Ah yes… camping, USMC style. From field week at Camp Pendleton to various “exotic” locations around the world. It’s even in our song: “We have fought in every clime and place.” And trust me we took that part seriously. But this post isn’t about the camping itself. No, this one’s about the five-star gourmet cuisine served during those little adventures.
Back in 1980, we had the Meal, Combat, Individual (MCI) rations, which replaced the old C-Rats. To those who endured C-Rats—God bless you. You’re immune to everything. Anyway, back to MCIs. And before any wise guy says it—no, we didn’t just carry crayons to eat… well, maybe a few green ones.
There were 12 main courses (one for each month, I guess). Trading them was more chaotic than Wall Street on a Monday. The worst draw? Ham and Eggs, Chopped. If you pulled that one, you didn’t even try to trade—you just hung your head and went off to find the other poor souls holding the same can of despair. There were always a few Marines who liked them—I’m convinced these were the same kids who ate paste in grade school.
My “favorite” was Beans with Frankfurter Chunks in Tomato Sauce. To this day, I’m still not sure what those chunks actually were, and honestly, I don’t want to know. Each meal came with a few “sides,” and opening them was like Christmas morning you never knew what horror (or rare delight) was inside. You might get peanut butter, imitation jam (blackberry was the gold standard), or the dreaded cheese spread strong enough to seal a leaking black tank.
Crackers came next. Then dessert: canned fruit (peaches, pears, or apricots) and something sweet. The cinnamon roll wasn’t half bad, but the fruitcake? Indestructible. Couldn’t eat it, but it made an excellent paperweight or, in an emergency, body armor.
Then came the accessory packet. Most valuable item? The toilet paper, hands down. After eating those meals, you’d need it. You’d also get gum left over from the 1940s (great for cracking teeth), instant coffee (which I always traded for cocoa), a plastic spoon (guaranteed to snap on the first scoop), and the legendary chocolate disk affectionately known as the “s**t disk.” If you didn’t eat it, well… you’d regret that decision later.
And of course, you couldn’t enjoy your meal without the sacred P-38—a.k.a. the “dead duke.” Still have mine, plus a few spares. Those little can openers were worth their weight in gold because, yes, everything came in actual tin cans. Heavy as sin and just as sharp.
Each meal packed around 1,500 calories—about 4,500–5,000 a day. I guess they figured if the enemy didn’t kill you, the cholesterol might. And if you were lucky, you got heat tabs to warm it all up. If not—well, a pinch of C4 worked just fine. But that’s a story for another day.
Ah, the good old days of “camping.” Give me a Blackstone griddle and fresh eggs any day. But I’ll admit some of the best memories were made sitting around, swapping cans, stories, and laughs… one MCI at a time.
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