Combat Cooks Finally Getting Some Respect

"You're writing a story about military cooks in Iraq?" the senior Air Force NCO asked. "I lost 26 pounds during my four months at Baghdad Airport - it's about time somebody exposed those SOBs!"

American GIs have made an art form of griping, and complaining about their chow seems to be firmly embedded in the GI Bill of Rights. One veteran, in a series of essays he wrote about his experiences in Vietnam, went as far as to title his piece on jungle cuisine, "Army Chow and Other War Atrocities."

Cooks are the Rodney Dangerfield of the U.S. Armed Forces. They just don't get any respect. Or is that changing?

Supplying guns and butter to the troops has always been a military priority. When the bullets stop flying, hot chow and plenty of it, had better be available for the troops. Certainly, even the most particular private knows that when it comes to combat chow, he has it made these days. Since the first club-wielding caveman's belly growled in hunger, military leaders have known that keeping the stomachs of their fighting men full is as important to the GIs as the guns they tote. From the time the Continental Congress of 1775 established the first formal military food program, America has fielded the world's best-fed fighting forces.

Well, usually.

General George Washington's troops shivering on the banks of the Potomac were lucky to chow down on a half ration of cold, watery gruel between skirmishes with the Redcoats. And hunger didn't discriminate during the American Civil War--both sides yearned for more bullets and bread. Many thought the latter could substitute for the former. Soldiers slinging hash in the Civil War and even later were part-time cooks, amateurs who never gave a pre-war thought to the menial task of cooking. That was Mom's job. It wasn't always the cooks' fault, however. Food supplies were limited, and they could only serve what the quartermaster provided.

Take the ubiquitous hardtack. Please.