Of cereal tuna and hotdog mounds

My initial post about Eat for Strength: A Vegetarian Cookbook (Agatha Thrash, M.D., copyright 1979, though mine is a revised edition from 1983) focused mostly on its intricate and bizarre rules about what good vegetarians couldn't eat (including baking powder, baking soda, most spices, and mushrooms!). I was also fascinated by the book because of its early attempts at making meat substitutes. 

Sure, there were the types of loaves or roasts that littered early vegetarian cookbooks, like this Holiday Roast.

Since it's composed mostly of various starches with onion and a bit of sage, I imagine eating it was pretty much like trying to pretend that eating a glob of (very lean) stuffing was the same as having the turkey.

And there were some burger-ish things, like Spaghetti and Burger Balls.

 

The burger balls even have protein in the form of gluten-- the old-fashioned kind that started with eight cups of whole wheat flour and a ton of underwater kneading. (I just measure out some pure gluten flour if I want to make gluten "meat" now!) I'm not sure why the sauce has so little seasoning, though, as basil, parsley, and rosemary are allowed on this diet, but not included in a sauce where they might be expected.

There's even a picture of spaghetti and burger balls in glorious black-and-white.

Good luck telling the sauce apart from the burger balls. Everything just looks gray and dense.

The book's meat substitutes don't stop at the usual roasts/ loaves/ burgers of the times, though. There's a vague attempt at chicken in "Arroz con Pollo."

The "pollo" is just garbanzos, though, so it's not a particularly extravagant attempt at chicken.

There's a vague attempt at tuna in the appetizingly-named "Cereal Tuna" Salad.

It's garbanzos in cream of wheat with some green pepper, celery, soyonnaise, and olives. (I thought the garbanzos were supposed to be the "tuna" element, but the title seems to suggest it's the cream of wheat. Who knows? None of it seems very tuna-esque.)

There's a vague attempt at salmon in "Salmon Loaf."

It's mostly just tomato juice thickened with soy flour, so my guess is that there is no real attempt to make it taste like salmon. The pink from the tomato may just kind of look salmon-ish? In any case,  the instructions include the phrase "Do not be disappointed," so readers know to set their expectations low.

This book even has attempts at imitation processed meats that I wouldn't expect until fairly recent (meaning the last 20 years or so) vegetarian cookbooks. There's a Bologna.

I can't imagine that this mixture of nuts, cracker crumbs, whole grain flour, and celery salt has anything in common with bologna-- either in color or flavor-- but I guess the fact that it is supposed to be baked in large greased soup cans means it will be round, and that's close enough as far as Agatha Thrash is concerned.

And finally, there are Homemade Hotdogs!

Alternate title: Beet Juice Grits with Onions. I especially love the shaping instructions: "Spoon onto platters in hotdog shaped mounds." Yes, "mound" is definitely the shape I associate with hot dogs. Those mounds get cooled, rolled in wheat germ, and then baked and toasted ("if browning is desired" because not everyone would want the extra flavor from browning). I can't even begin to imagine what beet juice grits on a whole wheat bun with mustard and catsup might taste like, but I'm still impressed that a weird, ultra-puritanical vegetarian health food cookbook from the '70s would even deign to attempt a hot dog.

I will admit that I've made my own versions of some of these (including homemade veggie dogs), and I am super glad for modern recipes that aim higher than making something that may vaguely resemble the item they're supposed to emulate (if you squint hard and you're lucky). I'm also super glad to have records of these amusing ancestors of the recipes I occasionally try out now, even if the old ones are only good for laughs.

If this all seems to complicated for you, though, you can just stick to the old favorites like a vegetable salad.

By which, of course, I mean a platter covered with whole, unadorned raw vegetables. You know. Salad.

Then finish up with a fresh fruit platter.

That's code, of course, for "bowl of fruit." Not everything has to be complicated.

Figuring out the secrets of the Episcopal church via 40+-year-old recipes

When I picked up the Trinity Cookbook (Trinity Episcopal Churchwomen, Newark, Ohio, 1976), I realized that this would be my first Episcopal book on the site. It seemed like a great way to figure out what Episcopalians are like based on their recipes.

The appetizers suggest that Episcopalians are always ready to entertain.

They keep a couple pounds of pre-prepared sausage appetizers in the freezer, ready to be heated at a moment's notice!

They also like things sweet. I mean, I see a lot of recipes for Waldorf Salad...

...but most of them are just the apples, nuts, and celery in a mayo-based dressing, not encased in strawberry Jell-O and studded with marshmallows.

Episcopalians expect everybody else to understand their love of sweets too. If you hear the name "Peanut Salad," what's your first thought? People now might think of an Indian or Thai peanut-based salad. People who love old cookbooks are perhaps more likely to think of Pea 'n' Peanut Salad. The thing all these recipes have in common is that they're made with, well, actual peanuts. That's an unwarranted assumption in an Episcopal kitchen, though.

Here, "peanut" refers to circus peanuts! No actual peanuts involved. (And no, this is not a new recipe to the blog, but at least the Catholics whose recipe I featured before warned people that it was Circus Peanut Salad.)

Finally, the Episcopalians are not puritanical teetotalers. 

Boring occasions like commencement should be leavened with Sherry-Rum Cobbler served "in fruit-juice glasses (large size)" as prescribed by the English professor, Professor English.

I guess the okay-with-fun attitude explains why they needed to have pounds of appetizers waiting in the freezer. And maybe all that sugar just helped fuel the party? I'm still working on a unified theory based on these recipes because it's more fun than just Googling Episcopalianism. 

Funny Name: What Was Great Grandma Up To? Edition

"Wonderful Good Cooking" from Amish Country Kitchens (recipes collected and checked by Larry Rogers, edited by Johnny Schrock, copyright 1974, third printing, 1976) was kind enough to point out a recipe with a funny name! So without further ado here's...

Great Grandma's Sheep-Wagon Carrot Cake! You want to know what makes it a "Sheep-Wagon Carrot Cake"? Too bad. The writer parenthetically notes, "(why or how the recipe got its name, we do not know, but we would love to hear the story)." So much for that. Take it away, Turd Ferguson.

Strap in for one of the weirdest health food journeys yet

I'm always pumped to find a new-to-me vegetarian cookbook from the '70s. There are so many veg options now compared to back then, when people seemed willing to spend hours working on recipes that sounded like they'd end up tasting like wallpaper paste. I was even more excited than usual to find Eat for Strength: A Vegetarian Cookbook (Agatha Thrash, M.D., copyright 1979, though mine is a revised edition from 1983).

I was especially curious about this one since it has a Bible verse and a family cosplaying as pioneers on the cover. (Log cabin look! Home canned food! Earthenware containers! Kids with homemade-looking clothes and terrible haircuts!) I just knew it was going to be bonkers.

And bonkers it is! I mean, I expected to see the usual '70s health food hang-ups, like having to abstain from chocolate and pretend that carob is somehow a worthy substitute.

But this book had totally unexpected hang-ups too. Want to make a quick bread? Well, you better have old iron gem pans (similar to muffin pans).

Why? Because "all baking sodas and baking powders either leave residues in the breads that injure the body, or they damage the grains during the cooking process, making them less nourishing." That's right! No chemical leaveners allowed. It's gotta be yeast or steam.

I was not surprised that so much of the food sounded incredibly bland. I mean, that was the whole ethos of so many health food cookbooks. But this book seems defiantly bland, proclaiming at one point "The cook should not feel at liberty to prepare dishes that are exciting or that tempt to excess." I should have known that a book with a Bible verse on the cover was opposed to any fun.

The Potato Curry might make it seem like there's at least an occasional attempt to build flavor, but look carefully.

Note that this calls for "Nonirritating Curry" in bold--  meaning that the recipe is elsewhere in the book. The nonirritating curry (equal parts paprika, ground dill seed, ground coriander, and garlic powder) is in a section that insists pretty much every spice is an "irritating substance," so no chili peppers-- they cause cancer and raise blood pressure. No mustard seed or ginger-- they cause genitourinary irritation and raise blood pressure. No black pepper--it has the same effects as mustard and ginger PLUS gastrointestinal irritation. (No explanation for why turmeric and cumin are apparently not allowed. They're customary in many curry blends and not on the "irritating substances" list, but they're not part of the homemade blend. Maybe Agatha Thrash had never heard of them? Maybe she just got tired of claiming that pretty much every spice would cause high blood pressure, cancer, or irritation to some bodily system and assumed she didn't have to accuse each spice individually?) In any case, the pages about irritating substances are scare-mongery enough that one might imagine that India to be very lightly populated, given how much the residents flirt with disaster by eating actual spices.

On top of all this, you may have noticed that the nonirritating curry mix isn't even required in the Potato Curry recipe! That's right-- you could substitute an onion and a green pepper for the not-very-currylike-to-begin-with "curry" powder and apparently still call it Potato Curry.

Even though most herbs and a few spices are considered "safe," they're still left out a lot of the time. Saffron is on the "safe" list, but it's conspicuously absent from the "Saffron" Rice.

It just relies on sweet potatoes to make the rice yellowish. I'm guessing saffron is considered too expensive to use, even if it is allowed, but I'm just speculating.

Even with spices and leaveners disallowed, I was still not prepared for the "Mushroom" Soup. 

I mean, I wasn't surprised not to find cream in the Cream of "Mushroom" Soup, but I at least expected mushrooms! Most vegetarian cookbooks rely pretty heavily on mushrooms to bring umami and body to recipes, but mushrooms are not allowed here. Apparently, Agatha Thrash thought garbanzo beans, whole kernel or creamed corn, dumplings, or olives were all appropriate subs for mushrooms, as "Certain species of mushroom have been reported to be cancer-producing in animals." (Of course, death cap mushrooms, as their name implies, will straight-up kill people, but that doesn't really seem relevant to my enjoyment of portabellas. Agatha Thrash loves overgeneralizing.) 

You might have noticed by now that the recipes call for soy milk, not dairy. This book is unusual for the time in that it's not just vegetarian, but very nearly vegan. (A lot of '70s vegetarian cookbooks rely pretty heavily on dairy fat to make things taste good.) So on top of the seemingly arbitrary pronouncements about what ingredients will be left out because Thrash has arbitrarily proclaimed that they will kill you, the recipes also shun dairy and eggs. I'll admit that I was pretty interested to see what early dairy substitutes looked like. The book goes into making one's own soy and nut milks, but also rudimentary "cheeses" and "butters."

Even though I'm often (briefly) willing to entertain the idea of trying to make a homemade nondairy "cheese" from modern recipes just because I'm curious and I like a good craft project, I don't even want to imagine what a glob of flour, cornmeal, peanut butter, and canned tomatoes tastes like. I can't even picture it as cheese-adjacent. 

The nondairy "butter" sounds equally unpromising.

Coconut oil and some salt might be a rudimentary butter sub, but mixing it into a cooked flour/water paste with some carrots just seems like a lot of work for something that will probably be worse than the way-less-effort original.

Even though the book bans so many ingredients, it actually allows something that most modern health food cookbooks would drown you in organic agave syrup for even mentioning. You might have noticed it in the Carob Pudding recipe, and it's a sweetener option in this Hungarian Dessert as well.

That's right! Karo (corn syrup) is allowed in place of honey for readers who want "recipes using no animal products." I mean, I get why current health food darlings like brown rice syrup or the aforementioned agave syrup weren't listed. Few people would have had access in the '70s. I just wonder why there is zero mention of maple syrup. That is super-common in other health food cookbooks. Maybe Thrash thinks maple is carcinogenic too, somehow, and I have just failed to track down the page that says so.

In any case, is the Hungarian Dessert actually Hungarian? Kind of. I did find a noodle-based Hungarian dessert pretty easily, but it's egg noodles baked with with eggs and loads of dairy fat-- not even close to whole wheat spaghetti tossed in a little oil and corn syrup or honey.

So, in short (Too late!), this has got to be one of my favorite books ever. I can spend a whole day on the byzantine and arbitrary rules, just seeing where they lead... And if you've made it all the way to the end of the post, I've kind of forced you to do it too!

Funny Name: Silly Campers Edition

This recipe title from Maine Coastal Cooking (Courier-Gazette, Inc., 1963) sounds like some kind of party that a children's nature camp would have the last night before they sent everybody home.

Everybody come to the Campers Skillagalee tonight! We'll have skits about mosquitoes and the kids who managed to get their canoe stuck in a tree! Plus, the closing song will not make you cry, though nobody will judge if smoke from the campfire gets in your eyes.

'70s Mennonite cooks put their own spins on food trends

Continuing the trend in sending me church cookbooks from the less-represented denominations, my sister sent me Lower Deer Creek Mennonite Cookbook (Kalona, Iowa, 1977). 

The book has a real diy vibe. While the Mennonite cooks are not immune to the convenience of making things with mixes, they apparently prefer to make the mixes themselves, whether it's cookies...

...or main dishes.

I like that this one straight-up admits it's trying to rip off Hamburger Helper. I also like that both of the mixes offer up variations so they don't get boring: cook's choice of chips, nuts, or coconut for the cookies or various carb options (macaroni, rice, or noodles!) for the helper. Granted, the variations are all still pretty similar, but at least there is some variety.

(As an aside, you might wonder how time-saving the mixes are if you actually have to make the mix anyway, but the cooks' ideas of "time saving" are a bit questionable in this book. One page offers the tip that "Potatoes soaked in salt water for 20 minutes before baking will bake more rapidly." I wonder whether this soak will really cut more than 20 minutes off the total baking time. If not, well, it's more of a time tradeoff than a timesaver.)

The Mennonites were also trying to make protein bars before Quest, Pure Protein, Power Crunch, etc. etc. etc. etc. were on grocery store shelves.

I doubt that the bit of protein from the eggs and dry milk would be enough to offset all the carbs from brown sugar and flour for today's protein-heads, but it's fun to see that Mennonites were thinking of protein bars way back in the '70s. 

While the congregation saw the draw of "health" food, their idea of it was a little more indulgent than that of the hard-core "health" cookbooks.

The wheat germ, oats, whole wheat flour, nuts, and raisins are enough to balance out all the brown sugar and margarine (which would now be viewed by many as worse than the butter it was supposed to replace), right? This recipe also allows for actual chocolate chips, not some carob abomination.

I was a bit surprised to find my first example of a Mountain Dew-based Jell-O recipe (at least, as far as I can remember) in a Mennonite cookbook. I guess all the Xtreme '90s marketing I grew up with made me imagine Mennonites would be too placid to do the Dew, but Dewey Lemon Salad proves me wrong.

Not all the Jell-O salads sounded as potentially tasty as this lemony Jell-O with fruit, marshmallows, whipped cream, and lemon pie filling ,though. At least the iffy ones were right up front about it. Some Jell-O salads in other books try to disguise how awful they're likely to be with names like "Senate Salad" or "Florentine Salad," but Smoked Beef Jello Salad lets you know right up front what you're getting into.

It is indeed smoked beef in lemon Jell-O (plus vinegar, salad dressing, celery, green pepper, cottage cheese, onion, and olives for good measure. Yum!).

Other times, the titles seem waaaay off.

Brunch Pizza is clearly just a breakfast strata. There is no way the Swiss cheese on top transforms the layers of custard-soaked bread, ham, and bacon into a pizza.

Thanks again to my sister for this window into '70s Iowan Mennonite cooking! It's fun to know that this congregation was following food trends in their own unique ways, from mixes, protein bars, and "health" foods to terrible gelatins and seriously misnamed "pizzas."

Funny Name: Inevitable Pun Edition

With the popularity of Harvey Wallbangers and camping-related cookbooks, I probably should have seen this coming. 

Thanks to The Camper's Cookbook (Alma Pillot and Deborah Roth, 1976) for finally giving us the "RV Wallbanger Cake"! It's the real deal, too. If you have more than one serving, don't drive! RDRR, RV Wallbanger!

The Disciples of Christ change things up with tomato sauce, index fingers, and real oysters

I was surprised when my sister sent me Favorite Recipes 1977 (Troy Mills Christian Women's Fellowship, of Troy Mills Disciples of Christ Christian Church) because I'd never seen a Disciples of Christ community cookbook. I thought the category was mostly dominated by Lutheran and Catholic cooks, but a search through the archives shows that Methodists are number one and Lutherans are a more distant second than I would have guessed.

So let's see what sets the Disciples of Christ apart from the Methodists and Lutherans. 

Well, first of all, this is an Iowan church, so the church offers a recipe for Maid-Rites.

I'll readily admit that I'm not very familiar with Maid-Rites. I know they're loose meat sandwiches and thought they were supposed to be seasoned, but not have an actual sauce. These have tomato puree and catsup. I'd feel insecure saying that suggests they're not actual Maid-Rites, but the Wikipedia page on the Maid-Rite restaurant chain notes that "the Maid-Rite sandwich's meat is not formed into a patty, making it similar to a sloppy joe without the tomato-based sauce," so I don't feel like I'm going too far out on a limb to say the Disciples of Christ seem to be taking liberties with the recipe. (Maybe they figure if the recipe starts with 30 pounds of hamburger, nobody will notice that there are a couple of gallons of tomato products in it?)

Maybe it's just that this congregation is not very picky. They like letting kids mix pie with their fingers!

The sugar and flour get mixed with an INDEX (YES ALL CAPS) finger, and then the cream and vanilla get incorporated with fingers. I love the sternness of "Do not use SPOON. It would only spoil the texture." So maybe the cooks are picky-- but more about texture than about sanitation.

They also love really weird spreads. If I think of a fruit butter, I think of apple or maybe pumpkin, but not in Troy Mills! They want Melon and Plum Butter.

Just the thought of all that concentrated muskmelon makes me gag...

Maybe it would be better to go for some jelly instead.

Okay, I'm sure the beet lovers out there would defend Beet Jelly, but I'm not sure the package of unsweetened Kool-Aid would be enough to save the thickened beet-water spread for me.

This congregation also likes to add their own special touch to common dishes. For instance, I see corn oyster recipes all the time, and they're usually for corn fritters that only have "oyster" in the name because the fried bites are supposed to look like oysters. The Troy Mills Disciples of Christ take the "oyster" in the name seriously.

Yep! Their Corn Oysters start out with a quart of actual oysters, which are then baked under a thick layer of seasoned creamed corn and cracker crumbs.

The congregation also likes to mess with regional recipes. I know it's not uncommon to make Pimento Cheese Salad, but it's usually a pasta salad with pimento cheese as part of the dressing. Not in this book!

This pimiento cheese is turned into a salad with the addition of marshmallows and pineapple! About a third of me thinks that southerners would be horrified by this variation and two-thirds of me thinks they would actually like the idea. A lot of pimento cheese recipes call for sugar anyway, and '70s cooks thought a can of crushed pineapple could be added to just about anything, so I could see somebody defending this.

The most interesting recipe might just be a mashup between a '60s recipe and a '70s preparation trend, though. Behold, the Fondue Wellington!

I can't help but be fascinated by an attempt to turn refrigerated crescent rolls smeared with liverwurst spread and wrapped around a tenderloin cube into tiny Wellingtons that need to be cooked in a fondue pot of oil. It's such a collision of old trends! I'm almost convinced that this could be used as an actual time machine if it were just served with a noodle ring filled with creamed vegetables and a Jell-O molded salad.

Thanks again to my sister for this insight into the '70s-era Iowan Disciples of Christ! They've brought a little joy to this heathen's heart.

Well, barbecue my bologna and jelly my pepper! It's July in Cincinnati

A new month means a new trip back to the glamorous world of late-ish-20th-century Cincinnati! Of course, the highlight of the entire summer in Cincinnati Celebrates: Cooking and Entertaining for All Seasons (Junior League of Cincinnati, first printing August, 1974, though mine is from the 1980 fifth printing) is "An Old Fashioned Fourth."

The edible centerpiece mentioned in the headnote, by the way, is a watermelon with some geraniums and daisies crammed into it. The flowers are supposed to be removed before serving, but it's still fun to think about the prospect of being expected to eat a cut watermelon that's been sitting in the heat with dirty flower stems crammed into it for half a day.

Of course, you need a fancy craft project to invite people to this nasty watermelon party. The kids should get involved, too, since they're off school and annoyingly underfoot.

The firecracker invitations are so elaborate that they have to be hand-delivered by the kids (another way to get them out of the house!) or mailed in specialty mailers that must be hand-cancelled. I'm sure the post office workers in Cincinnati just loved the Junior League....

The menu partly consists of the types of quick-n-easy half-recipes that people still throw together when they're short on time. The Barbecued Bologna is just what it sounds like.

Slap barbecue sauce on bologna. Heat.

The Pepperoni Canapés require a bit more work, but not much.

 Layer cheesy mayo and pepperoni on toast rounds. Broil. (And as is usual with "party" food, ruin all the good things with mayo.)

Other parts of the menu seem to expect way more effort than most hosts would make now. "3B Cocktail Crackers" is not a long-forgotten regional brand name. Cooks are supposed to personalize store-bought crackers with the three Bs of butter, basil, and brandy (plus savory, but I guess "3-B.S." didn't sound quite as good). 

Now, the host would just pick up the fanciest Triscuit variety they could find (Balsamic Vinegar & Basil? Four Cheese and Herb? Cracked Pepper and Olive Oil?) the morning before the party.

And if you think the relishes to top those fancy crackers are supposed to be store-bought, you're mistaken. At least the Beet Horseradish Relish is pretty easy.

Mix canned beets with sour cream, horseradish, and salt. Chill.

The pepper jelly is more of a commitment. In fact, there are two varieties, so I'm not sure whether cooks were supposed to make just the green (because it was suitable for Triscuits, according to the recipe writer)...

...or to make only red, since it's the more patriotic color...

...or to make both, since holidays should be nothing but an unceasing series of tasks to show off just how much free time you have.

We've got no recipes for fried chicken (because cooks should have their own family recipes) or grilled veggies (because they're mostly decorative anyway-- Who's going to eat watery, half-raw and half-burned zucchini with this spread?). The dirty rice recipe has only 2/3 of the holy trinity (missing the bell pepper)...

...but it does have giblets and an entire drop of Tabasco sauce for seasoning, so I guess it's about as authentic as anyone has a right to expect Cincinnati dirty rice to be.

The Corn Pudding is that usual custard-y side that you make when the ears of corn at the farmer's market aren't yet quite at their best.

And there is zero indication, as far as I can tell, what the Red, White & Blue Parfaits might be. I'm going to assume they're layers of cherry pie filling, Cool Whip, and blueberry pie filling, just because I can. Besides, they're pretty easy to throw together when you've got to craft a do-it-yourself sundae bar too! I could be wrong, though, so feel free to imagine your own late-'70s/ early-'80s-appropriate combo. (Bonus points if you can incorporate Jell-O 123!)

I'm exhausted just thinking about making this much food and then having to deal with all the guests. Maybe Cincinnati hosts secretly felt the same way too, though. It might explain why they ended the feast with slices of warm and dirty watermelon. ("She's brandishing that awful melon at us, dear! I guess it's time to leave...")