, 2011, Camp Kilaguy, Baghlan Province, Afghanistan.

Some background. I think I’d just been promoted, and I was hurting. Most of the team was. Hacking, smoking too much, deadened. It’d been busy for a while, and we just came off a major, stupid thing out in some dive. Duststorms, cold weather, gray skies. A bright spot was that the new victims showed up, replacements from the States. We began the “right-seat ride” process, or orienting the FNGs to the area of operations.

I didn’t expect much, that Thanksgiving. But a crusty-ass NCO rode to the rescue. Sort of.

This guy, I’ll call him Toad, was a leather-faced thief and the author of a thousand tall tales. He was a veteran of the First Gulf, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Maybe other shit, I don’t know. But he had been around. Typical Air-borne 82nd dude, he was fond of mocking guys with a standard airborne badge, “Five-jump chump motherfucker. Cherry,” as he flicked his cigarette.

Toad was a gifted scrounger, which is the polite Army way of saying “thief.” On one occasion, I witnessed a spectacular act. Me and the Colonel were out on a thing, not sure how long. When we returned, we noticed a group of Joes or whoever cavorting in a hidden corner of the motor pool. What the hell was this, we wondered. The Colonel and me, still dusty and gross from the road and the field, wandered over.

There was a fucking swimming pool in the motor pool.

Army motor pools are not intended for literal pools, and to this day I have no idea where the pool came from. The Colonel said nothing, but I watched as his lips formed that dangerous grim line. We walked away, no comment made, and I went to clean my weapons like usual. The Colonel sought our Team Sergeant, the redoubtable Mike.

The pool disappeared like magic. No trace remained. I guess it was fun while it lasted, though.

That Thanksgiving, I didn’t care about anything other than going home, preferably not in a box. But Toad, the crafty, long-service NCO, had a plan to improve our day.

You see, Toad, while at times the epitome of a “leadership challenge,” could back up his bullshit, mostly. No one was better at taking care of soldiers, and he always took the mission seriously, even if nothing else—especially not petty things like Army regulations or the origin of stuff we needed, or just wanted.

Toad knew what we needed that day, and he delivered.

He appeared with a turkey, origin unknown. He had a plan to cook it using scarce, dubious and unsafe resources. You see, in Afghanistan, wood is precious. This is why for day-to-day cooking, people generally used dried sheep shit patties; this was why roadside kebab always had a tang. His plan was to use trash and ammo dunnage for cooking—the stuff that keeps munitions from rubbing together or being exposed to hard shocks; not exactly Kingsford charcoal, but it’s what Toad could get.

Toad executed. I’m not sure what I did that day, but I wasn’t involved with the dubious turkey prep. When not in the field, I had administrative duties or leadership BS. It was nonstop. A good guess would be briefings, training, or written order generation. Maybe weapons or vehicle maintenance, I don’t know anymore. However, at sunset, all of us came together in the supply shack (probably being used these days by the Taliban as a goat shed or something) to eat Toad’s spread; a well-done turkey with a chemical trash-fire tang, and T rat or purloined fixin’s, prepared as well as possible.

It was crowded, I remember. All twelve of us, maybe some replacements, I dunno, and definitely our adopted Air Force guys, the JTACs, or forward air controllers. Those guys! Nicknamed Fucks and Butter, they had gone full Colonel Kurtz and had bushy beards. However, they were real pros in the field, and had delivered for us. They belonged, and we awarded them the Army Combat Action Badge.

Even though one time I pee’d on Butter’s head. But that’s another story.

It was the best Thanksgiving turkey ever. Even though it tasted of burned toys, it was great.

A couple of weeks later, I boarded my freedom bird, never to see the Box again.

Happy Thanksgiving, readers. For all of this, I am grateful.

-Jason

McRib Massacre

Dreams are what keep us going in life. I had a dream that was utterly crushed today. Destroyed, annihilated. My dream was purchasing a jug of delicious McRib sauce and using it in amazing BBQ dishes for a looooong time.

Ever since I was a kid, when the McRib first came out, I have loved that sauce. Tangy barbeque perfection, distilled in a rich crimson sauce on a simulated rib patty. I had dreams. McRib sauce on chicken. McRib sauce mixed with mayo for French fries.

McRib sauce in my damned breakfast cereal. It was going to be glorious. But, no. Not so much.

I knew it would sell out fast, so I was diligent. I set a calendar reminder that duly notified me one hour prior to the sale. Then, I set an alarm for 0957 US EST this morning, the dark day of November 25th. When the alarm went off, I stationed myself by the computer and watched as the launch page, with a helpful timer, ticked down.

The microsecond that the button changed from “unavailable” to “buy now,” I jammed that sucker so hard my mouse squealed in protest. A window popped up telling me that my order had been filed, “two-minute wait.”

After a minute, I saw that my supposed two minutes would stretch into eternity, because some jackals with sniper software had beaten me decisively. SOLD OUT, the page said. Sold. F’n. Out.

You bastards, I thought.

How did I think, for even a second, that this would be in any way fair, or that McDonalds would have enough on hand to sustain a five-second supply?

How naive, and this will soon be the standard for many things dictated by our AI and Silicone Valley, rugged individualist overlords.

Crushed, I finished the dishes, mocked by my McRib sauce phantasms. Then, on a hunch, I decided to check eBay.

Observe.

This was posted FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER THE SALE ENDED. Fifteen bloody minutes.

I’d guess that this seller has a real future in Washington, working for the Department of Human Services.

Unreal. Just shitty and unreal, but hardly a surprise in Our Year of the Lord 2024.

Fun In Writing

This image is apropos of exactly nothing except a source of great amusement around here, the wonderful BirdBuddy, which sends us pictures and videos of the denizens of our bird feeder. All we have to do is to supply bird feed and sunlight, and we get a series of pretty darn funny pics.

No. Today, I’d like to talk about a new writing direction I’m thinking about, and for which I busted out a short on a grey and gloomy day.

You guys know I’ve struggled lately; it’s been a real pain. But it’s OK; that’s life. I’ve taken some steps to alleviate my funk—this has helped. Yesterday, while imagining my extracurricular project, I suddenly wanted to write. The weather outside of my window seat was ghastly. It looked like a winter sunset at 1400—gray and sodden. Not the thing to lighten up one’s mood, but we went for a long walk, anyway. Movement and exercise are important. 

Upon return, I mulled over a potential future project. I had an idea. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the Roman Empire. This is partially due to Doc Wetsman’s books and “Pax,” an excellent non-fiction by Holland. In addition, thanks to my distant bud, I’ve been mulling over possibilities in fantasy and alt-history. 

I started “Pax” because I needed a little help with antiquity. This has never been a strong part of my knowledge base. I’m OK with the broad strokes of history, but I tend to focus on certain eras. Therefore, some reading was a must. I don’t adore the Roman era or think it was some ideal part of history. Actually, the times we’re living in are MUCH better than the era around the birth of Christ. 

Even deep within the “civilized” world at the time, a party of soldiers or bandits raiding a homestead for plunder and rapine was routine enough to be utterly unnoteworthy. Anybody could be enslaved for the slightest reason. Slaves and criminals were crucified. Crowds screamed in pleasure at the sight of hundreds meeting gristly ends, along with any wild animal that could be found. Entire regions were put to the sword, and no one batted an eye.

This was Rome and the Pax Romana. The “Peace of Rome” was frequently the peace of the grave, and those who idealize it are fools. 

However, it’s fascinating. Also, I guess the Roman Empire was better than squatting in some miserable mud hut and selecting an unpopular villager for the annual sacrifice to the sun. This happened every year around what we know as Christmas (The Church was GREAT about stealing ancient holy-days; see Ostara, otherwise known as Easter. Her symbol, the fertility goddess, was the rabbit.)

Like it or not, we still see the modern world through our ancestor’s eyes. Those muddy villagers who kept pigs in their huts? Yeah, that was us. The centurion who shrugged and put the slave on a cross? Both the crucifer and the crucified, us, too. The person who crouched and knapped flint by the treacherous Great Lake? Us. The courtesan in the Eternal City? Us. The long, sun-blackened, and endless pursuer of game, who could run a gazelle into exhaustion, us as well, somewhere back there. 

These are our archetypes. They inform us today, whether we like it or not. I think this is what draws people to fantasy. Times in our deep past, when the fae were real, and owls carried the spirits of the dead. We want to touch those dark and endless forests as we recline on our nice warm couches. We want to shiver in the cold, while wrapped in fell dread. We wish to chant with our cousins (who were also our mates) while passing the horn filled with holy-day mead as the Chosen roasts on the pyre. A part of us wishes to cry havoc and unleash the dogs of war. 

Unfortunately, we still have those desires in a time when war could easily mean our extinction. This creates real problems. 

We are, for the most part, divorced from the reality of mortal, daily danger. This is why this sort of fiction is so popular. It’s an escape to a time when our ancestors scoured the woods in search of anything edible, but they wouldn’t touch a fairy ring of delicious mushrooms; for the revenge of the fae would be dreadful. 

Better to starve.

With this in mind, I created a writing sample yesterday. It was a joy to write, but I won’t publish it here. It lets too many cats from the bag; but it was great fun, my first foray into fantasy, that most popular of genres. It’s just below romance—laughs, count me out, there. Not that I don’t enjoy a good love story, I do. It’s just that I cede the field to those with more talent. See Outlander and Bridgerton, and their respective, juicy successes. 

When our current reality descends into madness, bleakness, and actual horror, it’s incumbent upon those of us in the “creative class” to provide escape. Yesterday, I provided my own.

Cheers,

J   

My MRE Misadventure

Morning, everyone. First, I’d like to apologize for my hiatus here. It’s been far too long since I posted; actually, my longest break on this site since ’17, when I started this thing. My reason(s)? Some life events, current events, and a creeping sense of disaster. It has messed with me, to be sure.

There are a number of things I could write about, among which is my long-delayed violin series, which just needs to be posted. Also, I could write about my books, or a lack of effort on that front (Did I mention the whole creeping paralysis thing? I think I did). I could discuss interesting electrical experiments (a side-growth on a really cool solar generator I’ve been messing with), or continuing work on the Roxor. There’s a lot to choose from, and all of them are fun and in-line with what I do here.

However, I’d like to talk about MREs, or, “Meals, Ready-to-Eat.” Why? Because I found a few old ones laying around in my basement, and I was curious if they were still edible. Note: Don’t try this at home. Always follow FDA guidelines in regard to stored food and its shelf-life. Don’t listen or take as advice the ravings of a retired and half-crazed ex-GI. This information is for entertainment only. Discard any food you regard as suspect and that has exceeded its sell-by date.

OK, that had to be said. Live it. The following words are written just so you can laugh at me and wonder why I did something so dumb. Once again, don’t try this at home. Or, worse yet, build old MREs into your disaster planning.

Here goes.

I’ve always heard anecdotal information about how long GI rations will last. As a kid, I heard from a number of RVN veterans how they were fed rations from WW2, complete with stale Chesterfield cigarettes. I know an elderly Dutch fellow who had a can of GI fruitcake dropped in his yard at the close of WW2, and he opened it and ate it on the 70th anniversary of Liberation Day in the Netherlands. He said it looked fine, and tasted as well as one could expect from vintage GI fruitcake.

Overseas I can’t say that our rations were old, but they were definitely improperly stored, and I doubt that they were properly rotated for age. I recall a stifling conex box heaped with MREs and T-rations, scorpions skittering about, covered in dust. I had no idea when those rations were thrown in there, but I can say for certain that the inside of that metal shipping container reached temperatures above 120F/49C. I’m also pretty certain that some boxes had been there for multiple years. This was far from ideal storage. I ate that crap anyway, and I didn’t get sick. I got sick from kebab roasted over sheep-shit fires, but not from that.

I have eaten so many MREs over the years, it’s not funny. Over the course of my career, I watched as the ration generations changed, as well as the appearance and menus. Modern, 2024 MREs are a far cry from the old dark-brown bag garbage of my youth. Later generations were the early OIF versions, to late war, to present. In the early nineties we had the dreaded dehydrated beef patty. Then, we “improved” to Omelet, Ham and Cheese. We received the frankly delightful hamburger with BBQ sauce, jalapeño cheese packets, and beef jerky. These days? All kinds of goodies. A fav is the GI milkshake, but I digress.

Suffice to say that I know what an MRE should look and taste like. I’ve had thousands. I do know a fellow who got sick from one; botulism. It happened because he ate a spoiled packet at a patrol base in the pitch black. He was in a hurry, was laying prone, and it was raining. Not ideal circumstances to inspect food packets, btw. I guess he slit the thing open and squeezed the rancid contents in his mouth; he spat it out immediately, but the damage was done. He had to be medevac’d out of there and was very ill for quite a while.

So, I’m pretty careful about this stuff. If a packet leaks, is damaged, or is puffy like a pillow, you don’t want it anywhere around your mouth.

Lately, I’ve been making an attempt to clean up my basement. The storage space is home to layers of old Army junk, and I’m trying to organize it. I’ve been doing this in lieu of way more important stuff like writing my new book because right now, frankly, I can’t handle it. This stupid election and negative life events have really put the zap on my concentration; I can’t imagine I’ll write until this dumb thing is over. Or, at least until the possible choas is charted out. There are way too many assholes in this world, and right now they all seem to have megaphones, so I’ve temporarily checked out. Thus, I clean and organize my basement. In the process, I came across some vintage MREs, and I have several cases of new Humanitarian Daily Rations, one of which I wanted to try in comparison to USGI swill. It’s been a very long while since I ate one, and I wanted to see how they stack up and write-up a comparison.

After I reveal the edibility/grossness of the vintage GI MREs, I’ll talk a little about the new HDRs.

Let’s get into it. I selected some very old USGI MREs, probably 2007/2008 vintage. Once again, I’ve eaten mountains of these, and I can spot bad stuff. When I slit these two packs open, I carefully inspected the contents. Everything seemed to be as good as the day they left the factory; there were no puffy or leaking packets. Everything that I opened, I smelled and looked at the contents carefully. If it smells or looks gross, don’t taste it, period. Not even a little bit.

This is what I found with two sixteen or seventeen year old MREs.

The first one I opened was just for reference; I didn’t eat it. However, several times I unthinkingly licked my fingers when food got onto my hands; don’t repeat my mistake! If our old friend botulinum was hanging out in one of those packets, this would have been enough to put me in the hospital. Let’s start with the throw-away/inspection example first.

This is what 17 year old GI peanut butter looks like. I made sure I kneaded the package; it looked and smelled fine. I didn’t knead the strawberry jelly packet, which was a mistake. The solids had separated over the years and it looked like hell, frankly. The sticky stuff got on my fingers. This was where I licked. It tasted like…strawberry jelly.

The next thing I cracked open was the beverage powder. Lemon-lime, like usual. The raspberry is much better, but infrequently encountered. I wonder if this MRE was heated up at some point in the past, note the clumping of the powder. However, this dissolved just fine in water, so it’s a matter of appearance. Note: they put drink powders in MREs for a reason. Number one is to mask the taste of crappy water. Number two is to give the soldier vitamin C. Always use the drink powder! But don’t pour it into a canteen. Use a cup. Canteens are for water only. This is a field hygiene basic tenet.

The next item I opened was GI bread. It looked, smelled, and felt as if it had been baked yesterday. Really remarkable, and I wonder what sick, dark magic goes into the manufacture of this stuff. Even though I didn’t intend to eat this MRE, I wouldn’t hesitate to eat this.

Then, I looked at the pound cake. It was as I remembered them, and it looked kind of delicious. No defects noted. Finally, it was time to have a look at the entrees, whose packets were nice and flat, undamaged. How would seventeen year old Mexican Rice and Vegetable Lasagna look and smell? I found out.

Turns out, they were both fine. This is where I caught myself licking my fingers again, a serious mistake. If this stuff had the crud, I was toast. However, I’m not dead/hospitalized, so it was fine. The Mexican Rice was clumpy, stinky, and unattractive, but so is a packet made yesterday. This is NOT one of my favorite entrees; spoiler, both MREs I tested had lousy entrees. But I digress. I’m speaking to this being edible, and it was. The Vegetable Lasagna was also fine, if gross as-new.

BTW, MRE entrees have a peculiar smell; it gets better when you heat them. This is normal but off-putting to someone unfamiliar with all things MRE. I attempted to use the MRE heater, but in both MREs they were as dead as stone. I added water as you should and nothing happened. I waited a while, too.

Weird how the purely chemical, dry heaters last for much less time than the food. Seriously, Uncle Sam, WTF?

Convinced that these ancient mariners were marginally edible, I decided to eat the other one the next day for lunch. I guess it’s a spoiler that I’m typing this, so you know in advance it must have been OK. Kind of tough to post from an ICU. Well, I lived and experienced no signs of gastrointestinal distress. The first thing I ate was the peanut butter and jelly combo on the bread, and this time I made darn sure to knead the packets. Here’s what the peanut butter alone, spread over the Immortal Bread, looked like.

As you can see, there is nothing freaky here. The peanut butter looks like I just grabbed a jar of Skippy from the pantry, and spread it on the GI near-bread. I assure you this is 17 years old. Then, I made a PB&J.

It really helps if you knead the jelly packet. While this will never make the cover of a foodie mag, it worked. I ate it, and it tasted like every darn GI PB&J I’ve ever had, albeit a lot older (Probably. You never know in the Army). BTW, I drank the raspberry drink packet later, it was fine. Also ancient.

It was time for the entrees, Penne Pasta in Tomato Sauce and the dreaded Potato Soup, Bacon Flavored. I scooped it from the undamaged packets, looked at it, smelled it, and chucked it in the microwave for a minute.

Yes, this looks like hell. It tasted like crap, too. However, regretfully, this is the norm for the terrible potato soup. The pasta was marginally OK, so I ate all of it. Like usual, I only managed to choke down half the potato soup. Lemme tell you, when they pass out the MREs, and you’re the loser of the MRE lottery, no one will trade you for the potato soup; or, if your luck is particularly bad, for the Ham Omelet.

This is the definition of starvation rations. You’ll eat all of it if you’re ravenously hungry. I wasn’t, so I ate just enough to see if I’d die. I didn’t. After the Potato Soup ordeal, I saved a snack, the Brownie with Chocolate Chips.

This looks terrible, but it’s not. Something I’ve noticed in MREs over the years is that they compensate you if the entrees are gross. In this case, this MRE came with a delicious brownie. Yes, it was awesome. Even after seventeen years.

In conclusion to the old MRE writeup, I guess just the fact that I’m sitting here typing tells you what you need to know. While it’s not preferrable to eat MREs that are older than kids who can vote, I guess it can be done, judiciously. But only me. You shouldn’t do it, nor do I advise you to.

After that hell, I moved on the the meals that Uncle Sam provides to refugees. How did they stack up to USGI? What were the differences? How do they taste?

Let’s start. First, I’ll state the obvious. The HDR I tested was from 2022, so I had no fear factor eating it. Second, HDRs are (much) less expensive than USGI MREs. Third, there is more stuff in an HDR than an MRE! The MRE is designed to be issued three times a day (although in practice that’s waaaaaay too much, but those were the planning factors we had to use for heavy labor). The HDR is not. The HDR, the Humanitarian Daily Ration, is just that. It’s a once-a-day minimum for some poor bastard who can’t get any other food. This person is dead lucky to get one of these, and it can be stretched over multiple days at need. Finally, the HDR on the civvie market is 35/case of ten, 3.50 each, USD. The USGI MRE is 135/case of twelve, 11.25 each, USD.

I was shocked when I looked up the cost this morning. I know that HDRs have gone up since Hurricane Helene, and for good reason. Basic supply and demand. However, they are only up about 5$/case, which isn’t insane. USGI MREs? While they’ve always been more expensive than HDRs, now they are really expensive! For less food, you pay more than three times more for USGI. For someone doing disaster prep, unless you are very well-heeled, this doesn’t make sense to me.

I can tell you the difference, in layman’s terms. The USGI has a slightly better grade book of matches. The MRE has a self heater (see above for why this isn’t worth it). The USGI comes with name-brand junk food. The MRE has entrees with meat; they are culturally incompatible with a few major world religions. The USGI has milkshakes (a major advantage, I admit).

Is the above worth paying 11.25 a meal? I say no. So, let’s talk about my taste test with the new-ish HDR.

This is the HDR. Like the MRE, it comes in a tough, waterproof thick plastic outer shell.

The contents are double-sealed in this compact plastic wrap. BTW, if you want to use these immediately and desire a more compact package, like in a ruck, strip the outer shell and carry them like this. What, pray tell, is inside this packet? It’s been so many years since I had one, I was curious. I have a lot more experience with MREs than HDRs. See below.

As you can see, this can be split into breakfast, hot lunch, hot dinner. The packets, if you want to heat them up, can be chucked into hot water to heat. Or, you can do like me and scoop out the contents and microwave. I’d imagine you could heat on a skillet, too. The toiletries packet isn’t as awesome as USGI, but it’s pretty good. There’s salt and black pepper, red pepper flakes, napkins and a moist towelette. Pro tip: save the napkins and moist towelette for your nether regions in the field. There is also a book of matches. The HDR is a comprehensive package.

For your benefit, I’ll give you a notional day with just this packet alone, Menu Number Three. There are four menus randomly mixed per case.

Breakfast: Crackers, with peanut butter and strawberry jelly. If not enough, get a boost with the toaster pastry (a pop-tart), which can be heated in a pan. I am well familiar with MRE crackers, these are identical. So is the PB&J, and the pop-tart. Note that the packets aren’t USGI brown. So what? But hey, if you want to spend three times as much for brown packets and less food…go ahead.

Lunch: Rice with Vegetables, throw in some pepper if you want some spice, and have a sweet treat with the Oatmeal Cookie.

Dinner: Vegetable Barley Stew, served warm. Add the Shortbread Cookie for dessert.

You’re not going to get fat, but you won’t die, either. If you really must have tabasco sauce or M&Ms, spend three times as much. I won’t stop you.

I ate this stuff without qualm. How was it? A first impression upon opening the entree bags was that for whatever reason the entrees didn’t have that USGI reek. Could this be because of Halal prep methods? Different, meat-free ingredients? I don’t know, and I don’t care, I guess. Just an impression. I scooped the rice and barley stew onto a plate and zapped it for a minute in the trusty microwave. How did it look? How did it taste?

Observe.

One hell of a lot better than USGI, frankly. Don’t say “But you ate antique MREs.” I did. However, they were NO different in taste and texture from brand-new USGI! This HDR food was superior. Yes, there was no meat. However, you don’t really need meat for nutrition, your protein requirements will be met with the total HDR. If you must have meat, I guess spend the big bucks. Your call.

The HDR entrees actually smelled good cold, and they tasted good, too. The rice and veggie combo was WAY better than “Mexican Rice.” It didn’t need the provided salt, and I thought it had just the right hint of spice. The barely stew was good, too. It was filling and kind of delicious. I should have tossed on some of the provided red pepper to try it out, but I’m sure it’s fine if you want some nip. And the oatmeal cookie? It was great, and added to the substance of the meal. There was no way I could eat the entire HDR in one sitting!

Long story short, I rate the HDR as superior to USGI. This considers overall palatability, cost, and calorie count. One thing I didn’t see in the HDR, which might have been just this one, was the lack of drink mix. However, this isn’t a big deal, and you definitely aren’t missing anything with the lack of a heater. Both ration types seem to age well if properly stored, but the HDR wins the contest hands-down.

Food for thought.