Food Fight

Most of the military's Meals, Ready-to-Eat (MREs) have simple, literal names--Hamburger Patty, Beef Stew, Cheese Tortellini. But there is one that is, well, a little different: Country Captain Chicken. One of General George Patton's favorite recipes, the dish features chicken breasts in a tomato sauce flavored with currants. Long after Patton's death, as the story goes, another general told the Natick Soldier Center, which oversees the military's ration program, that it ought to honor the legendary commander by making Country Captain Chicken into an MRE. So MRE-makers cooked up a prototype of the dish and tested it with soldiers. The Joes liked it. At first. "Our war- fighters gave it a thumbs up; it scored very high," Gerald Darsch, the Defense Department's director of combat feeding, told me. "But, within several years, it began to rate on the low end."What happened? Country Captain Chicken got a reputation. During the initial invasion of Iraq, when I was embedded with the 101st Airborne Division, soldiers were fighting over the Hamburger Patty, but they left Country Captain for the reporters. "Country Captain Chicken," a young specialist told me, "will make you gay." Always the quick one, I answered: "Not that there is anything wrong with it." The specialist gave me a blank look. What is more disturbing? The obvious bigotry toward the Country Captain or the ignorance of "Seinfeld" by the young grunts? Don't ask, don't tell. In the middle of a war, something as simple as precooked, extremely shelf- stable food can be fraught with meaning. Napoleon famously said an army moves on its stomach. That remains true, but the U.S. Army also expresses its anxieties through its stomach, or at least through what it puts in there. It is difficult for soldiers in Iraq to discuss the war in a substantive way. Debating the larger mission puts one's focus--and therefore, potentially, one's life--at risk. So, instead, the intense discussions center on food. And, when things go wrong, sometimes the impulse is not to blame the overall strategy, but the MREs. Inside many MREs is a package of rainbow-colored hard candies, a sort of knockoff Lifesaver, called Charms. Most get thrown away. Even before the Iraq invasion, Charms were known to cause bad luck. If a young private was so naive as to eat the Charms, tank treads would come off or Humvees would run out of gas. But, by the third year of the war, the effects of the candy have become far more sinister: Charms, it is said, set off improvised explosive devices. Of course, soldiers in Iraq do not eat MREs that much anymore. Most meals are taken in the giant dfacs--Army shorthand for dining facilities--run by Halliburton subsidiary Kellogg Brown & Root. The offerings are very heavy on comfort food. Some dining halls offer pasta bars, fried chicken, ice cream sundaes, and a half-dozen different cakes for every meal. For some soldiers who spend their days patrolling the streets waiting to get blown up by a roadside bomb, their mac and cheese is the only break from the stress. And so it is no wonder that the military has begun studying weight-gain by soldiers in Iraq. Now all troops must fight their own battle of the bulge. For the record, the Army says the soldiers of the 101st were mistaken. "I don't think the currants we put in Country Captain Chicken have any metabolic effect that would change your preference, sexually," Darsch claims. Darsch also disputed the claim that Charms will set off roadside bombs at inopportune times. Furthermore, he absolutely insisted that there is nothing in MREs that causes constipation. No one believes that one. Interestingly, it is not just Americans soldiers who suffer from food anxieties. Last year, I spent time with an Iraqi brigade based in Falluja. The Iraqi Ministry of Defense's logistics ability is so poor that the soldiers got only one meal a day from the military, and it arrived in the dirtiest, most disgusting coolers I have ever seen. Which is one reason Iraqi soldiers, called jundi, love MREs. The U.S. military makes a full line of tasty halal and kosher meals that follow the strict dietary rules of Islam and Judaism. Of course, the other guy's lunch always looks better. So, no surprise, Iraqi soldiers are always trying to trade the halal MREs for the real thing. The worry for the Iraqis, however, is pork. During a daylong march through the desert with a dozen jundi, an American military trainer, and an Iraqi translator, we stopped for lunch in the shade of a Marine Corps Amphibious Assault Vehicle. As I ate the Old World Stew, an excellent Halal meal, I watched as the translator waved a jundi off of Pork Spare Ribs and directed him to the Manicotti. Only problem was, he wasn't familiar with the ingredients of every American classic. When I finished my stew, I moved over to interview another group of jundi who were eagerly devouring another MRE. "Good, very good, " said one of the jundi. "What this?" I looked at the label: Ham and Shrimp Jambalaya. What to do? If I told them it had pork, I imagined they would feel compelled to spit it out. Then they would feel guilty about eating it and about insulting American food. But, if I let them continue to eat the jambalaya, would I be sentencing them to an eternity in hell? I decided to take the easy way out. "Jambalaya," I told the Iraqis. "It is one of the best. Good, very good." Back at home, a little lazy Internet research revealed that perhaps I had done the right thing. Allah, apparently, is forgiving if a Muslim eats pork unintentionally. Luckily, I may have been the last military correspondent faced with the dilemma of jundi and jambalaya. The military is unveiling new menu items including Chili, Meatballs, and Chicken and Dumplings, the kind of comfort food that can soothe anxious soldiers. To make room, Jambalaya will be eliminated next year. Already gone, as of last year: Country Captain Chicken. No longer will hungry soldiers stuck with one last MRE in the box have to choose between starving or having a delightful meal that risks violating Pentagon policy.

By Julian E. Barnes; Julian E. Barnes is a Pentagon correspondent for the Los Angeles Times.

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