by Exemplus
Menu 3 – Beef Goulash with Buckwheat and Mushrooms
I never imagined pairing a military ration with a Cabernet Sauvignon, but sometimes curiosity – and a bottle named Oblivion – leads one to interesting places. Such was the case with my experience of the Latvian MRE, Menu 3: Beef Goulash with Buckwheat and Mushrooms. What began as a utilitarian meal-in-a-bag turned into something unexpectedly introspective – comforting, peculiar, and surprisingly nuanced.
The ration itself is thoughtfully constructed, both in content and form. A main course of beef goulash with buckwheat and mushrooms anchors the meal, accompanied by a variety of sides: dense rye bread, roasted mini beans, dried fruit, a curious chocolate bar, three sachets of instant coffee, a Ceylon tea bag, and no fewer than two enormous sugar packets—adding up to roughly 800 kcal in sugar alone. For the record, that’s enough to turn your average cup of coffee into a syrup.
Practical accessories included high-quality toilet paper (embossed, no less), wet wipes, a wooden spoon, and a compact hand sanitizer sachet—small touches that elevated the whole affair. There was also a chemical heater bound tightly to the main course pouch, clearly designed with precision in mind.
I began with the raisins and cranberries—tart, sweet, and delightfully unadulterated. Their freshness was striking, at least by dried fruit standards. The roasted beans were less inspiring: crunchy, high in fiber, but flavorless. Still, they offered a satisfying texture.
The rye bread was something of an experience in itself. Dense doesn’t do it justice—imagine two pieces vacuum-sealed together, bitter and utterly devoid of fluff. It felt as though it could survive a nuclear winter, but somehow that added to its charm. Hearty and honest.
Then came the chocolate bar, which had clearly endured some heat and oxidation. Crumbly and aesthetically uninviting, it still managed to deliver. The taste reminded me of condensed baker’s chocolate—more bitter than milk chocolate, yet sweeter than your typical semi-sweet baking square. An odd but enjoyable contrast.
The bubble gum, humorously labeled “Turbo Extreme Soft,” was anything but soft. It felt like chewing a minty pebble, and despite my suspicion that it was caffeinated, the language barrier on the packaging left me guessing.
I’ll be blunt: visually, the goulash resembled something best left undescribed – “dog vomit” came to mind, and not unfairly. But aroma forgives many sins. The scent was rich and earthy, promising more than the appearance would suggest.
Taste-wise, the dish was far more pleasant. Mildly seasoned and very much on the “safe” side, it would likely appeal to a broad palate, though I found myself missing salt or a kick of spice. The mushrooms served as a beautiful bridge between the beef and buckwheat, harmonizing their textures and drawing out deeper, more comforting notes. I added a dash of my own Tabasco—a somewhat heretical move—and found it transformed the dish into something genuinely satisfying. A good stew, even.
Paired with the rye bread and that rather bold Cabernet Sauvignon (dark, fruity, with whispers of oak and chocolate), the goulash turned into a sort of rugged Eastern European bistro experience. I felt, for a moment, like I was home—whatever that might mean in this context. The portion was generous, too. No one walks away hungry.
What stood out most to me was the unusual ratio of sugar to salt. With 800 calories of sugar and not a single grain of salt in the entire kit, I found myself confused. Was the sugar meant for the goulash? (I certainly hope not.) The lack of salt might be a cultural or health-driven decision, but as someone who’s perhaps too familiar with sodium-heavy meals, I missed it.
However, in terms of quality, the Latvian MRE surpasses many of its American counterparts. Better-packaged, more thoughtfully assembled, with a refreshing absence of preservatives and additives in the fruit. The inclusion of a hand sanitizer sachet and high-grade toilet paper hints at a quiet dignity—practical, but never careless.
Final Thoughts
All things considered, this MRE offered more than sustenance. It offered a narrative—a small window into another country’s culinary pragmatism and understated flavor preferences. While I may have preferred a bit more seasoning, I found the entire experience oddly comforting. There was something deeply human about it, something home-cooked about the goulash, despite its foil packaging.
If I ever find myself lost in the Baltic woods—or just hungry on a quiet evening—Menu 3 wouldn’t be a bad companion.
Menu 8 – Stewed Cabbage with Ham
I’ll be honest: after the last review, I went into this one a little jaded. The novelty of vacuum-sealed rye bricks and chocolate bars that look like they’ve seen a few desert tours had worn off. But you know what? This one turned my whole day around.
Let’s start at the top: the components. Nothing new under the sun here. You’ve got the usual suspects – dried cranberries, that infamous rye bread that could double as a building material, the same chocolate bar (slightly less oxidized this time, thankfully), and those sweet-coated roasted beans again. I was holding out hope for something salty, but no. They’re sugar-dusted, crunchy, and strangely satisfying for what they are. I still can’t wrap my head around sweet beans, but hey, they grew on me.
The sundries are all here in their dependable repetition: three packs of coffee (thank God), two bricks of sugar (borderline criminal), some rosehip and raspberry tea (pleasant), a wooden spoon, and the ever-defiant Turbo gum that claims to be soft and absolutely isn’t.
But all of that, all the redundancy and predictability, was forgiven the moment I tore into the main dish. Stewed cabbage with ham. I know, it doesn’t sound like much – and visually, it’s not. It’s basically an oil-slicked pile of shredded cabbage, mysterious black spheres (still no idea – capers? peppercorns?), and stringy bits of pork. But it smells like home. It smells like warmth and comfort and quiet evenings when you were too young to worry about anything other than picking the right Super Nintendo cartridge.
And the taste? Fantastic. Genuinely, shockingly good. The ham is salty and tender, the cabbage is soft without being limp, and the whole thing has this rich, slightly citrusy tang that feels more sophisticated than it has any right to. It’s oily, yeah, and maybe a little mushy in texture, but once it hits your tongue, all that melts away. I paired it with a bottle of Josh Pinot Grigio – chosen entirely for the label – and that light fruitiness turned out to be the perfect match. Together, they made a meal that didn’t just fill me up – it elevated me.
I’d eat this in a restaurant. I wouldn’t pay a fortune for it, but if it showed up on a bistro lunch menu for $13.95, I’d bite. No question.
The rest of the MRE – well, it is what it is. The rye bread remains a challenge. It’s dense, it’s dry, and it has the texture of something your grandpa might have kept in the garage “just in case.” But it smells great, like real rye should, and it’s oddly comforting in its own stubborn way. The chocolate bar is decent – less chalky this time, thank goodness – and the cranberries are exactly what they should be: simple, chewy, clean.
Now, I will say the lack of variety in these Latvian MREs is becoming a theme. Compared to American MREs, which feel like snack roulette, the Latvian ones are repetitive to a fault. But the entrees? They’re leagues better. Hearty, flavorful, and clearly made with care.
This MRE in particular made me feel something I didn’t expect: peace. After a rough day, sitting down with that cabbage and ham stew and a glass of chilled wine, I felt like I was home. Not literally, of course – I’m in a Las Vegas hotel room with a conference table for eight – but emotionally? Spiritually? Yeah. I was home.
Menu No. 1: Lentils with Chicken, Vegetables, and Mushrooms
I began, as always, by tidying my tasting area, laying out each item methodically. My chosen wine pairing for the evening? A notably frosty bottle of 1924 Pinot Noir, port barrel-aged. Selected purely on the merit of its bottle design – admittedly a superficial choice – I found the aesthetic too intriguing to pass up.
As I began unpacking the ration, I immediately noted that the contents were strikingly similar to the previous MREs I had reviewed. The rye bread made its return, dense enough to deflect small arms fire, and still as rich and earthy as ever. Dried cranberries appeared once more, reliable in their unremarkable consistency. The roasted beans were again present, stubbornly unsalted, and dry enough to make one question their edibility – think crunchy, desiccated air. A chocolate bar – identical in make, though this time spared from heat exposure – rounded out the offerings.
If variety is the spice of life, then the Latvian military clearly favors a life free of culinary risk. With the exception of the main course, the supporting cast of each meal remains unchanged – a fact that has left me yearning for the unpredictable assortments found in American MREs.
Before diving into the entrée, I turned my attention to the 1924 Pinot Noir. Upon pouring, I was greeted by a dark, oaky hue – almost ink-like. The wine revealed itself to be bold and fruit-forward, with sharp, tart notes that lingered on the palate. While not a personal favorite, it was far from offensive; in fact, its assertive profile would later prove to be an intriguing counterpoint to the meal itself.
After a brief wait with the flameless heater – conveniently designed in these Latvian packs – I unveiled the entrée. Now, let me be forthright: it was not visually appealing. In fact, none of the three entrees I’ve sampled have won points for presentation. But appearances, as we know, can be deceiving.
The lentils with chicken, vegetables, and mushrooms turned out to be an earthy, robust, and deeply satisfying dish. The lentils provided a grounded, almost primal base, while the chicken – dark meat, by the look and flavor of it – offered just enough richness to balance things out. The mushrooms, generously portioned, brought a welcome umami depth that rounded the whole dish into something quite comforting.
If I were holed up in a log cabin in the woods, snow piling up outside and a fire crackling in the hearth, this is precisely the kind of fare I’d hope to find warming on the stove. It is not haute cuisine, but it is honest, hearty, and soul-warming.
The Pinot Noir, for all its punch, didn’t so much complement the entrée as it challenged it. Where the meal was earthy and mellow, the wine was sharp and bold. And yet, somehow, that contrast worked – like pairing a wool sweater with leather boots. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. The bread’s intense density and the wine’s fruit-forward tang created a kind of rustic synergy.
In the grand scheme of Latvian MREs, this entrée earns a respectable 6 out of 10. It’s solidly above average – a dish that nourishes body and spirit, even if it doesn’t ignite poetic passion. To contextualize: Menu No. 8, the stewed cabbage with ham, was a revelation and would easily command an 8/10 – a meal I’d genuinely pay for. Meanwhile, the goulash from my first tasting lagged behind with a 4/10, lacking both flavor and appeal.
The unchanging side items continue to be a letdown – functional, yes, but uninspired. The roasted beans, in particular, remain a culinary enigma: nutritionally dense, but devoid of flavor. A small shake of salt could have elevated them from punishment to pleasure.
Nonetheless, I walk away from this final review feeling satisfied. Not dazzled, but satisfied. This MRE didn’t change my life, but it filled my belly, and sometimes, that’s enough.
Many thanks to Mr. Tex for his generosity (and perhaps his madness) in sending me these rations. I hope this trilogy of reviews has been as enjoyable to read as it was to taste, and I look forward to the next culinary adventure – wherever it may come from.
Exemplus is a big nerd, a father, a Legionnaire, and a gunslinger of no regard. He started down his MRE adventure after another Legion member posted about how affordable they were as a bag lunch for work. From there, it quickly snowballed out of control, as things usually do in the BPL.
