Stirum? Damn near killed him!

your families have some of the funniest recipes i've ever seen

Hello, clowns!

Last week I started a discussion thread where I asked you all to share your family’s worst recipes, and boy, did you all deliver. From the very moment I started reading them, my face immediately started aching from smiling and laughing so much. So thank you, from the bottom of my cavernous ass.

It took me a long time to sift through the gems to pick what I’d make for this week’s edition of Food is Stupid. What I really appreciated were some of the stories you told, like the one about the Rasputin fruitcake that couldn’t be sliced and somehow survived three full days in a fireplace (contributed by

Chunk

). The “corn teeth” story from @Tracey F made Davida and I bust out laughing together, and the overall abuses of chicken breast, ground beef, and tuna in your households sound like culinary war crimes.

The one recipe that caught me wildly off guard was from @freddymelons, who said:

my dutch step-grandfather from north dakota used to make some nonsense called stirum ("steer-um"), which is essentially pancake salad? he would chop iceberg lettuce, fry up pancakes and spam and chop those up as well, then toss it all with a mayo-based dressing and drizzle it with pancake syrup. it's so gross and so wet. now that im an adult with the internet i think im discovering that he swerved off road with whatever the original recipe was meant to be.

I don’t even know where to begin with this.

First of all, “stirum” sounds closer to a scientific term than something you put in your mouth. Second of all, @freddymelons’ description of it being a pancake salad mixed with Spam, iceberg lettuce, and a mayo-based dressing, all topped off with pancake syrup, felt like a punch to the culinary junk. Standing ovation.

So I said to myself, “Dannis Ree, it has been a long time since a recipe made you laugh out loud so violently. ‘Stirum’ is your destiny. It may also be your final resting place.”

After some cursory research (aka a Google search), it turns out that stirum is a real thing.

Stirum is also the name of a county in North Dakota, but I am not sure if the dish and the county are related. @freddymelons mentioned their step-grandfather was from North Dakota, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a loose Dutch connection somehow.

Most of the recipes, such as this one from Cooks.com, only refer to it as a pancake of sorts, and not as an iceberg lettuce salad with pancakes on top. The good news is, I did in fact find a recipe from a blog called Dakota Pharmgirl, which appears to confirm the existence of this dish, leafy greens and all. But unlike @freddymelons’ recounting of it, there’s no Spam or pancake syrup involved.

I started by making the mayo-based dressing that was featured in Dakota Pharmgirl’s recipe.

It’s easy enough; there’s mayo, milk, vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper. That’s it. If anything that’s sort of the base for ranch dressing, sans any actual herbs or seasoning. Mmm…tangy thin mayo mixture.

Then I chopped up some iceberg lettuce, which people love making fun of, but is still one of my favorites.

I don’t have a salad spinner to dry off my chopped leaves, so I just held a bunch of it in my hands after I rinsed it off, and flicked it all over our two cats, who fled in terror from the kitchen. Then they came right back, because they both only have one shared brain cell.

Next, I fried off some Spam, which is one of my favorite canned foods in the world.

Why is it so underappreciated? Guys, it’s a loaf of salty pig that you can eat straight out of the can. If that concept does not wow you then perhaps your childish sense of wonder has died, in which case, R.I.P.

God, it’s so good, and terrible for your blood pressure.

Spam does take a little longer than you’d think to brown up properly in the pan, unlike the amount of time it took me to brown my pants after reading @freddymelons’ explanation of stirum.

I realize that making pancakes from scratch really isn’t that difficult, but there’s something about highly processed pancake mix that just hits the spot, you know?

When we were at the store, I was about to purchase some the Bisquick mix that comes in a convenient shakable bottle, when a stranger came up to me and Davida, pointed at another section of the shelving, and said “Aunt Jemima is better! Aunt Jemima is better!” Then she mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again.

That mix, formerly known as Aunt Jemima’s, has thankfully been renamed to “Pearl Milling Company,” but I knew what the lady had been getting at. I think she just wanted us to enjoy some now non-racist pancakes.

It took me a few tries, but I finally got a picture perfect pancake that I could be proud of chopping up, and tossing into the weirdest salad I’d ever have.

I put everything into a bowl and tossed it all with the very thin tangy mayonnaise mixture.

I experienced a lot of emotions as I was doing so. I could see the dressing soaking right into the not-racist-anymore pancake squares, and wondered how this recipe even came about. I totally get putting anything you have in your kitchen together into a salad, but pancakes and mayo? What?

I felt like I understood the inclusion of Spam, though, because the pancakes and lettuce seemed to not be substantial enough by themselves for a meal. It spoke to me in a wordless sort of way.

And as if this entire thing wasn’t odd enough, then there was the final touch, the real headscratcher: the pancake syrup.

This took the pancake salad recipe to whole new level of what-the-fuck. I particularly liked the detail in @freddymelons’ story, where they said, “now that im an adult with the internet i think im discovering that he swerved off road with whatever the original recipe was meant to be.”

There’s something hilarious about off-roading with recipes, especially ones that not only drive off the road, but straight off a cliff, too. This realization reminded me of the time I’d heard a rumor that one of my former coworkers had some other coworkers over for dinner once, and he’d cooked them something that to this day, I still do not understand.

He allegedly baked off two deep dish pizzas, dumped a can of Chef Boyardee on top of one, inverted the other one on top like a lid, and served it, like that was something you just did. Apparently everyone ate it and didn’t say anything. The step-grandpa stirum and the deep dish Chef Boyardee monstrosity share the same spiritual tone. I’m not sure what that is, but I just feel it in my very bones.

And finally, of course, we had to eat it.

I cautiously forked together some lettuce, pancakes, Spam, and made sure to get plenty of syrup in there too. As I chewed, I experienced a multitude of things all at once. There was the dressing, which was watery and mostly sour, permeating the pancakes, rendering them fairly soggy. The pancake slices weren’t as terrible as I thought they’d be when combined with the iceberg lettuce, which I was thankful for. The Spam added an obvious meaty and salty pop at the end, almost like bacon. Then the syrup, which shouldn’t have worked, added a big declaration that “life is meaningless, so eat whatever” sensation at the end.

It kind of reminded me of a majorly fucked up Caesar salad, and not in the worst way. I didn’t hate it, secretly sort of liked it, but was still mentally challenged by it at the same time.

Davida tried some and declared, “I actually really like this!” Then I looked at her like I didn’t know her.

In the end, the recipe for stirum reminded me that you don’t have to understand everything in life to enjoy it. You just take a forkful, shake your head a little, and dig in anyway.

And also, just what the hell have your families been feeding you this whole time?

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Thanks again to @freddymelons for their step-grandfather’s unhinged recipe for stirum. The runner-up pick for me was that weird ham and ketchup pie, which sounds like hell in a pastry crust.

Please share Food is Stupid on social media (which is looking worse by the day) or forward it to your friends and family. Everyone deserves to know about stirum.

And don’t forget to upgrade to a paid subscription. Things are really weird out there right now for writers like me, and I’m thankful that I can count on you to help.

When you sign up, you’ll get exclusive content nearly every week, and you’ll get full access to the Food is Stupid archives. Davida’s picked her favorite worst recipe from the comment thread, and she’ll let you know just what she thinks when we make it later this week.

As always, I love you all, and we’ll hop into your inboxes soon. Have an awesome week.