Nice finesse over the infamous creamed-chipped-beef-on-toast, a/k/a "$#!+ on a shingle".
I notice they didn't try Ham-and-Limas . . . some things are just too bad to revive . . .
When my husband finally got out of the Reserves, the company cook gave him an old box of recipes. So I have such wonders as Spaghetti and Meatballs for 500 . . .
Names ping! Would you buy a cookbook from this man?
(I suspect this is a transcription error, and the poor gentleman has a nice German name, Tschoepe.)
Why, yes, I have. It's still served in KY, usually without the squirrel, possum. If you're ever at Keeneland, the breeders' horse track in Lexington, KY, I highly recommend the burgoo for lunch, with the bread pudding with whiskey sauce for dessert.
“Hardtack Come Again No More!”
Let us close our game of poker,
Take our tin cups in our hand,
As we all stand by the cook tent door.
As dried mummys of hard cracker are handed to each man,
Oh! Hardtack come again no more!
CH:
‘Tis the song, the sigh of the hungry,
Oh, Hardtack, hardtack come again no more.
Many days have you lingered,
Upon our stomachs, sore.
Oh! Hardtack come again no more!
‘Tis a hungry, thirsty soldier,
Who wears his life away,
In torn cloths whose better days are o’er.
And he’s sighing now for whiskey in a voice as dry as hay.
Oh! Hardtack come again no more!
Ch:
‘Tis the wail that is heard in the camp,
Both night and day.
‘Tis the murmer that mingles with each snore.
‘Tis the sighing of the soul for spring chickens far away.
Oh! Hardtack come again no more!
Ch:
But to these cries and murmers,
There comes a sudden hush.
As frail forms are fainting by the door.
For they feed us now on horsefeed that the cooks call MUSH!
Oh! Hardtack come again once more!
Ch: (last)
‘Tis the dying wail of the starving!
Oh! Hardtack, hardtack come again once more!
You were old and very wormy,
But your failings we’ll pass o’er.
Oh! Hardtack come again once more!
(To the tune of “Hard Times Come Again No More”