Slick ways with fat

One difficulty of cooking during World War II that doesn't seem to get much attention now is that rationing wasn't just of things like meat and sugar, but fats too. Maybe the low-fat era made people forget that doing without cooking fats was a hardship, especially back when people were likely to be malnourished following the Great Depression. That's why I was so interested in The American Food Stretcher Cook Book's (ed. Ruth Berolzheimer, 1943) chapter "Fats and How to Get Them." In addition to telling how to render fat out of chickens and geese, it suggests ways to stretch butter at home.

I guess calling it "The Aladdin touch" was supposed to make it sound glamorous to make butter and milk into Butter Spread...

... or the more dire-sounding Economy Spread.

The thing that really floored me, though, was that something we consider somewhat of a luxury today (The reason millennials can't afford houses! 🙄) was considered somewhat of an emergency substitute when households couldn't necessarily get the types of fat they usually used.

Yep-- Avocado Spread was a wartime measure to help make up for fat shortages! That's kind of hard to imagine today.

And if you were really hard-up in trying to ensure the family had enough fat and you had no compunctions about ruining a perfectly good avocado, you could even make Fruit-Filled Avocados.

Imagining the combination of grapefruit's battery acid-esque assault with the oily salt-lick of olives makes me shudder, but if you combine that with the buttery avocado and a slick of French dressing, the family will be suitably lubed up for the day.

I'll bet that gave you a lovely mental image of a "lubed up" family as well! Some things are even worse than fat shortages....

Haunted by peanuts, impractical stew, and peaches

I'll admit that I think I overpaid for The American Woman's Food Stretcher Cook Book (1943) because I usually only pay about $2 for these Ruth Berolzheimer-edited collections from the Culinary Arts Institute.

Yeah, I paid $4 for this just because I think World War II-era cookbooks telling cooks how to deal with rationing are fascinating. Plus, I made it worth my while. You see, the booth that sold this also sold a bunch of regional fundraising cookbooks, and I spotted a page of corrections for one of those cookbooks just hanging around loose. Figuring it would probably just get thrown out, as it could take hours to match it to one of those cookbooks (and that's assuming the one it was from hadn't already been sold anyway), I slipped it into Food Stretcher and took it home as a free bonus.

Now I know that "Mom's Marinated Mixed Vegies" should be boiled, not broiled. I'm still puzzled as to how "Flour ingredients unknown" helps with the chocolate cake, though.

Oh, yeah. I was going to write about the book I actually bought, not the page of corrections for an unknown cookbook.... Since meat was rationed during the war, I expected some interesting substitutions. This book really seemed to like peanuts, offering up both Peanut Cutlets...

...and a Cheese and Peanut Loaf.

I like that the cutlets are crusted, which might have made them a little more interesting than the undifferentiated masses of soft stuff that tended to pass for veggie "cutlets" back then. The cheese and peanut loaf may not have been too bad, seeing as how it had actual cheese and did not consist almost entirely of various grains bound with breadcrumbs or a boring vegetable mixture bound with eggs and breadcrumbs.

And of course, there are some obligatory soy bean recipes, like Soybeans à la Creole.

This was back when "Creole" was just code for "with onion, green pepper, and tomato."

Fuel rationing led to menus that cooked everything at once in one appliance, such as oven meals that required only throwing everything into the oven and pulling it out an hour or so later. A lot of the menus didn't sound terrible, but I was not always sure about the themes. How is this collection an El Paso dinner, for instance?

I thought maybe Spanish Casserole might be some version of Spanish rice, but nope!

It's sausage wrapped in bacon that's fried and then baked under a layer of veggies and watered-down "catchup." I'm not sure what makes this Spanish or El Paso-esque, but maybe someone out there can tell me?

I'd also think that people in El Paso might be more partial to a refreshing cold slaw than to a hot one.

I guess the lemon sponge cups might make the most sense since lemon trees can be grown in El Paso, at least if the internet is to be believed.

Plus, they look so cute in individual cups.

Not all the recipes seem entirely practical, though. I really wondered about this serving suggestion for beef stew.

Perhaps "You can make yourself famous for a victory special with this wartime beef stew served in crisp cabbage cups," but you'll only be famous as the person who thought trying to serve a stew in cabbage leaves was practical, that it didn't matter that serving it this way would probably make the stew cool off way faster, and also difficult to serve without dousing the tablecloth and/or diners in warm meat chunks. (And if the mixture is dry enough to serve this way, is it even really stew?) I also seriously question the practicality of making the vegetables into a potato-and-carrot-starfish, but it makes for an interesting picture.

In any case, the recipe is wise enough to offer the configuration from the picture as only a variation-- not the preferred method.

My favorite picture in the book, though, is for the Meat Roly-Poly.

The recipe doesn't even hint at the serving method suggested in the picture.

Am I the only one imagining these haunting little pickled peach faces with olive eyes and pimiento features imploring, "Come play with us"?

I don't want to play with you, peach faces, but I have a feeling you are here to haunt me for stealing that loose list of recipe corrections. Crime doesn't pay.

Funny Name: Grim Donuts Edition

I've already established that the Marion Christian Church 140th Anniversary Cookbook (1983) has some confusing conventions on naming recipes. The name for this recipe, however, is actually very straightforward.

I just think "Army Donuts of 1918" is hilarious because I see donuts as being a fun, frivolous addition to one's diet, and "Army Donuts" doesn't really convey that idea at all. I alternate between imagining these as being some kind of leaden utility donut, perhaps used as an improvised weapon in hand-to-hand combat, to be eaten only if the situation is really dire, and imagining these as part of an organized pastry unit, going out to battle against the dreaded fastnachts and smalzkuchen. 

Marion Christian Church doesn't quite put the fear of god in me-- just the fear of Marion Christian Church potlucks

Today's blast from the past is a blast from the not-quite-so-distant-as-usual past, as Marion Christian Church 140th Anniversary Cookbook is from 1983. Still, we might as well check out this book for the church's 180th anniversary. (And yes, it appears to still exist.) 

I was sometimes puzzled by the naming conventions in this book. I'm not really sure what Shrimp Pizza has to do with pizza.

Maybe the Marionettes (That's what you call Marion residents, right?) were ahead of their time, though, as my first thought when I saw that the recipe mainly involved slathering cream cheese on a platter and dumping stuff on top was, "Oh! Make it a little more elaborate, and people would call it a cream cheese board now."

This book challenged my conception of ham salad as being a ham-and-mayo concoction.

I'd say this is probably more of a pickled or marinated ham type dealie, but nope! Ham marinated in diluted vinegar and onion is still ham salad according to this cookbook. 

I was also a little confused as to why the name "Long Sandwich" was chosen for sandwiches are that are made on "buns used for submarines." Obviously, Ruth Clark knew what submarine sandwiches were, but apparently making a sandwich on a sub bun was not enough to qualify it as a sub.

Maybe the mixture of onion, green pepper, and cheese didn't qualify because it was meatless? 

Still, the town seemed to have a pretty loose definition of what qualified as a submarine sandwich.

Pat Burnett had no problem calling Spam-Velveeta-egg salad on hot dog buns a submarine.

Some things had names that I might expect, but ingredients that threw me for a loop. Gelatin-based veggie salads are so common in these old cookbooks that I didn't think the blandly-named Vegetable Salad would offer anything new.

And then I realized that this is probably the first recipe I've featured to pair its lemon Jell-O, carrots, onion, celery, and cottage cheese with Cool Whip. Cool Whip. 

Similarly, I thought the Chicken or Turkey Chow Bake was probably some bastardized midwestern version of "Chinese" food, probably featuring poultry and chow mein noodles with either a cream-of-something soup with veggies or a sweet-and-sour sauce with pineapple and green peppers.

Instead, I found (probably!) the first recipe I've ever featured that pairs cream of mushroom soup with canned pineapple.

As scary as some of the recipes are, though, nothing quite rivals the candid photographs at the very beginning of the book, before the recipes. I am a sucker for not-at-all-creepy clowns, and this book welcomes readers with this unexplained, presumably Christian, not-at-all-creepy clown.

"Tasty, tasty, beautiful fear."

If the congregation is the type to put this clown out front and center, it doesn't surprise me that they are also proud of putting veggies in their Cool Whip and pineapple in their cream of mushroom soup. Thanks to my little sister for the nightmares this book she sent as a gift will inevitably inspire!

Checking out the non-Czech parts of St. Ludmila

Previously, we looked at a bunch of Czech recipes from St. Ludmila Parish (Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1975), but the book has plenty of other offerings. The cooks seem a bit less certain about recipes from non-Czech backgrounds, offering things like Mexitalian Spaghetti Sauce.

I'm not really sure what puts the "Mex" in the title. Maybe Mrs. Hal Schulze just thought that any recipe with tomatoes, onions, and green peppers was somehow at least kind of Mexican?

Even more amusing is that the recipe for straight-up Italian Spaghetti Sauce seems arguably more Mexican than this one.

This version has Tabasco sauce in it, so at least it's got some heat. (Okay, with only a quarter teaspoon of Tabasco in 1-1/2 pounds of meat, plus tomatoes, etc., it's probably closer to the suggestion of some heat.)

If you want something more American (and very 1970s), there's American Cheese Fondue.

My favorite part about this concoction of butter, milk, American cheese, pimiento, flour, and dry onion soup mix is the parenthetical opening instruction: "(Soak soup in 1/4 cup water; I don't do it.)" I assume that this means the recipe that Irma Kelly originally got from somebody else instructed this, and she found the step unnecessary, but it sounds kind of like she's trying to make sure that her recipe remains the best one, saying "Hey, if you're making it, water it down unnecessarily right from the start."

The book also offers some of the cute little "recipes" for things like preserving a friendship or making a happy home. Such recipes are generally saccharine and unmemorable, but Recipe for a Sweet Disposition got stuck in my head.

I expect conceptual ingredients, so "common sense" and "contentment" seemed right at home. A large heart also makes its own kind of sense if we're thinking conceptually, as it can be a stand-in for ideas about love, caring, and forgiveness. The good husband seems a little too straightforward, but I guess it's easier to have a large heart and be content if one isn't married to a monster. The good liver, though...? Is this a veiled confession that it's way easier to have a sweet disposition if you drink a lot? 

Well, I guess everyone needed to find some way to get through days spent hanging houseplants from macramé owls, yelling at the kids for grinding cheese Tid-Bits into the shag carpeting, and trying to decide whether the spaghetti sauce was more Italian or Mexitalian.

Cooking like crazy with St. Ludmila

Are you a Bohemian, a convert, a duchess, a person who has trouble with their in-laws, or a widow? If so, then today's book, St. Ludmila Parish (Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1975), is for you because St. Ludmila was the patron saint of all those things (at least, if Wikipedia is to be believed).

The parish was home of the Kolach Festival, according to the cover, and apparently it still is. 

I had no idea what kolaches were before going through this book. I'm guessing based on this recipe title that they're pronounced "kolacky."

I love the quotation marks to indicate that the spelling is intentionally wacky.

Even though this book offers a LOT of kolach recipes, they often don't fully explain the concept. This recipe seems fine right up until the abrupt ending of "Ready to make whenever wanted."

There's absolutely no indication of what to do with the dough once it's risen. Shape it into a loaf, proof again, and bake? Roll into doughnut shapes and deep fat fry? Shape, boil, and bake like a bagel? This recipe wasn't coddling anyone who didn't already know.

The oil variation is similarly vague. 

At least cooks at the time who had no internet access to figure out the rest of the steps knew that they could cinnamon-roll-ify the dough if they made it without reading ahead to realize they better already know how to kolach-ify it. 

For those who were worried about cholesterol, the book even offers a cholesterol-free version.

It also offers the vague instruction to "shape into [24] rolls or kolaches" before baking them, so we're getting somewhere. If you don't know the shape, though, this can only take you so far.

This recipe is much more helpful, noting that the dough should be rolled out, cut into rounds (at least, that's what I assume "cut with glass" means), risen, filled, and baked at 400 degrees for 12-15 minutes.

So it looks like kolaches are kind of like a yeast dough version of a thumbprint cookie?

The fillings are a bit more involved than they typically are for thumbprint cookies, though. Here's just a partial list (because I was too lazy to turn the page and scan some more).

Most of these (aside from the cholesterol-free version) are from the opening chapter, one that's all Czech recipes. The chapter suggested that the Czechs really love yeasted doughs, as it had multiple recipes for yeasted dumplings.

I thought dumplings were more of a quick bread. The versions I've had have always been gloopy and gummy, so why spend more time disappointing your family than you need to when you could have made real bread with a golden-brown crust? I've never had yeasted dumplings, though, so maybe they're better than the Bisquicky version?

If you're wondering whether the chapter offers strudel, it does! In addition to the expected apple strudel, there's a cabbage version.

I thought it would be all savory, but then I noticed the cinnamon, sugar, and raisins. And then I saw cheddar cheese. So maybe a kind of an apple-pie-with-cheddar vibe, only instead of apples, it's cabbage and raisins in the cinnamon sugar? (Plus some graham cracker crumbs on top, though they're not listed in the ingredients!)  I'm so confused.... I can't quite imagine going to the trouble of making a homemade dough only to fill it with this seemingly-random assortment of ingredients. 

These cooks seem willing to put a lot of effort into everything, though. There's a recipe for a a LOT of sausage.

I can't imagine too many home cooks today trying to deal with a cooking and grinding a hog's head, heart, tongue, and a third of its liver, then adding 2-1/2 pounds of bread soaked in 2 quarts of meat broth, two pounds of cooked barley, and assorted seasonings, much less trying to stuff all that into casings before boiling, draining, and freezing. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Hell, the Czech home cooks even used to make their own snack crackers out of sauerkraut and cracklings, at least if this book is to be believed.

I can't even be bothered to scan a second page of kolach fillings, and they were content to make weird homemade snacks at a time when Ritz crackers already existed! I bow down to the industriousness of all those cooks past (even if I want nothing to do with anything but the kolaches). Thanks to my sister for sending in this collection!

Funny Name: The Department of Redundancy Department Strikes Back Again!

I imagine the contributors to Celebration Cook Book (American Association of University Women, West Chester, PA, 1976) were all pretty well educated, seeing as the collection came from university women after all. I'm not so sure any of them took Spanish, though.

They don't seem to realize that Meaty Chili Con Carne means "meaty chili with meat." And just so I don't come off as too superior, I never took Spanish either! I kind of thought everybody knew what "con carne" meant. I guess midwesterners used to get away with knowing less Spanish in the '70s.

Starting 2023 in questionably good health

Happy New Year! Of course, a new year means a new seasonal cookbook. This year, we're celebrating the 70th anniversary of the 1953 Rawleigh's Good Health Guide Almanac Cook Book.

Thank you, Rawleigh, for taunting January me with a carefree summer cover. Yes, eventually it will be eating-fresh-watermelon-in-the-sun weather, but right now I'm steeling myself for a couple months of freezing my ass off.

Anyway, you may recall that I am semi-obsessed with Rawleigh because my family got roped into this pyramid scheme. The other books just listed products and recipes, though, while this one actually lists specific recipes for specific months, so we'll spend this year looking at the recipes for the month. What does January look like?

You'll see that this has a week's worth of dinner menus , a few recipes for the starred items on the menus, and a bonus horoscope.

Like many community cookbooks, this has a skewed entrée to dessert ratio. I guess back then, it was assumed that everybody knew how to make things like veal birds, scalloped onions, twenty-four hour salad, and Swiss steak with no instruction. Everybody just wanted the dessert recipes! It's also funny that the desserts listed here don't really seem to match up with January at all. Rosy Apple Dumplings seems more like a fall dessert, and Festive Cranberry Pudding with Butter Sauce sounds more like a Thanksgiving or Christmas offering, not something for mid-January. At least these desserts are supposed to be served warm, though, as the Chocolate Refrigerator Chiffon Dessert seems the most out of place. I always thought of chiffon pies as being more summer-appropriate, since they're served nice and cold. Chocolate chiffon pie would still taste fine, but it wouldn't hit the same in January as it does in July. (I'm also not sure how the heavy fixation on desserts relates to the good health of the title, but I guess people back then thought growing children and hard-working husbands needed all that sugar for energy.)

The Ham Casserole looks pretty unremarkable: mostly ham and spaghetti in an under-seasoned tomato sauce (Salt, pepper, and paprika!) under a layer of cheese. I'm more curious about Monday's dinner, though, as it doesn't seem to feature a protein of any kind. I wonder if somebody forgot to finish editing this very sweet, fruit-heavy menu of pineapple juice, candied sweet potatoes, buttered asparagus, cornbread, mixed fruit salad, and Festive Cranberry Pudding with Butter Sauce.

I'm not sure what to think of the person at the bottom of the page gazing into the crystal ball that seems to be emitting a heavy fog of green gas. It must make the seer very agreeable, as they have nothing but good things to say about Capricorns. Those sea goats better be as patient with children and as great at story telling as the horoscope suggests, as they're bound to spend January holed up with the little rug rats.

And finally, across from the menu and recipe page, each month features a page of Rawleigh products that the family may find useful that month. January is unsurprisingly dedicated to Rawleigh medications.

What a beautiful collage of people coughing and sneezing! I can almost feel their germs reaching out from 70 years ago. My favorite recommendation is that for a sore throat, "you can swallow a little Medicated Ointment." There is no better way to begin a new year than to eat a little ball of something that-- in case you're not familiar with it-- seems like the love child of Crisco and Vicks Vaporub. I'm not even sure this would have been safe, but apparently Rawleigh wasn't overly concerned about poisoning its customers. It's a shitty month anyway, so if you might get poisoned, I guess January would be the best time to do it.

I wonder how Rawleigh will make February interesting....