I found this handy cookbook at an estate sale and obviously couldn’t resist … even though it cost a whopping 25 cents as you can see by the fancy sticker. It was copyrighted by the Hearst Corporation in 1958. I don’t know if it’s that Hearst Corporation, but you may need a hearse after trying one of the recipes inside. What intrigued me about the particular recipe I’m making fun of tonight was the name, and naturally the ingredients made me shudder:
First of all, what is Ham Ling Lo supposed to mean? I could make lots of jokes about it, but they probably wouldn’t be politically correct. Second of all, why in the world did people eat “canned luncheon meat” back then? I remember my Mom often kept cans of deviled ham in the cupboard. I also remember never wanting to eat it. It was in a little metal can, wrapped in paper — paper that had a picture of a devil on it. It’s like they did everything they could to keep you from getting to that deviled ham inside. That was very noble of the deviled ham-maker’s, but apparently it didn’t work in my house. Of course, any deviled ham sandwich I found in my lunchbox during my childhood was quickly tossed into the garbage can at school. You couldn’t trade deviled ham sandwiches. Or liverwurst. I think they’re the same thing. Anyway, see that little brown drop on the recipe page? That’s the 50-year-old tear of someone who had to make this recipe.
So, deviled ham, pineapple, pineapple juice (hurl), peppers and celery. Well that just about covers everything I hate. Yes, I saw the potatoes, but even they can’t help this recipe. Not even this fancy picture of Ham Ling Lo can make me change my mind:
Well, that’s part of the Ham Ling Lo in the upper left corner. You may not have noticed it because you were fixated on the fancy casserole topped with deviled eggs in the upper right corner, or the green gooey casserole that looks like it’s topped with plastic toast. I won’t even try to find those recipes for you; I’m not that heartless.
Oooohhh, there’s obviously something wrong with Johnny. But wait, what’s that “P.S.” at the bottom? Ketchup? Nope, I’m fairly certain even my Dad wouldn’t eat that sandwich …