The Grunt Gourmet

e’ve all taken some hits in this industry, but some of us took fire in the literal sense.  

Dealing with assholes every day wears on you. As I’m well aware, the restaurant grind is no joke.

Entitled guests, clueless managers, long hours, low pay, high stress.

But let’s not pretend it compares to putting your life on the line.

I can’t imagine being stationed in some godforsaken place across the world, getting shot at, living off MREs day after day.

So before anything else id like to say :

Thank you for your service.

Now, back to those rations.

Imagine being in the middle of the desert with nothing but those things to eat, over and over.

You start to get creative. So you channel your inner Michelin chef—if Michelin stars were handed out for meals made on the fly with limited resources,

Alex would’ve gotten one.    

Jerbear

The Grunt Gourmet

by Alex Wilkening

As a former knuckle-dragger, I feel like I’m betraying my kind a bit.

Our secrets of properly mixing hyper-preserved foods is almost like giving away Paracelsus’ alchemy.

Well, consider me a traitor.

For any of my fellow knuckle-draggers in F&B, thank you for your service.

Don’t get me wrong, not your military service, that’s easy, your service in fucking F&B! Sweet baby Jesus, it is a trial every day.

It’s almost like you, as the server, are expected to be the entire chain of command until something goes right,

Then fucking ADCOM (administrative command) gets credit, but you’re left with all of the responsibility for shit that wasn’t your fault…to a ridiculous degree.

I mean, I was held accountable as a platoon leader, but management/the commander had a modicum of the empathy it takes to be a leader, and they’d be like, ‘yea maybe I get it.’

Bottom line is I get it, it’s a weird adjustment when you leave the prison of the military. Just a couple things I’ve learned:

1. No one is going to believe most of your stories;
2. No one gives a shit about your stories, unless the story is funny and relevant;
3. Absolutely whore yourself out to tables/guests (server/bartender) whom you would assume are military friendly$$$
4. Humble yourself fucker, no one cares what happened downrange.
5. Get a coworker you can, sort of, trust.

It’s a different world guys, and our innovation and MacGyver spirit is not always welcome—well, unless management gets to take credit.

Like sling-loading: supposedly started by some artillery privates in Vietnam who didn’t feel like dragging a Howitzer up a muddy hill.

One of them says, ‘fuck this,’ another goes, ‘let’s chain it to a chopper,’ and some bored pilot agrees.

Boom—now it’s one of the most combat-effective methods of delivery, all because someone listened to a couple of pissed-off grunts.

I digress. The point of this diatribe is to reveal the alchemy of the MRE (meals ready to eat) ‘chef.’

So, for current service-members, this might be a little outdated. I got out in 2015,

back when we had the usual dog shit—cheese tortellini (weirdly good with purple Skittles),

some kind of Southwest mess I think I liked, and of course, the classic beef stew.

But the one you never forget is the dreaded omelet.

If you managed to choke that thing down without projectile vomiting, congrats—just don’t expect to shit anytime soon.

Anyways (yes, I’m from the Midwest and I say ‘anyways’ when I’m supposed to say ‘anyway.’), onto the meat of the conversation.

I can’t say all this shit is still in an MRE, however, I expect you to be creative.

It’s the thing that sets us apart as a country and you fucking signed up to defend a body of laws that allows us to be what we want.

Take for granted that I was an infantryman, so, most of the time,

I was just eating the fucking coffee packets and cold shit from my pockets.

However there were times when we had time and, goddamn these guys were good.

A final word on how to properly use an MRE heating packet…actually, a picture says 1000 words:

A ROCK OR SOMETHING?

I love the podunk-ease…very pervasive in the Army.

At Airborne School, where you’re doing something outrageously dangerous, the last (fifth) point of contact is THE FUCKING PULL-UP MUSCLE!

Not the latissimus dorsii, the fucking pull-up muscle.

However, I am glad they clarified I could lean the heater on ‘something’ because I would not have been able to put that together.

I mean, I like to picture an origin story for ‘or something’ with like,

12 dudes scrambling for a rock when there are no rocks to be found and they all starved to death,

so the DOD spent a million bucks on how to make sure that didn’t happen again and this was the result.

Ok, finally, onto the first MRE recipe of this miniseries, let’s call it Benning Key Lime Pie. I’ve seen a lot of variations, so I’ll use two just in case you don’t have the right packet:

TRADITIONAL:

• Vanilla pudding dessert powder
• Patriotic sugar cookies (crushed to a powder)
• Beverage based powder – lemon/lime
• Water
• MRE beverage bag
• MRE heater
• A rock, or something

Notes: You may substitute the cheese spread for pudding powder, crackers for patriot sugar cookies and another beverage packet for lemon/lime (if you sub the lemon/lime, you do fundamentally change the flavor so, it might be fruit punch pie, etc….rename accordingly).

P.S.
Don’t forget to take a lot of tobacco/nicotine to the field, especially if you don’t indulge…that shit is at a premium after two weeks of no PX (post exchange) and you can make some serious fuckin beer mon