From The Crap Archives: Recipes From Old Cape Girardeau
Your Crap Archivist brings you the finest in forgotten and bewildering crap culled from basements, thrift stores, estate sales and flea markets. I do this for one reason: Knowledge is power.
Recipes From Old Cape Girardeau
Author: Historical Association of Greater Cape Girardeau, MO
Discovered at: Thrift store
Representative Quote: "Cream two-thirds cup shortening with one and one-third cups sugar, one teaspoon soda, and three-fourths teaspoon salt. Blend in one-half cup dry, unseasoned mashed potatoes."
This Sunday, as most of us gather at the homes of laid-off friends to watch teams we don't care for face off in a town that isn't theirs, at least one football lover has something to celebrate. Bloated jagoff Rush Limbaugh will be cheering on his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers, probably from viewbox seats with Rupert Murdoch, Jack Bauer, and fiancee number God-only-knows. Or maybe he'll invite whoever was on the receiving end of the El Rushboners he got with that all that un-prescribed Viagra customs agents busted him with on a 2006 trip to the Dominican. (His companions on that 2006 stag weekend to the sex-industry capital of the western hemisphere: the producers of "24.")
Still, there's an easy way for the rest of us to roll Rush style this Super Bowl. Pick up a copy of Recipes From Old Cape Girardeau, a 70s cookbook from Limbaugh's Missouri hometown, and you'll not only find delights like Calico Coleslaws and Christmas Jumbles. You'll find a perfect Super Bowl treat: four recipes from Mrs. Rush H. Limbaugh, Sr.
Yes, that Mrs. Rush H. Limbaugh, Sr.
Even in a book filled with two steamed brown bread recipes (Mrs. Bueltemann uses sorghum molasses; Mrs. Nussbaum settles for "sour milk.") the Limbaugh matriarch's mega-ditto inventiveness stands out. First up, a dessert seemingly dedicated to her most famous son.
She also indulges in some mystifying ice-cream numerology.
Anyway you figure it, it adds up to tastiness!
Finally, her masterpiece, a nuclear ooze combining the tastes of lime Jello, cream cheese, pineapple, Miracle Whip and olives.
Little known fact: in the early 80s, Mrs. Limbaugh worked in R&D at Double Dare.
Since your Archivist has a weakness for celebrity recipes named like prom themes, I had to make it myself. With my nose held, and -- as Rush might say -- half my palate tied behind my back just to make it fair, I turned my kitchen into a laboratory of Limbaugh nostalgia. (I also, unfortunately, had to sub sliced olives for stuffed.)
Step one: combine lime Jell-O with canned pineapples and olives. The result looked less like an underwater paradise than tires floating in a swamp.
Step two: mix another box of Jell-O with cream cheese and Miracle Whip. Once it has set, place it on the swamp-tire mixture.
Step three: for the love of God, do not expose it to pets.
Soon, I had a vat of Slimer-colored goo. The next afternoon, I gathered friends for a taste test. Reaction was mixed.
Jason: "At first, when you put it into your mouth, you think you're not going to gag. Then you bite into one of the olives, and it's all over."
Lorna: "It's brain-like. It's Jell-O at first, and then there's this explosion of salt. Hey, are there any painkillers in this?"
Lorna: "I like how it's all-natural. The only thing it needs is a big slice of bologna on the bottom. Or some Vienna sausages."
Peter: "This explains so much about how Rush grew up. He never had a chance."
Eric: "I like it. I would eat that. I like everything that's in here."
Peter: "Yeah. Individually."
Eric: "I have everything you need to make this in my refrigerator right now."
Jason: "In my house I probably have everything I need to make a bomb. That doesn't mean I do it."
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