Big John's Beef Jerky

The jerky pushers puzzle us. Yes, all the True Believers, the Willing Sacrifices, the Kill-Me-Nows, the relentless martyrs—every self-peddling beast puzzles us. But for some reason, the pre-jerky animals (along with the pre-rinded pigs) just baffle us and give us the shivers.

There's something about the time investment implicit in the jerky-making process. Big John knows it's not simply a matter of killing himself and trusting that he will make it into the waiting mouths of his superiors. He has to rely on a more extensive procedure. There's the defatting, the marinading, the seasoning, the dehydrating, and the packaging. It'll be a while between his sweet death and his sweeter consumption, which is sort of a superdeath, the irrevocable made thoroughly unimaginable.

He has to be completely committed, and that level of certainty is a little off-putting.

One other thing strikes us about Bovines Who Would Be Jerky. As far as we can tell they are almost always hyper-masculine characters. Take the Rosie's Vermont Beef Jerky spokesjerk—the burly lumberjack we met almost five years ago. These animals are the manliest of the manly: muscle-bound, tuxedoed, boxing gloved, or bedecked in backwoods plaid. Like the foodstuffs they are destined to become, they are tough. Whether this reflects the aspirations of the jerky consumer or the essential nature of the animals in their benighted (i.e., living) form, we can't say.

Bacon Freak Bacon Club

The (oh, please let it be!) ironic adoration of bacon has never been taken to such an extreme.

The baconcult has always been tedious, ranking up there with the winking obsession for retro bowling attire and bad television. But Bacon Freak turns it into something altogether depressing.

For instance, this pig wearing a shirt that bears the likeness of a pig and extols the dubious virtues of bacon.

For bacon is so magical that even pigs love it. Yes, even amateur rebels appreciate having permission! And fear not—the pigs approve!

So indulge your every appetite! Satisfy your every craving! No one's stopping you! The pigs have given you the keys to their greasy city.






And lest you fear that it's only bacon—that the pigs would bogart the other by-products of their blessedly brief lives—be advised that the pigs want you to enjoy the entirety of their abundance. Ribs! Ham jerky! It's all up for grabs.

The pigs are here to serve. Boy! Are they ever!
















Addendum: We can't help but be "impressed" with the presentation of this product. Nauseatingly called "piglets," these bacon pieces are shown in a serving dish shaped like a pig's head. Finally! Man is free to safely give in to his desire to eat the brains of a piglet with his fingers!










Addendum 2 (4/18/09): We were recently discovered by the Coastal Vineyard wine blog, which, in some way we don't understand, is affiliated with the Bacon Freak bacon club. They took issue—but gently—with our post. While we enjoy the attention, and any addition to our readership is welcome, we think they missed the boat. They believe pointing out that actual pigs will eat bacon if it's put in front of them somehow invalidates our thesis. Namely, 1) that real pigs have an interest in not being killed and eaten, and 2) that real pigs wouldn't willingly endorse pork products. (We feel foolish even pointing this out, as though it weren't already shamefully obvious.) The Coastal Vineyard/bacon people also believe that because animals eat animals—a fact with which we were vaguely aware—those animals wouldn't mind so much being eaten by us.

Divine Bovine Gourmet Beef Jerky

The symbolism is just… off.

The cow has obviously dressed for her portrait. Unless she typically wears formal dress, this is no candid shot. (We will ignore the question of why she's in bull drag.)

But since when do a tuxedo jacket and bow tie stand for divinity? Sack cloth, vestments, a humble monastic robe. Sure, these would ably convey the necessary piety. Even a leisure suit might connote a certain evangelical brand of religiosity. What we see here is not so much humility, but opportunism. Nor does the Midwestern brand of sophisticated style communicate gourmet. We are left to wonder what's going on.

What we know: a cow who is neither divine nor gourmet is going to great lengths to convince you that she is both, and that, therefore, she deserves to be eaten, that the jerky made from her flesh is, in fact, "terrific." We're not even convinced that she is a she!

(Thanks to Dr. Trent for the referral and the photo.)

The Healthy Buffalo

Welcome, fight fans, to tonight's big bout!

In a minute, the competitors should be entering the auditorium and making their way to the…

Yes! I see the challenger—Healthy Buffalo! They call him the Prairie Powerhouse, the Plains Pummeler, the Bison Mike Tyson!

He's in purple wrist and ankle tufts tonight and that stainless steel mind-the-farmer ring. Those trademark sunglasses reflecting the glare of a thousand camera flashes. At the weigh-in just minutes ago he clocked in at a crushing 625 pounds.

I think I can grab him for a quick interview. Healthy! Over here, Healthy! Tell us, how are you feeling tonight? How do you think the fight's going to go?

"I think we all know the night's gonna go my way."

What's your strategy?

"First, I'm gonna let him tenderize me in the brisket area."

Let him tire himself out, huh?

"Tire himself out? No, no. I need tenderizing. It's vital to the process."

Sure, sure, it is. Seriously, Healthy, when you get those muscles of yours working—

"I'm glad you mentioned that. These muscles, they're leaner than beef. I might be marbleized, but my fat content is considerably lower!"

Healthy, you have a fight in only… 10 minutes. You better get your head in the game.

"Don't worry about me. I didn't train for years just to blow my big break."

That's the Healthy Buffalo I know!

"Damn straight. It all comes down to tonight. I'm gonna step into that ring and show him—show the world—who the tastiest ruminant is!"

I don't think I understand.

"This is for all the exotic livestock. Buffaloes, ostriches. Even alligators. Okay! Let's do this. Let's get buried!"

You mean you… You want to lose?

"Lose? I'm not gonna lose. I'm gonna get slaughtered out there!"

Slaughtered? But you're the Bison Mike Tyson!

"No one gets taken down harder or butchered better than Healthy Buffalo! You watching, Boar? Venison? I made it, fellas! This is it!"

I don't believe what I'm hearing! In a few minutes, you're competing for the heavyweight title, but all you can think about is—

"The Suicide Food Federation heavyweight title."

The what?

"The Suicide Food Federation title."

That's tonight? I thought that was tomorrow. Isn't today Wednesday?

"It's Thursday."

Are you sure? Okay, well. Go out there and get your brains beaten in, big guy!

"Thanks, man!"

I hope he mops the floor with you!

"Bet on it!"






Addendum (12/05/07): We have found a worthy opponent for Healthy Buffalo: Champ, the Champs Real Pit Bar-B-Q champ! Can you imagine the total lack of fireworks if these two brawlers ever faced each other?













Addendum 2 (12/22/07): Now here is the anti-fighter who should go up against Healthy Buffalo—the Mingua Brothers All Natural Beef Jerky bull! Which one will hit the canvas first?











Addendum 3 (3/08/08): Apparently, pugilist bovines occupy an established niche. (This one exists as part of some kind of game, not an icon advertising cow meat products.)









Addendum 4 (9/29/08): Let's hear it for the Pugnacious Paragon of Poultry, Champ Chicken! Of course, he's not so pugnacious that he'll, you know, fight the people who would kill and eat him. He's actually a lover victim, not a fighter. (Thanks to Dr. Holley for the referral and photo.)




Addendum 5 (1/15/10): The Cow Puncher is ready to take on every bovine palooka in the joint!












Addendum 6 (6/30/11): Cows Beefs love to box brawl...





Addendum 7 (6/30/11): ... even in jerky form.

O.K. Corral Ostrich Jerky

Pity the poor ostrich. Condemned so long to stroll the endless African savanna, to listen to the swaying grasses, to strut beside the mighty acacia. Their awkward forms exquisitely adept at speed and caution, they outran lions. And, from their spot in the web of life, they knew death as well. Quick, often, but sometimes, yes, drawn out. Yet they were ever cursed with freedom, the freedom to run, to sprint, to live, to die. Not even an ostrich deserves such a woeful thing as freedom. Their distant cousins—the chickens and turkeys—had long since been blessed with confinement and subjugation. (Truly, every animal's deepest wish!) But for the ostriches, it was only the trap of nature and those dreaded vast and open skies.

No more! At the O.K. Corral, the ostriches have their pens at last, and how happy they are! No longer condemned to their drab feathers, they now enjoy bowties and eyepatches (?), just like the finest gentlemen.

And, of course, along with the outfit comes the opportunity to be butchered and turned into a "100% Real," "Real Western" snack food. No wonder this ostrich looks so pleased, so smug. He's about to receive the highest honor available to a flightless bird (or any animal, for that matter): death, processing, and encasement in plastic, there to have his Nutrition Facts made plain for all to see and celebrate.

Spicy Dan's Premium Jerky

Dude.

Our Dan is groovy as well as spicy. He's got the patched bell-bottoms, the sandals, the vest. The granny glasses. The headband. The scraggly goatee. The peace sign around his neck. He's got the attitude: catch his groovin'-on-nature vibe, the way he gives the world the thumbs up. He's a hippie and he is at one.

The cow—let's call her, oh, Rainbow—is a beautiful spirit, too. She's got the hooves and the horns and the udder and everything? Life is fine. The pasture is, like, green. I mean it's green, you know? And right there, with her every step, there's Dan. These two, they are, like, together. Togetherness is a beautiful thing, man.

But something's not right. Something is wrong. Rainbow's got the pasture, right? The fields? The green? She's smiling, you know? But the smile, it's not on the inside. Her heart isn't smiling. She wants to check out. As in check out. The pasture's not enough for Rainbow. But while this is going on, like, where's Dan? He's there, but he's, like, not there. It's almost like he wants her to leave it all behind and join the Universe, you know?

A theory: Spicy Dan is The Man. Ask yourself: would a real hippie sell out his sister? No way. He would talk her down. Show her the sunrise after her dark—dark—night! Wouldn't he, like, get her through this shit? A real hippie would do that. But that's not, like, Dan's trip. He's just thinking about all the jerky he's about to score.

Like, total betrayal.

Heavy.

Rosie's Vermont Beef Jerky

Rosie’s may be "quite possibly the world's finest tasting beef jerky," but, all the same, it looks like chewing gum. Or maybe… Is it just compressed slabs of suet? Is that Rosie’s revolting secret?

An equally hideous, yet open, secret is that our lumberjackbull must have sampled many, many beef jerky products to make his startling claim with such equanimity. Here is the most dubious spokesman yet. His everyman cap and plaid cannot disguise his pronounced unfitness for duty. Exactly how many of his bovine brethren has he tasted? Would you take the word of an avowed and unrepentant cannibal?

Could it be that Rosie has something on him? Does the plight of the blackmailed bull stir our sensitivities? Or may we comfortably place him in the collaborator file and be done with him?

(Answer: Collaborator.)