The cookbook I almost missed!

I very nearly ignored this book when I saw it at an antique mall, assuming it was a simplified version of the fancy fabric-covered photo albums my grandma used to make as gifts for weddings and graduations. I figured it would still be empty, just those old self-stick photo album pages, yellowing at the edges. It was close to a stack of cookbooks, though, so I opened it up and discovered a Christmas miracle:

It's Ann's Favorites 1989-- apparently a homemade Christmas gift from Ann Hall. Granted, 1989 is a bit new for me, but how could I possibly resist this dot matrix beauty? I am as ready to charge in as the spatula-wielding cook on the title page.

Yeah-- the dot matrix pictures are a big part of the draw. I adore the "Maindishes" title card, with its pitchfork-like fork, blobby turkey, and vertically squashed burger.

Although, gotta admit, the image on the "Misc." section gives me pause.

An garbage can with stink lines wafting off of it does not generally improve one's confidence in the recipes. (And if you were trying to think of a rationale for the graphic, supposing perhaps that the chapter included a recipe for homemade potpourri to make the can smell better or homemade soap to wash it out, nice try, but nope! The chapter has recipes for muesli, homemade Bisquick, and herb mixes.)

The recipes themselves are a fun mix. We have recipes that suggest Ann Hall was not always paying very careful attention.

I sincerely doubt that this cake requires 2-1/2 cups of [baking] soda. Plus, even though the instructions call for flour, there's no flour in the ingredient list. I'm pretty sure some wires got crossed. (If you want the correct proportions, this is a similar cake.) 

I also like that the recipe calls for oleo, I guess because it was supposed to be healthier than butter? If you're putting EIGHT CANDY BARS in the cake, though, health is clearly not a major concern. Just use the butter! It tastes better! (And it is better for you than the partially-hydrogenated margarines of the '80s anyway.)

We have recipes with less-than-appetizing names.

Fish Goop contains no fish, so I'm assuming it's goop to put on fish fillets.

And while this dish layering chicken, vegetables, and gravy over noodles and rice is probably perfectly fine (at least, until we get up to throwing on crushed pineapple and "Marachino" cherries)...

...calling it a "Japanese Sundae" just makes it sound terrible.  People think of desserts when they hear "sundae," not of chicken, veggies, and gravy with a maraschino cherry on top.

Some recipes have little midwestern touches...

Like the concern that the salsa in Mexican Chicken will not be sufficiently diluted by the cans of cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soup, the sour cream, and the cheese, so maybe use just half the bottle as "it is very hot." (Stray observation: Seeing "8 ozzz. can of mushrooms" makes me imagine a can full of snoozing fungi.)

I'm also kind of touched by the midwestern modesty. The Chicken Primavera might look like a standard midwestern interpretation of the dish, and a parenthetical note gives away that Ann Hall got it from somewhere: "1 teasp. of salt (I use half that amount)." 

I want to yell, "It's your cookbook, Ms. Hall! You can just give your measurements without apology!" She doesn't, though. We don't know where this recipe came from, but she feels honor-bound to present the original version, only suggesting her slight variation parenthetically. I find it strangely touching that she can't just own it and tell people to use half a teaspoon of salt. I also really wonder about the "I used frozen veggies" note after the asparagus. Is she telling us that she used frozen asparagus, or that if you can't afford/ don't have asparagus, just throw in some frozen mixed veggies? They'll be fine. I guess that's up to our own interpretation-- which again, I kind of love.

I'm glad I opened this one rather than assuming it was an empty photo album. It is a lovely little snapshot of 1989, but in the medium of dot matrix printing and midwestern family recipes.