PASSIONATE RATIONS

I blame my father.  A hefty Sebastian Cabot of a man, he is unabashedly fond of food.  He had a heart attack in his forties.  He gave up smoking, but not bouillabaisse or bernaise.  Food is love is life, after all.

My father was an officer in the Army.  I hate to admit that some of my earliest fond food memories involve Army rations (or, for those in the know, “MREs”—Meal Ready to Eat).  Please keep in mind that I was no older than five last time I had them when I tell you that crackers in an olive-green can taste really good.

MREs are the perfect hiking food.  They are, after all, made to keep well in the trenches.  I think this is why I remember them so affectionately.

My family was stationed in Germany when I was young.  Germans invented something called the “volksmarch”—non-competitive, several-kilometer-long walking hikes, at the end of which participants get (or got—I’m not really sure if the conventions have changed) really nifty medals commemorating their participation.  I still have several, now decades old (medals, not MREs).  You can imagine how great this was to a kid, especially one so disinclined to competition as was I.  I get a medal?  Really?  And I don’t have to place in the first 300 or so?  And you can eat along the way?  Sweet!

With all the present concern over childhood obesity, I think perhaps the Germans have known the answer all along.

MRE Information