A book to commemorate long-lost recipes, some deservedly so and some not

Independence day is coming, so it seemed like as good a time as any to dig into my stash of bicentennial-themed cookbooks. People must really have been anticipating the bicentennial, as today's offering, the not-so-elegantly titled Cookbook United States Commemorative 1776-1976 (Commemorative Cook Books) is copyrighted 1972-- four years before the event!

The book celebrates the bicentennial in a number of ways. Some recipes provide a tiny snapshot of what life was like before the natives were largely wiped out.

There's nothing quite like starting a party at your new house with an appetizer from the family you murdered to get it, right?

Some recipes remember the ways that settlers learned to make do with whatever they could find.

There wasn't much coffee, so apparently anything that could turn the water brown was considered a reasonable substitute: pulverized bricks of sorghum and cornmeal, dried peas, burned corn, parched carrots.... Without the caffeine, I'm not sure I understand why anyone bothered.

We can even find the prospector version of chicken and waffles: Chipped Venison on Hot Cakes.

I like the story that the the original version required chipping away at frozen meat and the warning that frozen chipped beef won't work. What will happen is left up to the imagination. (Will it blow up? Fail to thicken? Not taste like it's been boiled in the same pot as the laundry? Who knows...)

The book also offers ample opportunities to compare traditional recipes for newer ones. There's a Baked Salmon- Tlingit Style, roasted in a pit with hot rocks, skunk cabbage, and driftwood.

And then there is the contemporary Salmon Casserole, which drowns canned salmon in a white-sauce-mayonnaise-raisin goo.

I can understand the traditional cooking method falling out of favor just because it's so labor-intensive, especially once most people have gas or electric ovens. I can't understand why anybody thought Salmon Casserole should take its place, though! The recipe only seems to be included because it's from a politician-- in this case, Martha Griffiths, a Michigan Representative who would go on to become Michigan's Lieutenant Governor. She was understandably more interested in women's equality than in tasty salmon recipes.

Sometimes I wondered if the women politicians intentionally sent bad recipes to try to help show that their place really was in the political realm and emphatically NOT in the kitchen. I mean, there's a reason Bella Abzug is remembered for her feminist work rather than for Calzone Fondue.

Just because this recipe has pizza flavors does not magically make it a calzone. It's clearly a casserole. Even worse, it's a casserole that proposes raisin bread will go great with pizza sauce, Italian sausage, and Parmesan.

So, in the end, thanks to the female politicians for reminding the cookbook's patriotic audience that plenty of women do NOT belong in kitchens and to the cookbook's editors for reminding us that the "good" old days were not actually very good. Happy Independence Day! 😬

A Tale of Two Banana Breads

I love it when my cookbooks have traces of previous cooks-- a note about what they liked, or didn't like, or what they'd do differently. I know the previous owner of Still More of Our Favorite Recipes (Maui Extension Homemakers' Council, 1967) liked banana bread because they left notes on how to improve the recipes for it. The first one is pretty straightforward.

Lessen sugar. Add walnuts. If you're in a hurry, you can put it in 3 pans so it will cook in less time.

I was more amused by her note for the quick banana bread recipe, though. 

Never mind that the Quick Banana Bread takes an hour when the regular one can be done in 50 minutes. The hour cook time may be overly optimistic, especially if there's a bit of extra fruit. The note about this is so enthusiastic that it uses two exclamation points: "Do not put extra banana- will not cook!!" I love imagining the day when they figured that out. Maybe they had an extra banana, didn't want it to go to waste, and figured there was no harm in throwing it in. Then the rest of the day turned into a waiting game, checking the "quick" banana bread every five minutes after the initial hour of baking time until they finally gave up and added the all-important note so the quick banana bread didn't become the for-fucking-ever banana bread again. I love the quiet comedy of old cookbooks.

Hemlock recipes... No! I just mean they're FROM Hemlock, not made with it.

I always worry when I come across cookbooks with super-generic names at antique malls or thrift stores. I know I have fundraising cookbooks named Our Favorite Recipes, but do I have this particular one? In today's case, Our Favorite Recipes came from the publishing classes in Miller High School of Hemlock, Ohio. (It's undated, but the recipe for Jimmy Carter Cookies means it's probably from the mid-to-late '70s.)

The generic-looking stack of grilled burgers on the cover didn't do much to help me figure out whether this was already in my collection, so I checked the blog on my phone while I was in the antique mall and couldn't find anything from Hemlock, Ohio. (Of course, I haven't posted about probably half the books I own, so there's still a chance this is really my second (or third!) copy.)

In any case, my impression upon browsing the book made me wonder if words had any meaning in Hemlock, Ohio. Like, when I hear "quick dinner," I imagine something that will take less than 20 minutes and be a full meal. In Hemlock, though...

...a quick beef dinner takes 2-1/2 hours minimum, and it's only really the protein. You've still got to make noodles or potatoes and a veggie. I suppose I'm being a bit unfair in looking at this menu through today's lens, as "quick" back then meant not a lot of hands-on time. Throwing something in the oven for a couple hours while you ran errands or ironed stacks and stacks of laundry was more practical than it would be now, when most people are gone most of the day and something needing a few hours of bake time is a big ask.

It wasn't just the "quick" recipes that made me question Hemlockians' grasp of language, though. I am used to seeing "Chinese" recipes from midwestern towns with an extreme lack of awareness of what Chinese cooking might actually entail, so I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised to find this beet recipe.

How does adding catsup and vanilla to pickled beets make them Chinese? I tried checking online and learned only that I should blame Heloise, not Hemlockites, for this one. We might be able to pin the idea of serving "Chinese" beets over cottage cheese on the good people of Hemlock, though.

I also discovered a penchant for giving new names to things that already have names. For instance, most of us would just call this a recipe for a chili dog.

If you told me you were serving bean boats, I'd assume it meant something like baked beans in potato skins, not a chili dog. The real kicker, though, is that beans are the only ingredient listed as optional in the recipe. (The chili has to have meat, not beans.) Serving somebody a bean boat with no beans is just a mindfuck. Why give something a new name it doesn't really need when the new name doesn't even apply all that well?

Occasionally, though, the names are very literal. If the cook wants to impress you with their imaginative ingredient lists (or warn you that cookies aren't always good!), they just might be very up-front with the naming.

You can't claim you didn't know what you were getting into when you're told it's a Raisin Catsup Cookie!

And Hemlockovites are serious about their cookies, too! If you're worried that there won't be enough to go around, you can always make a bushel of cookies.

Yep! "Bushel Cookies" makes one bushel of cookies! I think this is the first recipe I've written about that measures the baking powder and baking soda in ounces.

I also really hope cooks are smart enough to figure out that the cookies are probably supposed to be dropped on cookie sheets and baked in batches. The instructions are not very specific. Trying to dump this entire lake of dough onto a single greased cookie sheet would flood the kitchen and/or oven (which I'm assuming is supposed to be used for some length of time, given that it was heated to 300-350 degrees)! Maybe the "friend" who sent this recipe in was just being so vague in the hopes of hearing about someone's massive cookie fail. (Okay, I know that recipe writers just tended to presuppose that everybody basically knew how to cook and there was no need to hold their hands by fully explaining what they were supposed to do. I still like imagining the possible catastrophic outcomes.)

Maybe I'm being too hard on the publishing classes in Miller High School, but remember, they're the ones who put raisins and catsup in cookies.

Funny Name: There's Gotta be a Story Edition

From the title of today's recipe from Christ the Rock Lutheran Church 10 Year Anniversary Family Recipes (1999), I assume those churchgoers know how to party. 

I mean, you don't simply call a recipe for an alcoholic mixed drink "The Recipe" unless there are some seriously interesting stories behind it. (Or at least, there probably are, but nobody can remember them.)

"Why are there footprints on the ceiling? They were there the morning after I made The Recipe, and I left them, hoping somebody could remember how they got there."

Sanyo sets a very low bar for miracles

Things rough in your life right now? Maybe you need a miracle?

Well, if the miracle you need could be of the microwave-based variety (unlikely), Multi-Power Microwave Miracles from Sanyo (1979) is here to help!

Yes, it has the miracle of taking slightly less time to heat up appetizers than the broiler would have.

And it comes with the additional "miracle" of possibly having the microwaved crackers or toast rounds come out slightly soggy/rubbery instead of extra-crispy like the broiler would have made them! Bonus: The house will smell like microwaved crab for your guests!

And if you can't get enough microwaved seafood, well, how about the miracle of microwaved lobster tails?

Skip the butter option and serve them up with some lemon-margarine sauce for a real treat.

If you want a real miracle, maybe try stuffing an entire leg of lamb into the microwave?

And then try to explain why microwave cooking was obviously the best option. (Convincing anyone of this would probably constitute at least a minor miracle.)

Or maybe enjoy the miracle of having to toast, stack, and individually microwave Reuben Sandwiches one at a time...

...when it would have been fewer steps to just build them and then toast them all at once on a griddle that would make everything crispy?

"Trust me! I'm a marvel of microwave cooking! And if I'm not, you can drown me in a vat of Thousand Island."

Fine. I'll try to be nice (a miracle in itself!) and end with something pretty.

Oh, my! It's Party-Pretty Pudding!

And I won't even grumble about how much easier it would be just to use instant pudding instead of microwaving and cooling the cook-and-serve kind if all you're going to do anyway is layer vanilla pudding from a mix with some strawberries. It's a miracle indeed!

Yes, there are recipes, but you'll stay for the cartoons

The Camper's Cookbook (Alma Pillot and Deborah Roth, 1976) is a very slim volume-- only 32 pages total, and the last two are just blank cards for cooks to fill in with their own recipes. Still, I couldn't resist the art.

If the waiter in fancy dress and coonskin cap isn't enough to draw you in, the cartoons of families unable to light a fire, trying to grill a live fish, or suddenly learning that a bear wants to share their meal should sweeten the deal.

Is the cooking gourmet, as the cover promises? Well, it depends on what you mean by "gourmet." As far as I could tell, in this book, "gourmet" translates as "piling extra stuff onto familiar fare." 

You know, like making sloppy joes with onions, peppers, mushrooms, and baked beans, then packing the filling into scooped-out French bread cylinders and topping with tomatoes, lettuce, and Russian dressing.

Or it might be frying egg salad sandwiches in an eggy custard.

Or it might mean throwing everything you can find into the "Sweet-ish Meatballs."

Cranberry sauce! Orange and lemon juices! Tomato catsup or chili sauce! Dehydrated onion soup! Egg! Mashed potato flakes! And don't forget the rice or Chinese noodles for serving. I guess we're just lucky this doesn't call for miniature marshmallows or Cool Whip....

As much as I love the slightly demented recipes, though, my favorite part is the pictures, from the somewhat stereotypical, like the dog gleefully running off with a whole string of sausages...

... to the inevitable attempt to grill in a downpour...

(Gotta love that big frown for having to use the umbrella to protect the charcoal rather than the cook!)

...to the imaginative warning about the dangers of washing dishes in a stream.

If washing dishes could lead to getting one's arms bitten off, well, better play it safe and use paper plates! I'm sure I would have loved to have used that excuse as our family's main dishwasher when I was a kid.

In short, the recipes in the book are somewhat fun, but I really enjoy the scenery!

Cakes! Cakes! Cakes!

June is here! It's that time when '70s brides traditionally sweated through their layers of white organza as they tried not to drag said organza through the icing while cutting the first slice of wedding cake. In short, that means today we're looking at The Wilton Book of Wedding Cakes (1971). 

One of my grandmas used to sell decorated cakes, so it's also the month my childhood self traditionally watched grandma decorate wedding cakes while she told about the time she was making a cake and ants invaded her kitchen, so she had to draw big rings of dish soap on the table around the cake layers to keep the ants out.

These cakes are a lot like the cakes she used to make. I'm pretty sure she preferred birthday cakes because they were usually more imaginative. (She was quite amused when one customer ordered a birthday cake with a black poodle and purple mushrooms.) Wedding cakes were usually just piping white icing, and piping white icing, and piping white icing-- with maybe just a subtle hint of green or pink somewhere for contrast-- and then filling in the blanks spots with plastic flotsam. You know, like this "Royal Wedding" design.

Fun fact: Whoever owned this book before me apparently sold this cake for $120.15. At least, that's how I'm interpreting the "120.15" handwritten in the book next to the instructions on constructing this thing.

Grandma probably would have been more excited about making Rainbow Duet because at least it had some colorful flowers to stick on.

Fun fact: The big cake is for the wedding, and the "miniature replica" is for the couple "to freeze for the first anniversary." If the happy couple had room in their freezer for a three-layer cake-- even if they deconstructed it!-- in one of those old early 1970s freezers, I would be very impressed.

I found myself more drawn to the oddball cakes, like Something New "For today's bride and groom."

I love the big candle thunked into the top. I'm not sure I'd call it "nouveau art" wedding cake so much as "sweet sixteen cake for a girl who is now yelling at her parents because she hates the cake."

There are cakes for everything wedding-related. The rehearsal dinner is apparently supposed to be accompanied by a cake. 

The cake should look like it's loosely patterned after a wall-hanging your aunt made the family as a gift and only hang up when they know she's coming over to visit.

The silver and gold anniversary cakes are mostly pretty boring, looking rather like the wedding cakes with silver or gold accents in place of the white. The ones for the smaller milestones are much more interesting.

I love the inexplicable curlicues on this one. The heart looks a little like an upside-down cross-section of a Grinch head, and the sad little "Happy 5th" looks like it's being contemplated by a pair of seahorses.

My favorite idea of all, though, is for a bridal shower.

Shower the bride with cookbooks! Top it all off with a cookbook cake. The thought of a table laden with vintage cookbooks is almost enough to make me want to time travel to a '70s bridal shower... and steal all the bride's loot. I guess the upside-down cross section of Grinch from the fifth anniversary cake has made my tiny little heart shrink even smaller. Luckily for the old-timey brides, I can only mentally time travel with books like The Wilton Book of Wedding Cakes.

Maybe don't taste this particular rainbow

It's Pride Month! You know what that means. It's time to get the rainbow to dance... or at least shimmy. Our rainbow of gelatin comes from Gracious Goodness! A Peach of a Cookbook (The Junior League of Macon, Georgia, first printing in 1981, though mine is from the 1985 third printing). Those Georgians really love their Jell-O, so much so that I've had trouble deciding which salads should represent which color.

At least red was easy. Usually, it's something that sounds pretty tasty because there are so many yummy red berries to put into the red Jell-O. This time, though...

How well does cherry gelatin go with mincemeat? I don't usually see mincemeat going into Jell-O. I imagine there's a good reason for that. If you too are unconvinced of the wisdom of mincemeat gelatin, there's always tomato gelatin for the red component.

Call it an aspic if you want to sound sophisticated, but it's still a glob of V-8, tomato juice, tomato sauce, and ketchup with bits of onion, celery, and olive floating in it.

Carrot-and-Jell-O salads make a good addition to the orange section (and I secretly kind of love the ones with carrots and pineapple, TBH). This version from Georgia has an unusual orange addition, though.

This one has Cheddar cheese, too! It sounds like it could be revolting or a delicious, savory little pop in a salad that could be too cloying... Not sure what to think here, but I'm excited to see a new version of an old familiar. (Definitely sounds better than the vinegary variety!)

Also on the orangey end of the spectrum, we have a weird hybrid of gelatin and that southern favorite, Pimiento cheese!

Is this to be eaten as a side dish or spread onto a sandwich? Well, it's in a ring mold, so my guess is that this is the version for people who always wanted to just eat Pimiento cheese by the spoonful.

And speaking of people wanting to eat condiments as the main attraction, here's a contender for the yellow slot in my rainbow: Mustard Ring!

And, no, nothing could induce me to eat a big old slice of mustard!

This year, the green is represented by veggie gelatins! For a light, springy green, Cucumber Mousse offers cucumbers dressed up with mayo, sour cream, lemon juice, and green food coloring.

If you want a darker green (and heartier salad), there's an Avocado Mold.

The gelatin and avocado are rounded out with mayo, lemon juice, curry powder, veggie bits, and a full DOZEN hard-boiled eggs! (Now I'm just imagining a rapidly-browning pile of sulfurous goop. Mmm-mmm!)

Since I have a relatively new book (1980s!), this one actually has a recipe calling for blueberry gelatin. 

Okay, I don't think Berry Blue was introduced until 1992, but maybe the writer meant blackberry Jell-O? Or maybe some off-brand like Royal made blueberry at some point before Jell-O's Berry Blue? Anyway, I'm glad I finally have something that calls for an actual blue gelatin to represent the blue-purple end of the spectrum.

Happy Pride! Now go forth and wiggle and jiggle like a (hopefully tastier! 😉) gelatin rainbow.

The Junior League celebrates June by taping kitchen supplies to a mop

June has always meant "School's out!" for me, but it was traditionally bridal shower season in the 20th century. That means Cincinnati Celebrates: Cooking and Entertaining for All Seasons (Junior League of Cincinnati, first printing August, 1974, though mine is from the 1980 fifth printing) offers up a crafting-intensive bridal shower plan for June.

Yes, it's "a fresh, perky bridal shower with everything coming up daisies ... even dessert!"

But before we get to the dessert, we've got to make special invitations, as always. This time, of course, they're daisies since it is a DAISY Kitchen Shower.

I love that not only do the invitations have to be individual daisies, but the envelopes have to be specially crafted so they'll be round to accommodate the round invitations. I'm sure the post office will love this.

And the decoration/ gift for the bride-to-be is a hand-crafted omen of the days of cooking and cleaning that await.

If the bride-to-be can resist the urge to run screaming from her "Kitchen Lizzie" with its dead eyes staring out of a foil pie plate head, one fly swatter arm and one toilet brush arm (Sorry, it's "bathroom bowl brush," as the Junior League is too refined to say "toilet.") dangling listlessly, well... She must be ready for the rigors of marriage that await. (Either that, or she's still in shock, in which case it's best to keep things moving forward before she can react.)

At least the Cardinal Bowl means that nobody has to try to get through the shower sober.

It's got two kinds of wine and four kinds of citrus, so it's classy.

The Mushroom Consommé seems like the kind of forgettable "delicate" offering that hosts of the time felt obligated to serve.

Woo! Mushrooms in salty water. That's a party.

I suspect the Curried Eggs in Shrimp Sauce was just a way for the uptight traditional ladies to make sure that this wasn't a low-class shotgun wedding.

If the bride-to-be could smell this mess without ralphing from pregnancy hormones, she was deemed worthy. (Of course, that also meant she had to eat some of it, so there was no real way to win this particular game.)

And to round out the extra-crafty theme of this party, the Flower Pot Alaskas were listed in the craft section rather than the recipes.

This one involves buying brand new 3-to-4-inch flower pots for each attendee, sterilizing them, and then filling them up with pound cake crumbs, ice cream, meringue, and crucially, a paper straw. After the baking, cram a daisy into the straw et voilà! A sort-of baked Alaska with a daisy crammed into it!

There's nothing quite like a passive-aggressive shrimp-and-egg entrée, a flowerpot full of dessert, and a terrifying mop woman to get the soon-to-be-bride ready for the weirdness and indignities of life as a 1970s wife. This is another rite of passage I am glad to observe, but only from a great distance.