Not Your Father's Beef Jerky

Remember those cold days going out to camp in the long days of youth, wide eyed and confused, watching the world fly by through a faded window, knowing you need to piss, but also you just did 20 minutes ago and your dad will begrudgingly believe you and look for the next exit - or if there isn't one, an easy place to stop in order for you to scamper to the bushes - since he knows that your leaky bladder is a constant source or perplexity in him, but it was the same with him as a youngster, and when you get back to the car he offers you some beef jerky. 

Greedily you bite into the beef jerky and your young teeth stop. 

Their childish force repelled by a mightier leather hide somehow so dry it more resembles the weird things behind the science room display cases.  Weathered by time.  Solid.

You tear apart the stuff, confused, and bit by bit choke the salty contents down.

Enter - Biltong.

Fast forward to your kid.  The inevitable potty stop occurs, what do you hand them?  Biltong.  Their undeveloped canines quickly gobble the juicy meat and ask for more.  You oblige.  It's ok, it's delicious.  It's a little salty, a little sweet, a little spicy, a little fatty, and very savory.  It's tender, it's lasting, it's filling, and it's healthy, because The Meat Empire does Grass-fed beef, and you shop here.  Where else do you need to go?  Nowhere.  Just scroll.