Home ec goes low-cal

For anyone who believes in New Year's resolutions and may still be sticking to them (Ha!) Quick and Easy Dishes (Favorite Recipes of Home Economics Teachers, 1978 edition) has a pretty substantial "Low-Calorie Recipes" chapter at the end of the book, so I thought it would be fun to check out a few "diet" foods.

We'll start out with a nice Low-Calorie Fruit Salad and Dressing.

Arranging things artfully does a lot of the heavy lifting for this recipe. It's hard to make some lettuce, half a pear, a mound of cottage cheese, and some stray bits of maraschino cherry, grapefruit, and prunes look like an exciting luncheon platter. And then just think of the delightful flavor of vinegar-garlic spiked orange juice on those maraschino cherries, etc. It might be enough to make you lose your appetite-- which is pretty much the point, I guess.

The Tomato Sauce for Meatballs recipe doesn't sound bad, really. I just kind of wonder why it's in this particular chapter.

There's not much to set this apart from any other tomato sauce recipe. You can just tell that it's "diet" because it calls for a little liquid Sweet-10, an old-timey non-caloric sweetener. Yes, tomato sauces often include a little sugar to balance the tartness of the tomatoes, but it's so little that replacing it with an artificial sweetener isn't really going to save much calorically-- especially when the tiny saving is spread across as many servings as the recipe makes. You'll save maybe two calories per serving by not using real sugar. This recipe goes straight into the "Why bother?" file.

And finally, we have a dessert that made me laugh just because of its name.

"Pretend Peach Cheesecake" sounds like peaches are some highly desirable luxury that dieters just can't risk ingesting. Of course, it's not the peaches that are the "problem"-- it's the cheesecake. I guess my point is that I'm a language nerd and the adjective should be next to the noun it modifies-- which in this case is cheesecake! The cheesecake part is definitely the pretend element. There's not even cottage cheese to pretend it's cream cheese-- just "liquified nonfat dry milk" for the dairy element. (Wouldn't that just be... skim milk? I'm not sure I understand the rationale for using nonfat dry milk here.)

These recipes don't do much to contest my perception of home ec teachers as a bit out of touch with the real world, but I wasn't expecting them to do that. (I also wasn't expecting the Sweet-10. Now I kind of want the Spanish Inquisition to show up. But they won't-- because I'm expecting them.)

More Miraculous Microwaving!

If you have a really good memory, you might look at today's post and ask, "Didn't you already write about Multi-Power Microwave Miracles from Sanyo?" 

And, okay, yes I did, but that was the 1979 version. Today, we're looking at the 1977 version. So there.

I can tell Sanyo learned from its mistakes because the newer edition had a relatively-yummy-looking picture of veal parmigiana on the cover, and this has...  chunks of avocado that have been out waaaaay too long mixed with black beans and apples, served over rice? I'm kidding, of course. The background suggests this is a curry of some sort. In this case, Curried Lamb.

It just happens to look weird and greenish and gloppy in the picture. (Good thing the food stylist overrode the instruction to peel the apples, as the little pops of red in the picture are the only parts that look even halfway appetizing.) These observations bring me to the focus of today's post: the photographs. This book's pictures don't always really sell the recipes. 

I can't say I'm particularly inclined to think Tuna Crunch will be great. (I mean, there's a reason Yankee Candle doesn't sell "Microwaved Tuna" jar candles.)

The recipe sounds pretty standard-- a bit of veg, canned tuna and mushroom soup, some chow mein noodles and cashews for the titular crunch. Still, the picture of it seems almost like the book is embarrassed about this recipe. 

The components of the recipe are up front and perfectly in focus, but the casserole itself is kind of backed out and a bit blurry, like nobody really wants to examine it too carefully...

Still, the photographer was perfectly fine with putting the Beef Tacos right up front.

These look like the world's blandest tacos, filled with roughly 50% shredded iceberg lettuce and 50% unseasoned ground beef. There's a little parsley on the side if you want to make it "spicy."

The recipe suggests the tacos may have slightly more flavor than they appear to:

I'm not convinced that a quarter teaspoon of chili powder would do much to spice up a full pound of ground beef in a cup of plain tomato sauce, though.

And for dessert, I'm not exactly sure what recipe these cakes are meant to represent, but it looks like the food stylist let the kids frost them...

... with their toes.

So, yeah. I think Sanyo tried a little bit harder on the next edition because this version wouldn't necessarily inspire a 1977 family to blow a week or two's salary on a microwave.

It's not easy to make cooking easy, even if you do have a microwave

Cooking a big batch of something on the weekend to use throughout the week has been around longer than today's meal preppers might suspect. It wasn't even new in 1980 when Litton's Microwave Cooking: Everyday Dinners in Half an Hour suggested it, but making a microwave part of the process was a novelty.

The book offers three "basic" mixes to make in big batches in the microwave, each starring one protein. The first step is to gather the protein, veggies, and seasonings, as in the Basic Beef Mix.

Then microwave the heck out of them. 

Make sure to stir from the bottom up! Or from the top down! Or up and down, in a turbulent motion! (I'm not great with spatial awareness, so the arrows don't really help. Just stir.)

Then once everything is cooked through, divide, freeze until needed, and then defrost so you can add it to a recipe that will make it less immediately apparent that the family is eating the same thing over and over again.

The book recommends classics including spaghetti, chili, and stroganoff, but I'm posting layered casserole because I like the way the food stylist built it in a glass dish so you can see the layers.

Not that they necessarily look attractive, mind you. Kinda looks like somebody just got a little OCD when they scraped food scraps into a baking dish so it would be easier to stack the dirty plates.

The ingredients are pretty straightforward: mashed potatoes, beef mix, vegetable soup, peas, cheese, an egg, and various seasonings.

But the directions go into a lot of detail, with a full six-panel spread to show each step. 

There's a similar setup for Basic Chicken Mix.

This one has the added fun of microwaving bone-in meat and trying to stir it "frequently" during the 35-50 minutes of cooking. (Seems like it might have been easier to just make this one in the conventional oven.)

Then the chicken has to be cooled, removed from the bone, and torn into bite-sized pieces. Basic Chicken Mix is definitely the biggest pain in the ass. 

And then it only makes four freezer-boxes full! The beef makes five. But Basic Chicken Mix can be transformed into dishes including Chicken Pilaf, Chicken Stew with Dumplings, and this vaguely named Chicken Casserole.

At least it's easy enough it doesn't need a whole series of explanatory pictures. Just defrost the chicken mix, cook the veggies, and stir in most of the rest of the ingredients. Top with cheese and bread crumbs near the end.

There's also a Basic Pork Mix, though it seems a bit like an afterthought. It only makes three freezer-boxes' worth of mix.

And there are only three total recommendations for meals to make with it: Pork Chop Suey, Pork and Sauerkraut, and this gooey creation. 

That might look really good if the cheese were actually browned...

Midwesterners need not worry about the Pork & Refried Beans Enchiladas, as the recipe was clearly developed for people with zero heat tolerance.

Yes, the filling has some chili powder and a smidge of Tabasco sauce, but it should be more than counterbalanced by the slathering of white sauce and the Monterey Jack and Cheddar toppings.

The most notable part of all these recipes might be that they show just how much of a lie the subtitle of "Everyday Dinner in Half an Hour" is. Even if we completely ignore the time taken to make the mixes on weekends (which by itself can take nearly an hour for the chicken variation) because that's the prep part, the remaining cooking for the busier nights still often pushes past the half-hour limit if your microwave is on the slower side. Hell, the Layered Casserole is almost guaranteed to go over, as the best-case scenario is 29-1/2 minutes (8 for defrosting the mix, 21-1/2 for the remaining microwave steps)-- and this doesn't count things like making the mashed potatoes, layering the ingredients, rotating the pan if needed....

I guess my point of this overstuffed post is that lying to cooks about how quickly they can make recipes is a time-honored tradition-- nearly as time-honored as saying that cooking will be easier if you just get a lot of it done over the weekend. There's always a willful ignorance pretending some of the steps don't exist.

There's no pressure to make these recipes....

Before the days of Instant Pots, home cooks who wanted things cooked quickly relied on pressure cookers, so I find pressure cooker manuals from time to time. I'm not sure when Mirro's Speed Pressure Cooker and Canner booklet came out, but the addresses in it have zip codes, so it's post-July 1963. Mirro was acquired by The Newell Companies in 1983 (at least, if Healthy Canning is to be believed), so it's before that. The cover looks like it's closer to the 1960s than the 1980s.

And I think people in the 1980s might have been at least a tiny bit more adventurous with spices and Mexican flavors than the writers of this booklet were. I mean, as far as I can tell, the only heat in the "Hot Tamales" is the physical heat generated by the pressure cooker.

And I am far from a tamale expert, but doesn't the recipe usually involve a filling wrapped in masa and then a corn husk (or other inedible wrapper) before being steamed? This recipe is basically unsweetened sloppy joe filling on a bun. (And why would you need to pressure cook that in the first place? It's not like sloppy joes are known for being too tough! Even the recipe points out that pressure cooking could actively be a problem, advising cooks, "If mixture is not thick enough, cook it uncovered to evaporate liquid.")

The Mexican Scramble seems at least vaguely more aligned with my limited understanding of Mexican cuisine-- it's got a little chili powder and some corn.

I'm not really sure why a lot of the recipes are included in a pressure cooker book, though, as they seem like they would be better suited for just a regular old cookbook. Take the Saucy Peas and Cucumbers, for instance.

I've always regarded frozen peas as something you add a recipe at the last minute and cook just until they are warmed through. Otherwise, they turn an ugly shade of green and smell like something that got forgotten in your gym locker over Christmas break.  SO WHY WOULD YOU PRESSURE COOK THEM?

And the Macaroni Tuna Casserole is basically the same dish my mom made just in a regular saucepan. 

Cook your pasta. Drain it. Stir in a can of tuna and a can of cream-of-mushroom soup. If you just heat it briefly so the soup and tuna aren't cold, it's done! Why pressure cook it? Hoping the pasta will get extra mushy?

I guess Mirro was succumbing to the same temptation that lured microwave cookbook authors to recommend cooking everything in the microwave--Homemade bread! Whole lobsters! Batches of cookies!-- regardless of whether that was the best appliance for the job. Ignore the stinky, army-green peas and disintegrated macaroni and just be thankful you can use the pressure cooker for everything! Of course, recipes like these might make cooks regret the purchase, but by then, it's too late. Mirro's already got their money.

Don't tell them it's healthy! Unless you do...

In the introductory chapter to Carlton Fredericks Cook Book for Good Nutrition (updated 1974 edition), Fredericks admonishes readers to "never place a dish or a meal before your husband and the children and announce that it's (a) a new one, and (b) good for them." I'm not so sure he believed part b of this rule, though, as he sometimes gave recipes titles that give away the game. (And it was a game because "taking care of oneself ... is essentially a feminine philosophy," and "American men, doubtful of their masculinity, suffer great anxiety when asked to participate in something they consider feminine. They therefore are charter-bound to reject anything that is good for them." I swear, the more I read this book, the more depressingly current it seems...) 

But anyway, don't let them know you're serving something good for them. Just call it Soybean-Bran Yeast Muffins. That name certainly doesn't have the stench of "health food" about it.

Or maybe whip up a nice big Vitamin B Protein Loaf.

Granted, "protein" might not be so bad if the man of the house thinks only in terms of gains. But still, the vitamin B shouldn't lead, and "protein loaf" doesn't exactly have the most appetizing sound. If you're going to eat a meat-based loaf, you probably want to know what kind of meat it is. Presenting it as mystery meat probably isn't the best move.

The next item-- Vitamin-Protein Cookies-- might sound nearly acceptable to the types of guys who now buy things like Lenny & Larry's Complete Cookies (and they are definitely not a sponsor. In case you don't realize, I am kinda making fun of them! Plus, I have, like, 12 readers, so asking me to advertise anything would be a total waste of money.), but 1. the original target audience for this book was not exposed to that kind of marketing, so I'm guessing this title would be a harder sell, and 2. even Lenny & Larry know "complete cookie" sounds better than "vitamin-protein cookie."

Of course, if you're giving the family a cookie that is enjoyed by children primarily for its "chewing exercise" because it consists of nothing more than skim milk solids, wheat germ, a little sugarless sweetener, and whatever variety of baby food the household has on hand (up to and including strained meat), it probably doesn't matter what you call it. I'm guessing most family members will be pretty goddamn resistant.

So maybe Fredericks just ignored his own rules because he realized they may not be particularly helpful--it would take very little effort to deduce that this stuff is supposed to be "healthy"-- and hoped the readers wouldn't catch on until after they bought the book? Or maybe he was just lazy, like I am as I end this post somewhat abruptly. 

A book that made nutrition "great"

Yay! It's once again time for my favorite genre of old cookbook: "health" food cookbooks! This time, we have Carlton Fredericks Cook Book for Good Nutrition (by Carlton Fredericks, obviously; the updated 1974 edition). 

This book's focus seems relatively reasonable compared to some of the other books I've reviewed, encouraging readers to eat fewer empty carbs (especially sugar and refined grains) and more protein. That's not to say it's exactly appetizing, though... Let's see what a day's worth of recipes might look like. 

First of all, breakfast. The chapter offers a lot of drinkable options, as "The child who absolutely refuses to eat anything solid in the morning can usually be cajoled into accepting a glass of something liquid, if it tastes nice." So we will start out with Breakfast Broth.

I didn't really expect a health-food book to recommend starting the day with canned condensed cream soup, but here we are. Will it taste "nice" with the addition of skim-milk solids and brewers' yeast, plus a topping of a hard-cooked egg yolk? That's a matter of individual taste, but still-- I have trouble imagining that this start to the day will really convince a breakfast-avoider of the error of their ways...

For lunch, I consulted "The Best Chapter in the Book." (Yes, that is the actual title of the chapter.) It's about organ meats, so named because Fredericks wants American readers to stop ignoring the cuts because "The organs give the best nutrients." I have no argument against what are more euphemistically known as variety meats-- if you're going to eat  an animal, you should eat the whole thing. I mostly wanted to quote the racist rhetoric that went into the discussion: "More than one adventurer fallen into Arctic wastes or jungle tangles has been brought back to vigorous life by natives who fed him the heart, liver, or kidneys of a fresh-killed animal." Nothing like the story of the noble savage to kill the appetite. But if you still want a little something, have a Liverburger.

You might expect me to accompany this recipe with a one for a salad or vegetable, but surprisingly, the book doesn't offer such recipes! The salad chapter includes a few dressing recipes but simply encourages readers to use them on a salad of "any number, variety, or combination of green leaves... with or without other raw vegetables." As for vegetables, the book has no section of recipes for them either, as "Vegetables taste fine just the way they are-- some of them raw, others briefly cooked to permit the retention of their color and flavor and a decent amount of whatever vitamins and minerals they are born with." So pick whatever veggies you want to go with this-- just don't dress them up too much.

If you get hungry between meals, the book recommends some snack options, like Yogurt Fizz.

Thick, fizzy, and sour. Mmm. Really sounds like a magical combination. If you want something sweeter, the Quick Low-Carbohydrate "Bavarian Cream" is an option (provided you aren't scared away by the scare quotes).

I have to say that "Pour a little low-calorie ginger ale over 2 tablespoonfuls of non-fat milk powder and stir" has to be one of the most pathetic recipes I have ever come across. I'm not sure how anybody could call this a snack OR a recipe.

Maybe we better just go on to dinner: Fredericks' Casserole.

This is clearly NOT a cookbook overly concerned with cholesterol or saturated fat-- as I might have expected given the time period-- as each diner will end up eating a half-cup of ham, two slices of bacon, and an egg along with their sweet potatoes and wheat germ.

And if you must have dessert, Fredericks presents some options, such as this Blender "Betty." (Yep, he really liked scare quotes.)

I assume the "Betty" in the name means this is a play on the traditional brown betty, but such desserts are usually fruit layered with sweetened crumbs and cooked. Puréed fruit mixed with "enough wheat germ to give a pudding consistency" is such an abuse of the term that I might just call the authorities on Fredericks if I knew what authorities would be appropriate to contact AND if he weren't long dead.

Even though Fredericks is dead, though, his spirit lives on! Just like many of our health "authorities" today (not that I have any HHS secretaries in mind), he felt free to present himself as a specialist even though he was not. I found a report from 1964 observing that he had "a criminal record resulting from his posing as an expert in nutrition" and had "no educational qualifications that would make him an expert in the science of nutrition." It's so nice to know that things are just as "great" today as they were 50+ years ago.... 🙄

It's January-- Get Ready to Garden!

A new year means a new seasonally-arranged cookbook! This year, we will be harvesting recipes from Home Gardener's Cookbook (Marjorie Page Blanchard, 1974).

Granted, most of us are not going to be doing a whole lot of gardening in January, but the book offers tips for the reader who will be doing the gardening, and January was apparently the month when the first gardening catalogues started arriving. It's a prime month for planning out what to plant, so most of the chapter is devoted to information for the gardener. There are a few recipes for the cook, though. (The book carefully notes that the gardener and the cook "are not necessarily the same person.")

The recipes are for vegetables that may be left over from last year's garden. I picked Belgian Waterzooie mostly because I was amused by the name, but Blanchard included it because gardeners might still have leeks outside, buried under a protective layer of straw.

The carrots, celery, and onion shouldn't be too hard to come by, as they are often harvested in fall and store well, and the chicken, cream, and egg yolks will make it a substantial meal for a cold night.

The January chapter also recommends Parsnip Soufflé because parsnips get sweeter after a frost. Apparently, the gardener can just leave them out in the cold and dig them out as needed-- at least until the weather warms and turns the parsnips bitter. (And now I know I'm not a parsnip! The cold makes me bitter.)

This eggy dish is recommended as "a nice accompaniment to roast pork or chicken," reminding me that the '70s had its protein-crazed moments too. (Plus, eggs were cheap back then!)

Considering we still have several more months to go before home gardeners are likely to grow much that will be ready to eat (especially considering the book's planting dates are timed to the author's home in Connecticut), I'm wondering how Blanchard is going to fill out those chapters. I guess we will find out when I report back in February. And March. And April. (My guess: an overdose of asparagus and rhubarb.)