Before we get to the goods we must celebrate the finder: Yard Sale Bloodbath, the blog of Meghan Smith and Jenny Hayes devoted to the wonderful, horrible world of Seattle yard sales.
Here you’ll find our various thoughts on yard sales and related subjects, ranging from philosophical musings to “Oh my god, I can’t believe that person was trying to sell their used granny panties.”
Today’s delight falls in the latter category: the Seattle Seahawks Gridiron Gourmet, a fundraiser cookbook from 1983 credited to “the Seattle Seahawks player’s wives.”
As YSBB reports:
The food in these photos actually has no bearing whatsoever to the featured recipe. For example, the recipe featured here is “Strawberry Trifle.” And despite this happy couple’s use of a pasta machine, their recipe is for something called “Baked Stew.”
Sometimes, things get wacky. And sometimes things get scary:
Football players or serial killers? In case anyone gets the wrong idea about these two, their “Buttermilk Pancake” recipe clearly states that it makes “about 15 bachelor-sized pancakes.” Get it? They’re not a couple. Just two bachelors, hanging out together, enjoying the finer things in life. Until Mrs. Right comes along and takes away their Bud and potato chips.
And what are we to make of this?
(Their recipe was for something called “Party Log,” featuring cream cheese, scallions, olives, and one small jar of dried beef.)
Thank you, Yard Sale Bloodbath. That was a dollar well spent. (And eternal thanks to Slog tipper Jake.)
So MUCH 80s awesomeness. What’s with the too tight shirts? Was that an 80s trend that I’ve forgotten?
It weirds me out a little to know that those kids in the first photo are my age. heh
Finally, an answer to the eternal question, who the hell buys those little jars of dried beef in the supermarket, and for what purpose? Not being a Party Log consumer, I never knew.
All I can think of when I see that first shot is “You’re watching HORSE APPLES!”
In 1983, parents could just leave the baby on the couch while they proceeded to get shit-faced… ah. childhood memories.
What, no play-pen/baby prison? Okay, just keep an eye out and make sure nobody sits on the baby! Cheers!
“Cue uncomfortable photo shoot op!”
@2: You’ve never had cream chipped beef on toast? Not that I recommend it.
@6: We always had that laid atop toasted English muffins when I was growing up.
@ 4, it looks like they were sharing their booze with the baby, judging from the look on his face.
That second photo is the best ever. I can’t decide if I want the Brewers cap and 3/4 length tee, or the trucker hat and windbreaker.
Hey, the Tuiasosopos are in there too!
Holy shit! Is that Dave Krieg in the Brewers cap? Showing off his microwave cookery skills with a young Walter Sobchak?
My favorite garage sale find of all time was a “Dr. Laura” board game…found on Cap Hill of all places. We saved it for the right white elephant gift exchange party which was this hoity-toity party in Edmonds last year. We laughed for days when the horrified recipient figured out what it was.
Everybody loves “PartyLog™”!!!
Strap on harness, sold seperately.
Hell yes, Hernandez, that is motherfucking Dave Krieg, living in what looks like a bare-bones bachelor pad.
Actually, what is really striking about these pictures is how resolutely middle-class everyone’s home looks, for housing professional football players and their families. I mean, these could be my parents’ or any of my friends’ kitchens from the ’80s.
Were the ’83 Seahawks 100% white? Or, uh, red, in the case of the gent in the windbreaker, who looks like he’s about to keel over from late-stage alcoholism, or perhaps just a batchelor pancake stuck in his windpipe.
@14, you’re right, this all looks pretty modest. Players today seem to all live in houses that resemble the lobbies of bland but expensive hotels.
@15,
Joe Montana briefly lived down the street from my middle school. Considering what he could’ve bought in my hometown, his house was exceedingly modest.
’83 was Chuck Knox’s first year coaching, and it was a good season. Victory may very well lie in the Party Log.
Party Log sounds uncomfortably what one finds clogging the backroom toilet after a drunken frat party. The kind that requires you to tie a bandanna soaked in Aqua-Velva over your face while you doggedly plunge and curse the fuckers who kept using the toilet after it was clogged and overflowing.
(I almost typed Aqua-Vulva, which somehow seems more appropriate. Certainly it would smell better.)
I checked out the blog of the yard sale shopper. she alternates between marvelling at all the crap some people collect, and taking pictures of the trunkfull of crap she acquires every week.