Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Recipes with a little something special, plus ancient frozen food

Seriously crunched for time and trying to turn your grading game up to 11? (Is that grading part just me?) It's time for clock watchers to get a little microwave action.

Today we have Multi-Power Microwave Cooking from Sears (1975, but mine is from the ninth printing, 1978). As you can see from the cover, this one is pretty heavy on the stews and casseroles. Even though it does have a few obligatory recipes for things like bread, cake, and "roast" turkey, these types of recipes are rather minimal for an old microwave cookbook. Maybe microwave manufacturers were finally realizing that recipes for colorless, rubbery food-pucks were not the best way to get people to use the microwave...

My favorite thing about the recipes in this book is that so many of them include special touches... That little something extra that makes me ask, "What?"

For example, I always thought dried beef was a food of last resort, something housewives kept on hand for weeks when the money was tight or they were snowed in and couldn't get real groceries.

Here, it's the special touch, used as a sauce for the chicken. I thought if you had chicken, you would leave the dried beef in the back of the cupboard, but I guess I was wrong. Either I or the cookbook seriously misunderstand something about dried beef, but I don't know which of us it is.

The special touch is not always so obvious as to be right in the title. This recipe looks perfectly fine at first:

Italian-Style Brazzoli seems to be a sped-up meat and tomato sauce. It's not exactly something nonna would approve of, but it seemed fine to me until I got to the raisins...

Then I wondered if they were a traditional part of Brazzoli, since I didn't really know what Brazzoli was. A quick Google search showed that the term mostly seems to apply to some kind of dyeing equipment for making fabrics. I did find two recipes with the name-- one copied from the cookbook nearly verbatim. The other is similar, but suggests using a slow cooker and seems to doubt the raisins just as much as I do, listing them as optional. I don't think I'm disparaging a traditional recipe here when I question raisins in spaghetti sauce....

Someone who worked on this cookbook really liked dried fruit in everything. It shows up again as a "special touch" in Sweet Beef:

How about prunes on your beef? Throw in some brown sugar, lemon, onion soup, sweet potatoes, and brown gravy mix while you're at it. I'm a little surprised we don't have a can of peaches, pineapple, and/or fruit cocktail too, and maybe some honey or molasses...

Whoever wrote this knew all my pet peeves. If it's not random and unnecessary fruit, then it's random and unnecessary condiments.

The Hot Chili Mexican Salad gets not just catsup in its microwave chili (enough to make me shiver all by itself!), but also mayonnaise. I'm not sure why the recipe couldn't have gone for, say, actual tomatoes if the goal was chili, but apparently they have to be reserved to go on at the end with the cheese and avocado. Hooray for good old-fashioned mayo-catsup chili.

I wasn't sure how I wanted to end this one, so here is a picture of old frozen foods from the end of the book.

I love looking at old packaging. I love it so much that I lose track of what's going on in a movie or TV show if the characters go to a supermarket. Manhunter is one of my favorite movies, and I am always too busy eyeing old boxes of Bran Muffin Crisp to ever fully pay attention to what Will Graham is saying in this scene.

Stray thoughts about old frozen food packaging:

Weight Watchers dinners looked scarily utilitarian back in the day. Seeing that little scale right on the front of the package and the all-business font warning that it contained sole, peas & pimento, chopped spinach, and a celery sauce makes it look like it must have been the equivalent of eating a block of hay for supper.

The Swanson dinner with its hash brown nuggets looks a lot more inviting, but the metal tray makes it a bad pick for a microwave cookbook.

It's nice that the Green Giant got a scarf when he was on packages frozen veggies. I'll bet he misses it now. Nobody cares if he freezes his sprouts off on a bag of riced cauliflower now. (And I'm baling out after that sprouts joke! Back to grading....)

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Funny Name: Trust No One Edition

I have a feeling this recipe from The Best of Home Economics Teachers Bicentennial Cookbook (Favorite Recipes of Home Economics Teachers, 1975) is trying to pull one over on me...

I am just not sure what the trick is supposed to be. What is the deception in "Corned Beef Deception Salad"? Is the title meant to openly admit that these gelatinous horrors aren't actually edible, or is there some other layer of deception I'm missing?

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Just eat an apple and keep the doctor out of your business

Today we have a book from The Kroger Food Foundation that tries to tell what to do When the Doctor Says "Diet" (1933):

Apparently, you get to eat two hard cooked eggs on a very sparse bed of parsley. Yippee. That guy's eyebrow arch of dismay could challenge Stephen Colbert's.

The book has plenty of concoctions of approximately the same "yum" value as the eggs and parsley. The section on liquid diets offers a variety of grimace-worthy options.

Some are pretty simple:

Toast soda crackers and then boil for fifteen minutes. Strain and serve.

If straining soggy crackers out of hot water doesn't sound quite exciting enough, there is a more labor-intensive version:

Soak barley or rice overnight, drain, cook for six total hours (two over direct heat, then four more in a double boiler), strain, and chill.

The alternative to strained-out carb-water is the protein option:

Egg white in clam broth! (I'm not sure whether calling the egg white albumen in the title makes this better or worse...)

And if liquids get too monotonous, there is always (ALWAYS) an aspic:

It's not all liquid diets, though. You know how gluten is the dietary bad guy in so many food stories today? It was not always so. Here's a bread recipe recommended for diabetics:

Gluten Bread gets rid of the other trappings of wheat and just keeps the gluten. (I'm seriously wondering what the texture of this would be like, as I eat a lot of seitan-- which is basically gluten with savory seasonings, made into chewy, meat-like chunks. I can't imagine trying to turn that into a passable slice of bread, but maybe the addition of yeast makes a difference?)

There aren't a lot of recipes in the booklet, though. Much of it is lists of menus for various types of diets (high carb, low carb, extra roughage, low roughage, high iron and copper...). Just to give you an idea of how different America was in 1933, here's a diet recommendation we don't often see anymore:

This is the high calorie diet. Even though parts of it are pretty clearly high calorie (scrambled eggs with cream and bacon at breakfast, a milk shake and cookie snack), I'm surprised how much of this overlaps with weight-loss diet foods. Apparently vegetable aspics and grapefruits were inescapable facts of life back then. Even saying that you were trying to gain weight wasn't enough of an excuse to skip them. (At least you could apparently count macaroni as a "vegetable of high caloric value," so that was something...)

My favorite item on the list might be the prune and pineapple salad with mayonnaise. You could try to force that on me all day long, and I wouldn't gain an ounce.

In any case, I don't know whether I'm gladder that I don't have to follow a doctor-recommended diet in 1933 or that I don't have to cook someone else a doctor-recommended diet in 1933. I'm also glad we don't need a damn aspic at every meal.

Saturday, October 7, 2017

Funny Name: Erase the Browser History Edition

The name of this recipe from Quick & Easy Dishes (Favorite Recipes of Home Economics Teachers, 1968) sounds like it could be the title for some kind of fetish porn:

I can think of several scenarios where "Beat 'n' Eat" might be an appropriate label, but I will leave you to your own imaginations, you pervs.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Foil Freaks on the Doorstep

Okay, I have to be honest. Halloween is 90% of the reason I bough 401 Party and Holiday Ideas from Alcoa (Conny von Hagen, 1971) in the first place.

It's true that I can't resist dark steps illuminated by otherworldly-looking foil jack-o-lanterns:

Foil lollipop ghosts provide some good comic relief.

Who else would eye a mound of boring old apples with such excitement?

I find long-necked cats that look like stress balls with pop-out eyes to be hilarious, especially when they have giant popcorn-ball butts.

None of them was the reason I picked this up. Prepare yourself for the picture that will haunt your dreams... for the nightmare children who will stalk you from the corners of your subconscious mind...

Maybe I'll just give you the instructions on how to make their masks first, so you can back out while there's still time:

Doesn't sound too bad, right? Fifteen foil sheets around a big balloon, deflate, cut openings, and decorate. The kids can be shiny goblins or whatever.

Are you sure you want to see this? I mean, are you really sure?

The masks are something you can't un-see.

And that is what makes them perfect.

I don't know where to begin, so I'll start with the most puzzling/ least horrifying one in the back. The kid is just wearing an enormous ball with a circle cut out for the face. Is it a big old-timey diving helmet? Is it a baseball with some serious structural integrity issues? I think it's supposed to be an astronaut helmet, as it looks kind of like the Space Party helmet, and it has some kind of an antenna-like thing sticking out of the top. In any case, the kid is blissfully unaware of how creepy this picture is.

The witch looks goofy with her big lipsticked smile under a comically long nose.She seems self-conscious about being less menacing than the ostensibly-friendlier characters in the foreground, clasping a jack-o-lantern to verify her Halloween bona fides.

Next to the witch is the bear. I think it's supposed to be a panda, but it must have bleached its arms and ears, maybe as part of the beauty treatment that also glued a paper flower collage on top of its head. Maybe panda shouldn't creep me out as much as it does, but that big head with the hollow eyes... It looks like something that would suddenly be staring at teenagers making out in a horror movie, glimpsed only briefly before the camera refocuses on a butcher knife (or maybe butterfly sword, if they want to carry through with the Chinese theme)...

That clown in the front, though! This evil magic is the reason I picked the Alcoa book up. Just look at the kid wearing a boring winter jacket and striped gloves, daring anyone to observe that it's not even remotely a clown outfit. And clown is going to get away with it, too. I mean, look at that head:

Look at it! Haphazard green hair! Enormous hollow eyes! (Is there even a kid under there?) Ruff that's clearly made from dead grandma's housedress! Painted-on smile around a mouth that's big enough to swallow your soul!

The woman cheerfully offering up her tray of candy apples and cheap taffy must have taken a couple days' worth of Valium to prepare.

This picture is why you're reading about foil handicrafts all year. Now you know what to thank/ blame.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Funny Name: Keeping It All for Myself Edition

This cake from Catalina's Cactus Cuisine (Catalina Junior Woman's Club of Tucson, Arizona, 1968) is really just a Wacky Cake by another name.

I'm not sure naming a chocolate cake after a super-sized outhouse is a great idea. Well, unless you want the entire chocolate cake to yourself, in which case, well played, Joan. Well played.

P.S.- You can be thankful I didn't go with the Urban Dictionary version of three-holer. (I'm sure that's not what Joan meant anyway.)

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

It's a portal to ... some recipes anyway

I feel as if I should have some kind of interesting sound effects for you today since you're going through a portal.

It's the Portal to Good Cooking from the Women's American ORT (1959)! (ORT stands for Organization of Rehabilitation through Training, a Jewish organization that is apparently still around today.)

I wasn't sure how to pick recipes in this one, so I've made up a soup/bread/salad lunch for your enjoyment.

I'm actually going to be generous and give you choice of soups! You can go old world and have a bors[c]ht:

I thought borsht was a beet soup, but this clearly has no beets in it. Apparently the term can apply to sour soups of Eastern European origin. So if thawed spinach and mushy rhubarb floating in cold water is your thing, this soup's for you!

If you want something a little more substantial, how about quick pea soup?

Just puree leftover peas with hot dogs, onion, and water, then heat! Yum!

Of course, we need a good bread to go with the soup... but might cupcakes be more fun?

Okay-- Salmon Cupcake Puffs might not be exactly what anyone has in mind when they hear "cupcakes." And I guess they're not so much a bread as a wad of salmon, sour cream, and corn flakes bound with an egg. On the plus side, this is definitely the most surprising cupcake recipe you'll see today.

Then for salad (or maybe dessert? You know how those old "salad" recipes work.), we can have a nice mold:

The gelatin is unflavored, and the cream and cottage cheeses could go either way. The grapes and pecans say "dessert," but the chives whisper "salad." The garnish of avocado and pistachio doesn't really help with the salad v. dessert question, so I will leave you to decide for yourself.

It's probably the most fun you'll get out of this lunch unless you really love hot dog puree.

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Funny Name: Don't Talk to Me in the Morning Edition

I know the name from Make-a-Mix Cookery (Karine Eliason, Nevada Harwood, and Madeline Westover, 1978) is supposed to evoke granola...

...but Gruffins just sound like muffins you don't want to talk to before they've had their first cup of coffee.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Got a Minute?

I know Minute Rice's The Art of Budget Cooking (1976) is not exactly the kind of book most people would get excited about.

Yay. A skillet full of green peppers, onions, and instant rice. What could be classier?

I was kind of excited to see what kinds of Minute Rice recipes were popular around the time I was born though. One of the first things I learned to cook was Minute Rice. I remember we had a tiny (one-cup) saucepan. I would feel so grown-up if I filled it halfway with water, brought the water to a boil, threw in some rice and salt, let it sit for a few minutes with the teeny lid on top, and stirred in as much butter as I could without mom yelling at me. That was breakfast for the gods as far as I was concerned.

I was not surprised that this collection didn't have my first self-created recipe in it. One morning shortly after Easter, I mixed a chopped hard-cooked egg in with the rice and felt like I had created a masterpiece. I was such a culinary genius. (And yes, I'm rolling my eyes.)

I was surprised that a budget cookbook from the '70s had so many color illustrations, though. 

Some are downright whimsical:

The pineapple pick sticking out of the mound of molded rice makes me think of one of those long cigarette holders, like the rice is some kind of glamorous movie star smoking amid the rabble of peppers, canned pineapple, and mystery meat. I can't help thinking of Janet Snakehole, even if this is far too colorful for her style....

This is packed with the stereotypical retro Hawaiian ingredients of canned pineapple and green pepper, so I'm going to go ahead and assume they mean Spam by "cooked ham." They just can't say so because General Foods doesn't own Spam.

I also loved a picture showing off several rice-based pies, and the Pieathalon participants should be glad I didn't find these until after we were done.

Okay-- they're not all pies. The one in the middle is a mock quiche.

At least, I think it's supposed to be a mock quiche. The title-- Mock Rice Quiche-- suggests even the Minute Rice people are not so sure that Minute Rice counts as rice. That's why editors are so important....

What are the other two? Well, one of them is Rice-Crust Meat Pie:

I'm pretty sure this is the one on the bottom, even though the book swears this is the top pie. It's basically a really thick tomato-meat sauce cooked in a rice shell.

The other one is Rice Pizza Pie, but I like to call it Meat-Crust Rice Pie:

Again, I'm pretty sure it's the one  on the top since that one is pictured with a green pepper garnish, even if the caption insists it was on the bottom. 

My favorite picture- recipe combo might be for Molded Salmon Rice Salad. 

You know when it's full of canned salmon, mayonnaise, and finely diced odds and ends, it's going to look like cat puke. This is special, though, because it's cat puke in a mold!

If you look closely, you will realize that this recipe required two molds-- the one the food stylist actually used to make this feline ejecta look vaguely like a fish wearing an out-of-control ruffled body stocking, and the one resting uncomfortably next to that pink monstrosity and thinking, "Hey, at least I didn't have to get packed with that garbage!"

On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be too dismissive of my Minute Rice and Easter egg mashup breakfast. Even as a child, I could create a better recipe than this one....

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Funny Name: The Wrong Funny Name Edition

Are you ready for something crazy? I mean, really crazy? The Kraft Cookbook: 75 Years of Good Food Ideas (1977) just got this wild idea for a Crazy New Sandwich:

Oh, wait. They'd just never heard of a Fluffernutter.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

International Gardening Services in the United States Food Book

I'm not quite sure what to say about the recipes in this book.

This American Field Service International Cook Book (Western New York Committee for American Field Service, 1958) is full of actual international recipes, as they were all sent to the recipe compilers from parents whose children were sent to America as exchange students, or parents who accepted American exchange students into their own homes. I don't really want to make fun of other countries' cuisines, but I do find a certain amount of charm in the way the recipes are written. It seems as if a lot of the parents involved made a good effort to write the recipes in English, even if it wasn't their first language, and the committee emphasized that "When the recipes were written in English, they were used without change." That makes for some interesting ingredients and instructions. (My title for this post is a bit of a nod to this style of writing. It's the title of the cookbook as I imagine it might be if it were oddly translated.)

Aside from my usual amusement with "recipes" that just list a bunch of things that may be served together, without any real instructions about proportions, preparation, etc., I am also interested in the ingredients. Is "palmetto" another name for hearts of palm? And what are "cabbage-trees"? Is this another name for cauliflower or Brussels sprouts? I could see people using that term for either of those... Is there a vegetable called "cabbage-trees" that I'm just not familiar with and can't find on a simple Google search?

Whatever vegetables you choose from that list, though, "To serve with this salad can be used shrimp, chicken pieces, ham, salmon, sardines or left-over meats." You've got to love the awkwardness.

When I got to Caramel Pudding, I had no trouble figuring out the mystery ingredient. I just liked its charming new name.

The egg yolk has already been added to the milk mixture, so I can guess that "egg-snow" is the writer's attempt at being creative with the term "egg white." (And in case you're wondering, the milk measurement does actually make sense. At first I thought it was 3/8 1 and I was thinking "Three-eighths of one what of milk?" The "one" is really a lowercase "L," so it's 3/8 of a liter, which the book's table of conversions lists as the equivalent of 1-2/3 cups.)

Sometimes I am a bit mystified by the recipe, but my perplexity here is doubled:

Why list the creatively-named "Appetizer/s" twice? They are identical, except for the sugar and egg order being reversed and the half cup being written once in words and once as a fraction. I can guess "the liquidizer" refers to a blender, but I still have no conception of what diners are supposed to do with the mixture of water, sugar, egg, and rum. Are they supposed to float some tomato, fish, and pickles in it to make a weird soup? What is it supposed to accomplish with toasts or bacon-fried plums? I have no idea, except that it has to be ice cold to accomplish whatever the goal is...

And finally, I will admit that I'm not really into herring, but that's not what drew me to this recipe. It's what appears to be the first ingredient.

Did you read the first ingredient as "6 persons" too? I'm sure it's just supposed to be the number of servings, but the placement and wording make it look... well... like a cannibal feast! And the ingredient of "3 Decilitres boiled sliced flesh" doesn't help either, considering there is no specification of the type of flesh involved. (At least it's not "cut into dies" like so much else.)

This is a pretty scary recipe just from the wording, even if we don't take into consideration that it's for herring, pickles, sour apples, beets, and eggs. Just make sure enough "cream is beaten up" to make the sauce, and this recipe is pretty all-around brutal.

For fans of awkward translations, this is a must-read.

Saturday, September 9, 2017

Funny Name: Inadvertent Admission Edition

Don't EVER praise the appetizer if you're served this recipe from Bach's Lunch: Picnic & Patio Classics (by the Junior Committee in Cleveland's Severance Hall to benefit the Cleveland Orchestra, fifth printing, October 1974):

If you do, you'll be admitting something about your intellectual status.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Foil as fuel for therapy sessions

It's September. The older kids are off to school, so now we've got time to scar the younger ones for life!

Ahem. I mean to make the younger siblings some delightful foil-based toys to amuse them while the older ones are gone.

How about lovely little baby buggy?

Or how about a creepy little monkey climbing out of a foil-lined hell? If the late, great Romero hadn't written and directed Monkey Shines, the recipient of this creepy little carriage certainly would have.

But what if seeing toys swallowed up by foil isn't enough? What if you want to become part of a horrifying foil monster yourself? The clown box is for you!

This kid seems amazingly unfazed for someone sitting in the foil belly of a creepy clown. Even the weird, thin dolls waiting to spring to life and strangle him at any moment seem a bit perplexed. Just look at the one on the far right. She's clearly thinking, "What the hell? We're going to have to work waaaay harder than I thought to creep this kid out."

Kid seems ready to spend the whole morning sitting around in a clown belly, gazing at plaid and flower-print dolls and planning to use them to take over the world. I thought the clown was the scary part of this picture, but the longer I think about it, the more convinced I am that it's the little goblin in his belly.

Mom isn't going to fuel his therapy bills with this clown atrocity. The boy's probably already fueling hers, and this attempt to turn the tables is backfiring.