We visited the firing range last week to unleash some aggressions on a poor, unsuspecting Blue Man Group member's silhouette (check out the photos and you'll see what we mean) when a can of Tactical Bacon caught our goggle-covered eyes.
Thrown by the illustration of an M4 machine gun on the label, we first assumed it was merely cute packaging for some ammo ('cause you know there's nothing like cute packaging to make someone want to drop some cash on bullets) but then we saw the pronouncements, "Smoke flavor added" and "Fully cooked," and our foodie antennas went up.
Fingering the weighty can, we were startled to find a $15.95 price tag. Seriously? What type of bacon comes in a can and costs as much as an Angus ribeye? But Google the stuff and you'll find various justifications for the price, not the least of which is that it boasts a ten-year shelf life.
We were too cheap to shell out the cash (Get it? "Shell" out? A little ammo humor for you there), but the manufacturers, CMMG
, kindly supplied us with a can at our request.
Digging around the company's website while awaiting our curious gift, we were tickled to discover that CMMG is a legitimate weapons manufacturer that sells firearms and gun parts and accessories. "Tac Bac" seems a funny afterthought for CMMG, but it makes sense when reading their claim that the product is "Perfect for camping, hunting, zombie standoffs, end of the world scenarios, etcetera."
But let's get to the meat of the matter. The truth is, Tac Bac -- which would really be pronounced "tack bake" -- is not a food product one would whip out on a Sunday morning to pair with Grandma's biscuits and gravy, but it does have its raison d'être
After the can opener shaved off the top, we were met with a curious sight: wads of bacon swirled around what we first thought was fat but were pleased to later discover was only sheets of greasy white paper. Since the can made no sound when we shook it, we had already deduced that its contents were probably not loosely stacked, dried-out strips or items floating in liquid. But we were still not expecting this strange wad of meat, nor did we predict we'd have to yank out the entire contents just to try one piece.
We used a fork to gingerly pry out the rolled up wad of paper and pork, which, strangely, smelled smokier than the store-bought stuff. Unraveling the creation, we were surprised to find a generous supply of about 50 strips, stacked in three neat layers of 15 to 20 pieces each. (Since the suggested serving size is three pieces, a can is designed to last for about two weeks, we suppose.) Each cooked strip was about half the width of a typical, fresh-cooked piece, and its flavor was quite curious, almost like someone extracted all the natural bacon flavor and injected it with replacement smoke. Each piece was supersalty, rather chewy, and not nearly as satisfying as a hot piece of pork off the griddle, but if the end of the world is near and a bacon engorgement is on your bucket list, you've found the golden ticket. Keep it in mind as part of your hurricane supply stash too, since a two-week power outage can only be made more miserable without accessible bacon. Trust us. We know from experience. So order some
from the site unless you frequent a firing range.
Who would eat this otherwise? Just about anyone who doesn't keep kosher and has a good sense of humor. Besides, who doesn't love food with a nickname? It's just so... endearing. Like a chick with a 9mm rifle. Or a zombie with a hole in his noggin.