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Monday, December 22, 2014

A Man Eat Manwich World

Those that have skimmed and scanned the past 134 posts of this blog have figured one thing out about me: I have major food quirks. Majorly major. Somewhere between mayonnaise and tuna is that orange and red can o'shudder. Manwich.

Manwich is something we ate when all the other options were gone. After the salmon patties or macaroni and cheese with tuna and peas. There was always a can of Manwich and a pound of ground beef in the freezer. Sometimes we had buns, most of the time white bread. Spongy white bread soaking up Manwich juice. Tasty. 

Imagine my shock, joy, repulsion, curiosity, desire, and every other emotion bottled into one big super feeling when I stumbled upon this booklet at a Goodwill. I say that like I tripped and a Manwich booklet just fell into my hands after breaking my fall. Anyway,  I was expecting gags and groans but instead I was surprised at how unremarkable 50 different ways to incorporate canned ketchup and ground beef could be. I did get a remarkable refresher on historic kitschy quotes and psychedelic 1979's illustration. 

50 Famous Manwich Recipes, 1971,1974, 1978, 1980. Wait? 50 ways to use Manwich? That's 49 ways too many. I'll have 50 bad memories of Butternut bread, 73% ground beef, and my dad licking Miracle Whip off a butter knife. Always something there to remind me.

Heed the warning! Though I'm certain that isn't what Paul Revere said. Then again, maybe he did. History can and has been rewritten. He tried to warn us about Manwich. I just know he did. It feels like that could have happened. 

This is really putting on the ole dog. I'll have to dissect this as best as I can.
-I'm not too lazy or dumb to add a pinch of this and a dash of that. I would rather know what's going into my special sauce.
-There was Mexican Flavored Manwich? I just moved far, far away from Texas and ate a little Mexican food here and there. At no point did I ever think the food I ate tasted like Manwich. 
-Manwich = broke food.

 Manwich cabbage rolls. Chicken a la Jardiniere. Sweet and Sauerkraut franks. All made with Manwich. Some are reading this and salivating. Others are thinking I'm not entirely wrong in my feelings.

Enchiladas. Sauerbraten stew. Pork Chops Hawaiian. Beefy Lasagna. Who has time or desire to make Manwich into something other than Manwich? Someone with way more ingenuity than I will ever muster. 

I think his nose looks like a limp penis. While he's praising the virtues of canned ketchup with 14 special spices, I'm looking at his nose.

Here's some recipes just in case someone, somewhere has fish and Manwich and wondering how and if they could be cooked together. 

Having guests and wondering what to serve? No problem. Jolly Good Pizzas, M'm Kebobs, Help Yourself Sandwich, and an Upper Crust Beef Loaf should do the trick. Because, Manwich. 

I could. Who wants to watch the sausage being made? This is like that semi homemade show that is or was on the Food Network. Sandra Lee would be all over this. 

Chicken Vegetable Medley and Patio Hot Dogs and Beans. With Manwich. 

If I recall, her story did not end well. Maybe she should have chosen Manwich. 

I just can't. The sheer stupidity of this is too much. Someone, maybe even the original owner of this book, thought this was funny. The green face, blue hair. And what looks to be a liver on his head. Hilarious. I will never hear these quotes again without thinking of Manwich. I need a sarcasm font. 

Manwich stuffed peppers. I bet that just stinks. I would need to burp my house after cooking these. By burp, I mean opening every window for no less than 72 hours. Who cares if it's winter in Connecticut. My pillows are not going to smell like green peppers and Manwich. 

No. There's not a method to this Manwich and I really hate myself for repeating it. I had to process that saying to get it typed which means it went from eyes to brain to fingers. 

I'll take the penalty then. 

Simmer down. Nobody is that shallow. "Oooh I think you're an asshole because you like Manwich ," said no one ever. 

Add a can of Manwich to every meal! To balance energy add each day some sugar, syrup, jelly or jam, butter, margarine, cream, etc. After you take your heart and diabetes meds, winkety wink wink. 

Manwich and its evil twin, Mexican Manwich.

I need to check and see if I have any Manwich. If I do, I have 50 ways to make it. 

Friday, December 19, 2014

A Brief Return and December 1974

First off, I know it has been a long, long, long time since I have posted on this blog.Last you heard, I was sweating my ass off in Texas with a septic guinea pig. This year, I am freezing my ass off in Connecticut with a few less guinea pigs and a few less cookbooks. One of the reasons I put my blogging hobby aside was because I lost pretty much half of my book collection in the move. My printer and computer also shat themselves so I have been keeping my blog alive through the Facebook page. Little sites like Buzzfeed and Huffington Post have made use of my images. I would post links if I could. This is my first post via iPhone so if it looks tacky, meh. I'm learning as I go. 

Anyway, let's all back up 40 years to December 1974. I was a 4 month old infant so I don't remember but this Decrmber 1974 Better Homes and Gardens magazine gives me a great insight to what my little baby self was missing. Maybe a brain nugget was planted and exploded 38 years later, giving me the idea. 

I'm also taking pictures of this because, no scanner. My 7 year old son is making this even more fun as he bounces up and down on the bed. 

My father had one of these bad boys. The first song I remember hearing was Sherry by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Sheeeheheheherrrarrryyyy Baayaaybee (Sherry Baby) I bet you sang that. I sang that. Anyway, this coffin had a record player and an 8 track. Just to get to the point of lifting the lid required the living room to be arranged. Come come, come out tonighhhhht. 

Enough electronics to make any 70's gadgeteer leak a little urine at the mere sight of this ad. The prices had to be worth the quality. $499.88 for a microwave oven/home nuclear reactor, $84.87 for that black and white TV, $99.95 for a Handsome Deluxe Humidifier, $39.95 for a portable 8 track player. I don't care how badass you are. You aren't badass enough until you are listening to some Barry Manilow on your portable 8-track. 

My "family" would be ever so grateful to have a $500 microwave oven that may have a half life of 50,000 years. 

Mine doesn't and he won't. Peas are verboten here. With pearl onions, I guess I could guarantee a few days of cold shoulder. 

Ahhhh the toys. I remember those. I loved that little desk chalkboard thing and spinning the little spiral on the activity center.

This family is scaring me. I wonder what was said before the picture was taken. 

Such a profoundly sad little cookie. Or is that a pornstache? It was 1974 and it could go either way. 

Food ideas. I don't want to brag or anything, but I bet I have the recipe cards and cookbooks for these. BH&G never is one to lack redundancy. 

This is what happy looked like at the end of 1974. If anyone ever asks what happy was 40 years ago, point them here. They need to know. 

I need to find the people that eat fruitcake up. I'm sure the three of them will sit down and talk to me. 


Preach again! Itches and bulges and burning in the front and back. I'm 40 now. I get it. 

I can only think of a few different meanings for this. Ironic since the previous picture was an ad for hemorrhoid cream. 

Anything? Really?

1974 was an interesting year it seems. Maybe it won't be 40 years until I post again. I'm hoping this looks okay because until I get the right equipment, my blogs will be from my phone. Which cost me less than a microwave in 1974. 

I picked up another hobby last year. That's right. Bounce, rock, skate, rollllllll, bounce. Fitting for someone trapped in last century. 

Until next time. And there will be one.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

It's Not the Heat (Recipe Cards #28)

I hate summer. I disliked it for many years, sure. But I never truly experienced the amount of self loathing and hatred for all temperatures above 90 degrees until I found myself living in this state called "Texas". I say this as my fat ass was not prepared for days and days of triple digits. I say this as last week we found ourselves sitting in a personal house of hell heat when the capacitor of the air conditioner was out and I had to dismantle my cheapo Summer Escapes Wal Mart ring pool because it's not really something that was agreed upon whence we signed this lease. I had to hide my guinea pigs like forbidden secrets. Seriously.

It's so hot I don't want to acknowledge that a world exists outside my front door. To prepare for living in Texas, one must sit in their bathroom with a hair dryer blowing in their face for at least 4 hours, increasing said exposure by 15 minute increments for at least 6 months. It's the only way. Trust me.  

Why am I going THERE? Why am I sitting here bitching and moaning about being hot in August in Texas? Because I was in the middle of cropping pictures for my latest entry, all right in the world when suddenly it wasn't. The fan that I have heard reliably for the past two summers suddenly stopped whirring. I asked if anyone else heard that and nobody had words. I went outside to hear a buzzing where there used to be a whirr and a breeze. Instead of smelling outdoors, it smelled like burned metal.

A day of hell. It got to 95 degrees in this "house". Anyone who says the heat in Texas is "a different kind of heat" is friggen' correct.

The point is, I don't know what I was going to write about when I was doing these cards. I don't know how inspiring, witty or funny it was going to be. This insanity inducing hell heat robbed me of sanity and all I had left were these lousy Weight Watcher's cards. 

When it's 95 degrees inside your house and the HVAC guy was supposed to come at 3 pm and it's 3:22, you might need a little somethin' somethin' to calm your nerves. What better way than to think you are drinking sangria? You just need 3/4 tsp sherry extract, diet grape soda (pop for you up north), and some celery curls because they retain water after all.
Let's hope for the sake of sakes, your "company" also includes people with the same severe dietary restrictions as you have. That would be awkward.

This looks normal. Like fresh fish with a smattering of citrus to really bring it all together. A bit of zing and tang. It seemed that way until I looked at the back of the card and saw the second half of the recipe is a pâté glaze of unflavored gelatin, bouillon, mustard, buttermilk. I don't see that anywhere on the front! You almost had me, Weight Watchers. So close and yet so far away.

Sure, I've covered tomato everything from gazpacho to aspics but I've never discussed little doggy statues staring forlornly into the cold soup. I had a beagle who liked tomato based products. He'd have torn those pooches alive to lap up all that soup.

There's always a part two to these cards. These baby food balls neither sound like something I would eat, nor do they sound like something I would snub. However, the sauce is boss and it lost me.

When you have to flavor your sole with 2 cups of clam juice and soy sauce, you are doing it wrong. I guess the concept of eating peas with chopsticks is enough to make even the most hungry weight watcher just give up the fight.

I want to sit in my living room, family around me minding their own business, shouting "PAPRIKASH!" while clapping my hands. Must be the sprinkling of paprika on here that gives this PAPRIKASH some allure. Or is it Sole Epicurean because I see a recipe on the back of the card for this too. The only way to find out is to prepare these particular fish "meals", but that isn't happening. Nor does the recipe specify what type of fish is to be used in the PAPRIKASH.
I think there is a little faux pas with the spelling. I believe based on the appearance of tuhds, this should be called "Plopette" based on the sounds it would make as it splashes into the water. It's been a while since I've made a fecal reference. Bear with me.

That looks like just enough food to really piss me off. Nothing else.
Okay. Call it that. It wouldn't be worthy of anything if not for the 2 pimientos, cut in triangles. That makes this or breaks it. Can you imagine a world without 2 pimientos, cut in triangles added in a subgum? I seriously looked up at least 10 recipes before I posted that. Not one of them had 2 pimientos, cut in triangles in the ingredients.
Oh a Newburg. Yawn yay. I will say this Newburg has more sherry extract in it than the fake sangria I first posted.
This looks so dry. So soul sucking dry. This is how I felt in the hot hell house last week while I pondered my fate. Just dry and devoid of soul. If you ever want to know what a house without a/c in August in Texas might feel like emotionally, just look at this picture.
Club of what and for what? Club of Weight Watchers? All I have to say is you best have Sauces, Preserves, Dressings; Card #14 so you can make a mock white sauce to go on top of this mock sauce. Your club day can easily be ruined without it.
After saying "basturma", you must spit on the ground and wipe your face with the back of your hand, then shake your hand in defiance. Try pronouncing this with a Chicago/Wisconsin accent. You'll see which way is better. Basturma! Spit! Wipe! Shake!
I have a guinea pig named Buckey. Last year Buckey and Ranger got into a scrap. Buckey had an abscess on his back that nothing has treated. That green stuff oozing out of this tuna fish casserole looks like the same stuff oozing out of Buckey's wound. Is your day better knowing this? Male guinea pigs are assholes.
Buckey. Who'd hurt this little fella? Can't skewer him and turn him into Basturma because he's infected.
Ranger. He'd make a good pork subgum, but he's old so his asshole guinea pig meat would be stringy and gamey. Could probably stew him...I have recipes for squirrel, raccoon, opossum, rabbit, rattlesnake. What's the difference?
Ćevapćići. Do you know and see why this was the last card? Do you see why I waited? Becaue of all the accents. HOW in the HELL do you pronounce this? Though I give props to the food artist for somehow managing to find a squirrel on a cabbage leaf and a cloth (napkin, tablecloth, curtain, housedress) in the same colors as the food, I can't get past the word "cevapćići" and as such, I have looked this card over since I received this collection.

My head is cooled. I have prevailed. I hear the a/c fan running as it should. I will sleep with one ear open until