Dearly departed deliciousness: frozen Pepperidge Farm Boston Cream Pie

For the life of me, I can't find so much as a picture of these. I loved these frozen cakes so much that I asked for them to be my birthday cake on my ninth birthday. My mom would decorate them a bit with those tubes of decorator icing from the grocery store, top them with candles, and serve them just a bit frozen. The custard inside was just a bit icy.

Pepperidge Farm still makes frozen layer cakes, but according to their website, not of the Boston Cream variety. If someone has photos or memories of these cakes, do share!

Dearly departed: Snaks you can squeez

Please note that my headline is spelled correctly. Yes, it really was cheez product, and you could really squeez it from a squishy tube. And you thought Cheez Whiz was the beginning and end of pasteurized process cheese food product. Ohhhh, no. We had so many options for food-that-was-not-really-food in the 70s. Aren't you Millennials jealous, what with all your organic, all-natural, actual, real food?

This blasted onto my Facebook page randomly this week. I'd completely forgotten about it. Now I can't get the taste out of my head (kinda like Kraft Easy Cheese.) And I desperately want to squeez the cheez on some Chicken In a Biskit Crackers (also spelled wrong.)

Somewhat dearly departed: MilkShake candy bars

For the life of me, I can't remember what the MilkShake candy bar tasted like beyond it being a little like a Three Musketeers bar. But I remember liking it pretty well. Apparently there was a strawberry version as well.

So, remind me. Did it taste like a milkshake? From the description, it sounds like a superordinary, not-discontinued-but-still-tasty-and-available Milky Way bar.

My (almost) first cake: Stir'n Frost

In my evolution as a baker, sometime after saucer-sized, hockey puck-like Easy Bake Oven cakes came Betty Crocker Stir'n Frost Cakes. The cardboard-y pan, cake mix, and frosting all came in the box--you were even supposed to mix the cake batter in the pan (no need to dirty a bowl!) After the cake was done, you squeezed the frosting out of the foil packet. You didn't even need a knife to spread the sticky frosting--you just dragged the foil packet around the top of the cake.

Kid-sized, kit-ized, and sugar-ized. Anyone remember the other flavors? I remember only the chocolate.

And there's no truth to the rumor my hair looked exactly like that little girl's hair, or that I repeatedly combed it throughout the day so that it would flip back just like hers.

Dearly departed deliciousness: Marathon candy bars

A Marathon bar was so huge, it felt like you were getting the biggest candy bar in the world. Two candy bars, even. Definitely more candy than your little brother, anyway.

This candy bar was so good, it even has its own Facebook fan group.

You already know how I feel about this kind of thing, but here’s a modern imitation, if you must, from the very cool folks at oldtimecandy.com

Stringy, chewy, teeth-coating caramel, offering itself in twirly abundance. But nevermore.

Dearly departed deliciousness: Carnation Breakfast Bars

Dry and crumbly on the inside; sweet and chemical-tasting on the outside: Carnation Breakfast Bars, I miss you desperately.

Because vitamins were added to you, we believed you were healthy. Sugar and hydrogenated oils? Of course--but you were healthier than a candy bar or a Pop Tart, so Mom felt good about giving you to us. Why, you even had granola, which was the healthiest thing around because the hippies ate it.

If Carnation ever makes you again, o delicious, foil-wrapped, vitamin-packed, artificially tasty wonder, I'll be the first in line to buy you.

Dearly departed deliciousness: Flicks candy

But wait, LBHG, you say. They still make Flicks, you say.

Alas, they make only a chocolate-flavored product in a tube that calls itself Flicks. But this product is not the Flicks of my childhood. Not the Flicks my grandma would buy me at Food Giant in West Seattle. Not the Flicks that slid out of their bright red tube directly into my mouth. Not the Girardelli Flicks made of real chocolate.

The original Flicks' wrapper is here at the geekily cool Candy Wrapper Museum.

Click if you must see the new Flicks. But I warned you.

The pie! That makes! Its own crust!

I bet you had a slice of Bisquick Impossible Pie in the 70s. I bet you liked it.

This isn't a food blog, but I'm a foodie. I'd like to share with you some of the good stuff from my childhood, which I bet a lot of you will remember.

Put down the Crisco-crusted, high-calorie quiche and try some Impossible Pie. It's easier and better for your waistline. Feel free to switch out the flavors and add-ins once you've learned the basic method. I've made this with broccoli, corn, red potatoes, and asparagus. There are even dessert versions available, though I haven't tried those.

Green Chile Cheese Impossible Pie

Preheat oven to 425. Spray 9- or 10-inch pie plate with cooking spray.

2 cans (4 oz. each) chopped green chiles
1 1/2 cups grated cheese (cheddar or pepperjack)
1 1/2 cups milk
4 eggs
1 cup Heart Smart Bisquick (tm)

Combine green chiles and cheese and spread on bottom of pie plate.

Beat remaining ingredients until smooth. Pour into pie plate.

Bake until knife inserted in center comes out clean (25-35 minutes).

Serves 6.

Dearly departed and dehydrated: Mug-O-Lunch

Who knew you could have sooo much fun and tastiness in a mug?

Mug-O-Lunch tasted kind of like the Kraft Easy Mac and operated on the same principal: add boiling water to salty powder and macaroni that would never get fully tender, wait a few minutes, and your lunch is in the mug. Sounds kind of silly now that we live in the age of prepared food and instant everything, but this felt inventive and exciting at the time.

Here's a newspaper ad that promises three flavors: Macaroni and Cheese, Spaghetti, and Beef Noodle. I seem to remember a Chicken Noodle one available at some point as well.

My brother and I had to talk Mom into buying these; she would say they were too expensive and that she'd be happy to make us a sandwich. She was a stay-at-home mom, and she probably would have made us anything we wanted from scratch. But of course, we wanted the dehydrated salty crap in a mug.

Grape Tang and Epic Barfs

Is it weird to remember your most epic barfs? Because I do.

My most epic barf was Grape Tang, delivered spectacularly onto the beige carpet in our family room. Yes, it came back up just as purple as it went down--only now with added chunks! The stain remained there for years, despite multiple carpet cleanings. I should have asked mom for that section of carpet when she finally replaced it (the carpet, not the barf) in the late 90s.

Get your Grape Tang!

I was going to key this under discontinued food, but apprently it's still available (though not widely so and possibly not in the U.S.) Click the link above to purchase via Amazon. It doesn't come in the cool glass jar any more, unfortunately.