Nobel Prize for Vilhelm Lillefläsk’s Squeez Bacon?

Certain brilliant inventors are lacking in recognition. Nikola Tesla comes to mind when one discusses unrewarded genius. Please add Vilhelm Lillefläsk to your list:

Which is why I am happy to tell you about Squeez Bacon, a real, actual product that consists of partially reconstituted bacon made into an easy-to-spread paste. Developed in Sweden after World War II by a particularly creative chef looking for a new way to process bacon, Squeez Bacon is now available in the U.S. According to its advertising, “Vilhelm Lillefläsk’s Squeez Bacon® is fully cooked 100% bacon.

Vilhelm Lillefläsk’s Squeez Bacon

 Due to the patented electro-mechanical process by which Squeez Bacon® is rendered, it requires no preservatives or other additives. Each serving is as healthy as real bacon, and equivalent to 4 premium slices of bacon!”

Four slices of bacon? Holy smokes. This ingenious product is something that should be part of a first aid kit. Hospitals should stock it. Corpsmen should carry Squeez Bacon in their field kits. Bloggers should have a bottle handy at all times. And it is time for a Nobel Prize for Vilhelm Lillefläsk.

13 thoughts on “Nobel Prize for Vilhelm Lillefläsk’s Squeez Bacon?

  1. Where can we get this stuff??? I’ll be back to let you know where it can be found….k

    • Didn’t have far to go…$7.99 for a bottle that contains 64 reconstituted servings…,k

  2. April 1, 2009?

    Amazon does not have it, but if you search for the name, you can find Bacon Drops and Bacon Syrup, which Amazon does have.

  3. Whoah…………

    ‘William Littleflask’ is not getting his way in my castle!

    I want (and I will have) bacon as it is meant to be. Grilled; using the correct ceremony as is befitting such a delicacy, especially in a sandwich with sliced mushrooms, accompanied by a pint mug of scalding hot Yorkshire tea.

    Can’t you see what’s happening people? Just the mention of it has you salivating!

    It will turn you into ‘ZOMBIES’…

    It is the way of ‘Vilhelm’; there is a reason why this 105 year old man is still alive, he is the ‘ZOMBIE’ King.

    NavyOne, through all that is sacred, I urge you not to endorse this product. You will bring about the end of traditional cooked breakfasts and the humble bacon sandwich.

    Is this the legacy you want the world to remember you by?

    I have to go and take stock of my life, perhaps even become a pig farmer ‘prepper’ in order to fight back against you all after you succumb.

    Yours Aye.
    (in shock)

    • Whoah Shipmate, please secure your shock. It turns out we were innocent victims of a nasty plot. Apparently the product (wonderful or not) is an April Fools joke. And I played the fool and posted it as gospel. One hundred pushups I will do, pronto.

      • I don’t do pushups, Navy One…and I stand corrected as well…I only treadmill….we have here in the great State of Texas a bacon I have found in the local supermarket called Wrights…and they refer to their bacon product as candy…and it surely is…I bake it in the oven at 400 degrees for almost twenty minutes until crispy and delectable…and then I freeze it for such delicious and wonderful treats as bacon cheeseburgers….or bacon-cheese omelets…we were taken in…sorry Brennan, carry on….k

  4. Just cancelled the order for 200 piglets, as well as a 40-foot container (that would have been buried in a secret location as part of my ‘prepping’ program)!

    The not so stupid thing is all you need is a hair brained idea, as well dedication for it to work in a ‘niche’ market. It could have, would have, taken off except in the most obvious countries (Allahu Akbar)!

    But seriously… squeezable bacon?

    Which reminds me…

    On board HMS London the RM Detachment’s storage space was registered as a ‘half store’; not in length but in height. The measurement from the deck to the deck head above was only 5 feet. It was literally used for storing items that were considered for occasional use.

    My marine storeman was suffering from ‘delhi belly’ after our Port visit to Gibralter; just as the ‘Jack Dusty’ Chief presented each department with a 100% stores muster. I was given a young ‘short’ RN stores scribe to assist me in the delicate task of moving around the store on shuffleboards, whilst counting ‘bullets, beans and bayonets’. (The store also had 1 inch cleats welded everywhere, which must have been a throw back to its original build. They were all painted white to blend in with the interior, which lent itself to the fact that the ‘half height storage area’ was an after thought for the RM Detachment.

    The vertically challenged scribe was ‘very keen to see every thing green’, as he had aspirations to apply for the RM’s. With the store temperature at 90 deg’s (with no air con) I was rapidly losing the will to live. I could hear the ‘wisssshhhhhhh’ of air pouring from the punkah louvers and went to sit by one for respite, just as my head made contact with a cleat, full contact; the noise and echo of which must have scattered the pod of dolphins skimming alongside the ship!

    I used the universal ‘fast-action-magic-hand-rub’ to take the pain away as I swore through clenched teeth. I now knew why my marine storeman was nicknamed ‘lumpy’!

    The scribe fell silent (suppressing a smile) until I had finished my rant; He then stated the bleeding obvious in his cockney twang, (which I will convert to Queens English); “that must have hurt Colours”?

    (The rank of Colour Sergeant = Colours. Each ships detachment required a Colour Sgt as its Detachment Sergeant Major).

    We continued counting maps, compasses, bayonets, mags, torches, etc, etc. All the while the scribe kept saying “eer Calars, wossis, wossat (he was a Londoner, a true cockney; what he was really saying in Queens English was “here Colours, what’s this, what’s that”)!

    A metal shelf locker draw had become stuck, so I levered my knee against the half locker and pulled, it gave way swiftly as I flew back onto a white camouflaged cleat “yoo awight Calars” (“are you alright Colours”)… It took me against the lower temple, again I used the universal ‘fast-action-magic-hand-rub’ to take the pain away as I saw the universe explode in front of me. The draw was full of “wossis, wossat” items that the scribe was mystified and intrigued by.

    I could see he was quietly enjoying himself, he would have a few ‘dits’ to spin later back in his mess deck, as he and his fellow scribe’s quaffed their ‘tinnies’ of ale.

    The morning progressed quickly and painfully and I was ready for ‘stand-easy’; the traditional 30 minute mid morning break also known as cavalry time as it starts at 10-to-10, (repeat it several times and pitch the sound up and down; imagine John Wayne asking for the bugler to play the cavalry charge).

    Having recharged my batteries, as well as counted lumps, I once again jumped into the fray, supported by my trustee side-kick; the scribe. The morning rode into lunch offering a further respite from the half hellhole.

    The afternoon started well; with the exception of my scribes incessant chatter of “eer Calars, wossis, wossat”. Each time a locker was pulled open I dreaded it being an object green, as opposed to navy blue. I pulled myself around a corner unit to view the last half locker, when I misjudged distance and took (not a direct hit) but one of those nasty ‘top of the head scrapes’ that you occasionally sustained when you enthusiastically jumped through a hatch opening.

    My eyes closed with the pain; I rubbed furiously back and forth; the ‘fast-action-magic-hand-rub’ had run out of power…
    A little head popped from around the corner and piped, “wot agin Calars”. I wanted to tear the half locker away from the bulkhead and reach up to force the deck head another foot higher.

    The draws and shelves within contained paraphernalia for use in escape and evasion as well as ‘odds & sods’. “Cor wassat en Calars’? (Meaning; Wow, what is that then Colours), the scribe’s eyes lit up once again at some thing green. I looked at him and casually picked up an olive green, palm sized squeezable tube of ‘dark olive’ camouflage cream, and said “its jungle chocolate”! I screwed the top off and said, “here try it”.
    He opened his mouth and I placed the end of the tube on his lower lip and squeezed a big portion of ‘jungle chocolate’ into his yawning orifice.

    The scribe’s brain was telling him it was ‘jungle chocolate’; his taste buds were telling him that it was tasteless odourless goo that was most certainly not edible. I replaced the top and handed the container to him.

    “There you go mate, that’s yours, you can now secure for the day, don’t swallow that until you read the directions on the pack-then decide”.

    His face was a picture; we were equal in our ‘dit’ for the day. He scurried off as I secured some high vis paint and paint brushes from the Bosun’s mate. Upon his recovery young ‘lumpy’ was detailed to paint every cleat within the ‘half store’.

    For all of those who have served aboard a ‘man of war’ you will understand the unforgiving feeling of flesh-covered bone against hard steel. The school of hard knocks.

    Sadly the vertically challenged scribe fell below the regulation height required of the Corps.

    For any teens or children looking in, I would say that eating camouflage cream is not recommended, it is not jungle chocolate; though it could possibly taste like squeezable bacon without the bacon flavour.

    Yours Aye.

  5. Kris: I love Wrights. I can’t remember the last time I had it though.
    EB: Heheh. This is a great story. I think I’ll make it its own post. Thanks!

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