We love science-born dehydrated tech-meals as much as anyone. Sometimes, though, there’s no beating the generic grocery store classics. Let’s all take a second, here at our computers, to celebrate these underappreciated foods. Truth be told, the backcountry wouldn’t be the same without them.
Day 1: It’s some pretty darn mediocre cheese.
Day 2: Now it’s soggy and mediocre.
Day 3: A slimy block of something that you’ll eat because you’re starving.
Days 4+: You open the bag and gasp—it’s no longer a block but an abstract work of art. Close your crusty eyes, take a bite and whisk away to candle-lit wine and gourmet cheese affairs in the south of France. Apparently, all it takes to produce a thousand dollar wheel of cheese is a Ziploc bag, sunshine and a few days of jostling.
Scrumptious.
What are you, summer sausage? Why is it so hard to love you? Why do you make me cringe, despite your iridescent white fat that shines like a beacon in my darkest nights?
I’ve promised myself too many times that it’s the last time. The click of a trail knife, a wrapper peeled back, slices glued together by sweaty cheese, wrapped with crumbling tortillas. My mouth watering. Your fatty globules, your crunchy yellow flecks, your high sodium, nitrite and protein content.
Pulled from my pack, you are gourmet, my greasy savior.
But pulled from my fridge, you are a stomach-churning log of giblets.
Here’s to you summer sausage, because I know I’ll buy you again. As always, I’ll hate that I ever loved you.
Extensive on-trail research reveals that “ferric orthophosphate” and “disodium guanylate” are simply scientific synonyms for “delicious.” Even when hunger (in tandem with a sputtering stove) shortens a seven-minute cook time to a crunchy four-thirty, the flavor packet’s got your back. Feel macho as it takes six “suggested servings” to satiate you. Toss in whatever scraps appear, dining guilt-free on mouthfuls of dehydrated—and likely organic—veggies.