Costco’s emergency food kit makes us dread the apocalypse even more

In “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” Holly Golightly finds solace for her anxious moods at the titular swanky jewelry store. “It calms me right down right away,” she says. “Nothing very bad could happen to you there.”

I feel that way about Costco. The sheer abundance surrounding me there is reassuring, as is the feeling that all of my needs could be met with only a swipe of plastic. A set of car tires? A pallet of multivitamins? A hot dog? Costco’s got me covered. A sense of belonging? Why, just check out my membership card!

Given the variety on offer, it takes a lot for Costco shoppers to be surprised at what they encounter in the warehouse-store aisles, but that happened last month, when people discovered large plastic buckets containing what was described as an “emergency food supply” of more than 100 servings. The meals needed only water to be added, and the stash would stay edible for 25 years, according to the package. Although the item or similar ones had been for sale for a while, as photos circulated around social media, some took it to be an ominous sign, perhaps a portent of the looming End Times. Did the Costco overlords know something we didn’t?

A doomsday scenario doesn’t feel so implausible. The planet is literally on fire, wars are raging, and American democracy is fraying like a holey sock (this was, recall, before the Olympics and the return of the Russian hostages managed to inject a little light into our gloomy news feeds of late).

To me, it felt very on-brand: Costco has always been about preparedness. After all, you can buy that massive Halloween skeleton yard decoration in July, a purchase that will offer you months of the kind of peace of mind that can only come from knowing that your holiday-novelty bases are covered. Leave it to Costco to have just what you need for any event, whether it’s an awkward office birthday celebration (gotta love that sheet cake!) or a zombie invasion.

And I was curious about this apocalypse meal plan. We might not know how the world is going to end, but we can at least know what those final days might taste like. I couldn’t locate the bucket at my local store, so I ordered one from the Costco website (mine came with 150 servings for $79.99) that offered a variety of dishes.

First off, the product description from the ReadyWise brand was clearly meant to sound reassuring - but it had the opposite effect on me. It promised “readiness in the face of uncertainty” and offered this balm: “it’s not just about survival; it’s about maintaining a sense of normalcy, comfort, and even enjoyment during challenging times.” Such euphemisms only stoked my imagination about the events that would have unfolded to necessitate digging into what looks like a vat of construction Spackle in search of sustenance.

When my bucket arrived, I shared it with colleagues in a taste-test that no one seemed particularly enthusiastic about. Nevertheless, I cranked up the “Apocalypse Now” soundtrack and we dug in.

One overarching observation: Folks, the End Times will be soupy. All of the dishes, from hot breakfast cereals to entrees, seemed to have the same sludgy consistency. Another conclusion? There are a few items that might make Armageddon a little more tolerable, and a few that make me realize I’d sooner allow myself to be eaten by zombies than have to survive on this.

On the bright side, most of us agreed that the two warm breakfast cereals - one apple-cinnamon flavored and the other brown sugar and maple - were entirely edible (if a touch too sweet), and the latter had a nice nubby texture, courtesy of the barley in the grain mixture.

But that wasn’t too surprising, given that the product is basically a dupe for regular instant-breakfast packages that people willingly consume in non-emergency situations. A crunchy granola got some thumbs-ups, but not so much the thin “milk alternative” it was doused in. A vanilla pudding was overly sugary.

Things got far dicier when it came to the savory entrees.

The chicken soup was among the least-disliked options (actually, it was "chicken flavored," with maltodextrin and yeast extract, and contained no meat). "Better than most canned soups," was one tepid compliment. Tasters did find it "overwhelmingly" salty, and two used the same icky adjective: "gelatinous." The other poultry-adjacent offering - potatoes and chicken-flavored pot pie - was a surprising star, although without a crust it in no way resembled an actual pot pie. "I was most worried about trying this one, but it's my favorite" entree, said one won-over skeptic. "Kind of a stuffing flavor," said another.

And then there were the meals that made the prospect of bunker life even scarier than it already seemed. A “creamy pasta with vegetables” featured unappealing white blobs and no flavor. The tomato basil soup was watery. “Cheesy macaroni” seemed promising (again, it’s not a far cry from regular boxed stuff) but it, too, was a miss. “Tastes like moistened dust,” one colleague lamented. And the teriyaki rice, with cloying sweetness and an anxious “off” soy note, was universally despised. “Looks like rice suspended in brown Jell-O,” according to one.

The experience made me consider an alternative survival plan that some jokesters have suggested on social media: When things get really dicey, just hole up inside a Costco. After all, there’s a massive stash of food, drink and clothing there, plus solid cement walls to keep the bad guys out. And, as one noted, it offers a reassuring security feature certain to keep the zombies at bay: “No one without membership can get in.”