A Justly Earned Reputation for Grossness

I'm a bit fascinated by the idea of "indigestibility", which back in the day typically referred to fat content or greasiness.

For example, Aunt Jenny's cookbook contains numerous claims about how much more digestible Spry is than other shortenings on the market. Take the following passages:

"Fried foods crispier, tastier, and so digestible: But say, when it comes to fryin, I could tell as much as any of 'em! Since I been fryin' with Spry, you should see all the doughnuts, French fries, and fried chicken my husband, Calvin, stows away! And never a twinge of indigestion!"

"Mebbe I mentioned it before, but I want to say over again, so that everybody gets it, how easy to digest foods cooked with Spry are. Grandpa Briggs at the Old Soldiers' Home eats pies and doughnuts and fried foods aplenty. Mrs. Thompson, the matron, uses Spry for everythin'."

"And you'll notice such a difference with fried foods! Why folks are eatin' all they want since Spry came to town. Sleepin' like tops and feelin' real chipper, too. Fact is, foods fried proper in Spry are as digestible as if baked or boiled. Why even a child can eat 'em."

Apparently devoted hubby Calvin, old man Briggs, and even little Tommy are putting away fried stuff like there's no tomorrow. With nary a twinge.

Obviously, the concern about fried foods had more to do with what it does to the tum tum than what it puts around it.

But back to the Bacon and Cabbage.

In this recipe, I'm confused. Looks like you still cook the cabbage in the grease-saturated pot liquor, so it's not like the leaves walk away unbeglistened. In this recipe, you drain off as much of the stuff as you can, so maybe it was the pool of liquor floating with fat globules that turned the author off. If you drain it, merely a gleaming whiff of pork fat would remain on the leaves, which could perhaps be disregarded as you dig in to the bacon.

OR

(And herein lies the mystery.)

Is it the cabbage itself that produces results described as indigestibility, the symptoms of which could be reduced by changing out the cooking water?

My solution, and undoubtedly Aunt Jenny's: do yourself a favor and just fry the cabbage in Spry. You'll justly earn a reputation for refinement.

An Admirable Preventive of Decomposition

I'm thinking of rubbing some charcoal on my face.

12 Eggs and a Glass Full of Brandy Means it's Time for Divorce. I Mean, Dessert.

Time for dessert!

First off, apologies for the skewed image. It's a book, after all. An old book. I don't want to press it too flat, nor get my fingers in the shot.

While I'm on the subject, apologies generally for the horrible photography in my blog. I'm no Pioneer Woman. It's true.

Back to the recipe.

Having recently wrapped up a very painful and drawn out divorce, I can't help but love love love (translate <3 <3 <3) the name of this recipe.

I so get it.

With luck, in time, I will view marriage in a more favorable light. I believe in it intellectually,10,000%. Maybe even a million percent.

But.

Given where I am, so recently post-married that my flesh still stings and my emotions wince, the name of this cake is completely logical to me.

Not to mention the brandy. Though I would have included at least three wineglass fulls.

Better stock up on eggs.

Tootsies and Jammies

Enough about seafood! Where's the beef?!?

Actually, I'm not sure this entry qualifies as beef. But I'll let you be the judge.

Here's the thing: I never realized that calf's foot jelly was jelly. I mean, I've heard of it before, and had the usual shivering "Eeeewwwwww" response that most of us do from our view in this latest millennium.

But I never realized that it was sweet. I'd pictured one of those 1960's aspic affairs, some sort of jellied consume upon which ladies lunched.

But no. This is sweet. Three cups of sugar sweet. (Or to taste. Depending on how sweet you like your cow toes.)

Pay close attention to the first step: clean the feet carefully.

Now I don't know much about raising cattle. But I'm imagining that cows don't exactly tip-toe around the pasture, trying to avoid the patties in their path. They may be smarter than sheep, but even the most cautious bovine must step in poo.

Seriously.

So I like that this is the first step. In case you are the same person who fell for the city eel of previous report.

Wash the darned feet. Carefully. Use an old toothbrush if you must.

I also like the image of the jelly filtering through an old pair of jammies, knotted around an overturned chair.

Heartwarming.

And while the recipe doesn't state it, you should probably wash those as well.

Dexterous Wrenches and Autumn Frolics

What better way to follow up on an eel post than to show you a page about oysters! Especially apropos on an autumn day such as this.

Helpful advice is, as usual, offered in abundance. For example, one should wash the oysters so as not to offend fastidious guests.

Your own "good man" will be truly heartened by your offering of this pearl of bivalves when he comes home on a wet night, cold, tired, and hungry.

Indeed.

Don't forget your bushel basket. Or your knife. or the pepper pot.

Country Eel Stew. You Know What it Tastes Like.

I love the earthy practicality of Common Sense in the Home. Here's another fine example:

Let's be honest: who hasn't been duped by one of those city slicker eel merchants? And who really has time to consider the diets of urban eels compared to those of more pastoral climes?

It's not just us. Even Freud had eel issues.

"Since eels do not keep diaries," the investigator, 19-year-old Sigmund Freud, wrote to a friend in the spring of 1876, the only way to determine gender was to cut and slice, "but in vain, all the eels which I cut open are of the fairer sex."

Poor Sigmund appears to be the victim of his own envy.

But I digress.

The advice is just so darned useful. For example, the suggestion about avoiding a three pound eel, despite the obvious draw.

(Three pounds is a big fella by anyone's reckoning.)

But I digress again.

So you start with a one pound country eel and THEN you add butter.

This affirms one of my culinary beliefs: add butter and anything tastes like chicken.

Stew that is.

Recollection of Perplexities, and Assurance of Safety

Lard Making 101: Practical Housewifery at it's Finest

This post is for my friend Carol Douglas, who appears to be in need of the recipe at just such a time as this.

It comes from the book Common Sense in the Household. It is copyrighted 1880 but was printed in 1903.

Just look; the poor thing is falling apart at the seams. Reminds me of what I saw in the mirror some mornings over the past year.

Unlike me, the cracks in this thing probably won't heal, no matter how much cosmeticological lard is spread on it.

Anyhoo, the book has been on my list for presentation to you, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet. Thanks for the prompting, Carol!

Here's your first taste of Practical Housewifery. Now you too can make your own lard.

Lard

Every housekeeper knows how unfit for really nice cooking is the pressed lard sold in stores as "best and cheapest." It is close and tough, melts slowly, and is sometimes diversified by fibrous lumps. And even when lard has been "tried out" by the usual process, it is often mixed with so much water as to remind us unpleasantly that it is bought by weight.

The best way of preparing the "leaf lard," as it is called, is to skin it carefully, wash, and let it drain; then put it, cut into bits, into a large, clean tin kettle or bucket, and set this in a pot of boiling water. Stir from time to time until it is melted; throw in a very little salt, to make the sediment settle; and when it is hot--(it should not boil fast at any time, but simmer gently until clear)--strain through a close cloth into jars. Do not squeeze the cloth so long as the clear fat will run through, and when you do, press the refuse into a different vessel, to be used for commoner purposes than the other.

Most of the lard in general use is, however, made from the fatty portions of pork lying next the skin of the hog, and are left for this purpose by the butcher. Scrape from the rind, and cut all into dice. Fill a large pot, putting in a teacupful of water to prevent scorching, and melt very slowly, stirring every few minutes. Simmer until there remains nothing of the meat but fibrous bits. Remove these carefully with a perforated skimmer; throw in a little salt, to settle the fat, and when it is clear strain through a fine cullender (sic), a sieve, or a coarse cloth. Tip the latter in boiling water, should it become clogged by the cooling lard. Observe the directions about squeezing the strainer. If your family is small, bear in mind that the lard keeps longer in small than large vessels. Set away the jars, closely covered, in a cool, dry cellar or store room.

In trying out lard, the chief danger is of burning. Simmer gently over a steady fire, and give it your whole attention until it is done. A moment's neglect will ruin all. Stir very often--almost constantly at the last--and from the bottom, until the salt is thrown in to settle it, when withdraw to a less hot part of the fire. Bladders tied over lard jars are the best protection; next to these, paper, and outside of this, cloths dipped in melted grease.

Aunt Jenny Gems: Calvin's favorite chicken

Calvin also loves Jenny's crispy Spryed chicken!

Aunt Jenny Gems: Calvin's favorite shortcake

Calvin just can't get enough... SPRY that is!

Aunt Jenny Gems: on boys and cookies

Just look at the face on this innocent little darling!

Aunt Jenny Gems: on boys and spoons

This little book is so full of gems that I think I'll just post a few pictures and let your mind do the rest.

Here's the first, wherein Jenny comments about her husband's love of spoon licking.

Oh, butter...

Butter rocks. It is the mayonnaise of the cow world.

Mug Musings

I've been contemplating the difference in coffee cup sizes from the 1950s to today. They seem to have gotten quite a bit larger in the last half century or more.

Just look at the size of the cup this fella hoists, obviously forced on him by a loved one hoping to sober him up:

DiDi and I tend to like mid-century modern dishware, and so have a small collection of cups from that era.

We have some like this:

And like this:

And even this:

We don't have these but I wish we did because they are very cool:

I'm also hearting these very hard:

We have a number of other styles as well, but Google images isn't helping me find them but we moved and some are in storage or in our garage (which I like to call the Fourth Dimension).

The mid-century cups typically hold about 8 oz if you've got a steady hand or don't mind a periodic morning scald. 6 oz is better if you prefer to play it safe.

Contrast that with today's mugs:

Ok so this is a bit of an exaggeration, but you know what I'm talking about. Walk into your local AstroDollars Coffee Shop and take a look at their options. Assuming you understand the language they use to make you feel hip, the smallest one is typically 12oz, and the large is 20oz.

That's a lot of joe, no matter how much they've frothed the milk and decorated the top with hearts and flowers.

The mugs most people use at home are similarly ginormous.

What happened in the intervening years? Do we really need that much more caffeine now?

Did the coffee mob strong arm cup manufacturers?

Here's what I discovered. When I'm at home, the amount I drink in a small cup is satisfying. When I'm on the road and pull over for a jolt, I still tend to go for the 16 oz medium.

Which is weird. Somehow just looking at the larger cups make me think I need more.

But I don't.

Aunt Jenny's Dumplings

It's apple season, so here's a blast from the past to get you started. It comes from Who Says We Can't Cook, and submitted by cookbook author Florence Brobeck of "Press Relations".

Florence writes:

My aunt Jenny was oen of the most famous cooks in central Ohio forty years ago. Her kitchen was a huge room dominated by a coal range from which came aromas which touched off a stampede of children from all parts of the house.

Best of all, especially in winter, were the big pans of apple dumplings, steaming at the top with apple jelly oozing out. They were supposed to be served cold, or nearly so. But we couldn't wait. We ate them hot with very cold, very thick cream.

Here is her recipe. (Today's busy housekeepers may use ready mixed pie crust.)

Ohio Apple Dumplings

6 cooking apples

Pastry for two pie crusts

3/4 cup sugar

3/4 cup brown sugar (packed)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

2 tablespoons grated lemon peel

1/2 cup dried currants (soaked and drained)

1/4 cup apple jelly

1/4 cup butter or margarine

Wash, pare and core apples. Roll pastry about 1/4 inch thick. Cut in circles large enough to cover apples. Mix sugars, cinnamon, peel, currants, and jelly. Spoon mixture into apples. Dot each with butter. Wrap each apple in dough, crimping edges togeter at the top. Place on baking sheet or in shallow baking pan. Bake in moderate oven (375 degrees) about 30 minutes, or until apples are soft and pastry golden. Serve warm or cold, with cream, lemon sauce, or hard sauce. Six servings.

What's for Dessert: Lemon Coconut Balls

I've been playing with variants of a recipe unimaginatively called "Cake Balls". Last night's version was a play on lemon meringue pie. I should have used lemon curd rather than lemon pie filling for additional tartness. Plus I'm still thinking about what to use for "crust" rather than coconut, something that won't get soggy.

Even so, they are delicious!

(Can't post the recipe here as I'm hoping to submit it to a few contests. I'll post it after it wins a million dollar bake off. Promise.)

Cheesy Tuna to Tame that Man-Child Brute

Here's the last entry I'll be posting from Who Says We Can't Cook!, this one filled with savvy advice for today's modern miss and would-be fascinator.

"It is wisdom as old as the hills that the way to get along with a man-child is to feed the brute," Mary Haworth advises readers of our WNPC cook book. "Lots of famous fascinators can't cook but I am convinced that nothing gives a woman greater self-confidence as a woman than the ability to cook well."

Analyzing females and foods, she believes "The womanly woman has a congenital urge to cook well. She cooks to please her man almost as instinctively as the vamp powders her nose."

And, as a final warning, Mary points out, "The lovable woman is a nurturing woman and men don't leave them because 'you can't hardly get them kind no more'."

Her preferred Lenten dish, good any Friday, and heavy enough to please the most masculine appetite is:

Tuna and Mushrooms with Cheese Sauce

Wash and slice 1 3/4 pounds fresh mushrooms and saute in butter or margarine 5 minutes. (Or use canned button mushrooms instead--4 or 5 small cans well drained.) Get approximately 3 pounds white canned tuna, drain off oil and break or cut into fairly large bite-size pieces.

To make the sauce, melt 1/4 pound butter or margarine, blend in 10 tablespoons flour and cook two minutes, stirring constantly. Add to 5 cups heated milk, tablespoon Ac'cent, 1/4 teaspoon saffron, and 2/3 pound very sharp cheese cut into small pieces. If you like, substitute 2/3 cup of sherry for 2/3 cup mil. Cook, stirring constantly, until cheese has melted and the sauce begins to bubble.

Add tuna and mushrooms to sauce. Now season to taste with salt and freshly ground pepper. Serve in chafing dish or casserole. This serves 13, so reduce ingredients proportionately for smaller number. Incidentally, the saffron makes the dish.

Tricky Dick Likes HOT Tamales!

I wonder if Michelle O has her own book of recipes?

Dinner at home, with mother cooking, is an important event now in the lives of Tricia and Julie Nixon, whose parents, the Vice President and Mrs. Nixon, are so busy with official duties that dining at home with the youngsters is a rare event. Mrs. Nixon has compiled a book of recipes that her husband and the children especially like, and she selects from them on the infrequent occasions when she can prepare the family dinner. Here are two Nixon specials:

Glorified Rice

2 cups cooked rice

1 cup cubed pineapple

1 chopped apple

25 marshmallows

1/2 cup sugar

1 cup whipped cream

Mix ingredients, except the whipped cream. Let stand an hour. Fold in the whipped cream before serving.

Hot Tamale Pie

2 cups ground cooked meat

1 cup gravy or meat stock

1 teaspoon chili powder

1/2 cup tomatoes, canned or fresh

1/2 small onion, minced

black olives

1 teaspoon salt

1 quart cooked corn meal mush, very stiff

Mix meat with the gravy or stock, add chili powder, tomatoes, olives, salt and onion. Line baking dish with cold cooked corn meal mush, fill with the meat mixture and put the balance of the mush over top in broken pieces. Bake 20 minutes in a hot oven.

Mamie's Million Dollar Fudge

This entry was written when Dwight D. Eisenhower was President. Come back tomorrow to see what Tricky Dick's wife was up to while Mamie made fudge.

Mrs. Eisenhower has never made any pretense at being a cook. But like most people with no flair for food, she has impractical specialties. Hers are fudge and mayonnaise. Fudge is still one of her favorites and this family recipe is popular at the White House.

Million Dollar Fudge

Boil six minutes:

4 1/2 cups of sugar

Pinch of salt

2 tablespoons butter

1 tall can evaporated milk

Put in large bowl:

12 ounces semi sweet chocolate (chocolate bits)

12 ounces German sweet chocolate

1 pint marshmallow cream (2 jars)

2 cups nutmeats

Pour boiling syrup over ingredients in bowl: beat until chocolate isa ll melted, and pour in pan. Let stand a few hours before cutting. Store in tin box.

Caboose Golarki

This visual, high-impact piece came from Marian H. Jones.

In a Polish Caboose

TIME... October-December 1939

PLACE... Warsaw, Poland

CHARACTERS... Two newspaper Correspondents, Marian H. Jones and Stephanie Steinhaus

Home: former freight caboose, furnished with double bunk, pot-bellied iron stove, switchman's lantern, Aubusson tapestry over the one window. Cannon to the right, cannon to the left, bombs falling everywhere. Sunday nights we were "at home" to newspaper colleagues and other friends. This dish was a favorite.

Polish Golarki

1 1/2 pounds ground beef

1 cup uncooked rice

1 cup chopped onions

1 medium-size can tomatoes

2 bay leaves

1/2 teaspoon thyme

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

Season meat with half of the salt, pepper, and thyme. Put in deep baking dish, crunch one bay leaf over it. Add rice, then add onions and remainder of salt, pepper, and thyme. Pour tomatoes over, add additional bay leaf, cover and bake 45 minutes.

Suffragette Heavenly Hamburger

Today's recipe comes from Henrietta Poynter, editor of the Congressional Quarterly.

Mother Left Home

I learned to cook at about 14 when my mother went on a three-month speaking tour for suffrage and left me to keep house. Whatever I saved out of the budget was mine, so I specialized in recipes for making cheap cuts of meat delicious, and managed without starving the family, to indulge in new clothes, theater tickets, and other things not covered by my allowance.

These recipes are quickies that can be made between deadline time and when the guests arrive.

Heavenly Hamburger

1 pound ground chuck or round

1 small onion

1 slice white bread

1 egg

2 tablespoons ketchup

2 tablespoons prepared mustard

Salt and pepper to taste

To ground meat, add onion, finely chopped, egg, salt and pepper. Soak bread in hot water, squeeze out and crumble into meat mixture. Knead, with your hands, like bread, until thoroughly mixed. Make into thick cutlets: brown on outside, keep inside rare--about five minutes on each side. Makes six hamburgers.

Remove meat from pan, add four to six tablespoons of water, stirring constantly to make thick gravy, add ketchup and mustard, stir for a minute until well mixed and pour over hamburgers.

Eggs Normandy

This item comes from May Craig, Washington Correspondent for The Guy Gannett Newspapers and Broadcasting Services of Maine, and former WNPC President.

I wonder if our soldiers in the middle east tell similar stories?

Scene: Normandy Beachhead

Camped around edges of Normandy apple orchards in 1944 campaign, cold and muddy and a mile and a half from the mess tent... Swapped off PX cigarettes for shell eggs from nearby farmers--change from powdered eggs... "Liberated" bit of butter or shortening from mess tent, and cheese from rations... "Liberated" a little gasoline from nearest jeep.

Eggs Normandy

To make Eggs Normandy under above conditions: Dig hole in ground between tents and loosen earth in it. Pour in a little gasoline. Put ingredients in mess kit, cover and cook over flame from earth mixed with gasoline. Only do this in daylight because night air raids mean blackout. If small empty tin can is available keep earth in it in tent to keep dry. Can cook over can instead of hole in ground. If no gasoline, bits of corrugated box, or twigs, under small stones to hold heat, and set mess kit on, for cooking.

To make Eggs Normandy for supper at home: Melt dab of butter in small pan; into this break two eggs, add pepper and salt to taste. Lay two slices of cheese on top of eggs. When served as breakfast dish, cover pan and cook over slow fire. For dinner dish, put under broiler until cheese browns. Cheese may be sharp or mild, according to taste, or grated Parmesan. A dash of garlic powder may be added.

What's For Dinner: Tuscan Tomato Soup

Last night's supper was open faced toasted grilled cheese with homemade tomato soup. The soup is a simple concoction of sauteed onion, crushed and diced canned tomatoes, and lots of basil. Plus pepper.

The tomatoes in this case were pretty acidic, and had to be sweetened with a few tablespoons of sugar.

Simple, satisfying, and delicious.

Best Chili in Washington, or His Name isn't President Truman.

This entry comes from Sarah McClendon, of "Sarah McClendon Bureau".

Mrs. Eugene Worley laughed when her husband, Federal Judge Worley of Washington, DC said he was bringing the President of hte United States home to dinner.

Speaker Raybuurn, yes, or Chief Justice Vinson or Associate Justice Clark. They were regular chili "customers" at the Worley home. Even Judge Worley himself sort of gulped when President Truman, some years ago, picked him up on an invitation to a chili supper, saying "Why yes, I'll be over tonight."

His wife was still laughing at the joke her husband thought he was playing on her when she began receiving calls from the Secret Service for directions to the Worley home. Frantically, she rushed out to the neighbors to borrow silver, china, and even a spare maid.

Soon she began receiving telephone bulletins on the progress of the party from the Secret Service, saying "we are rounding such-and-such a corner and will arrive in 5 1/2 minutes." To her amazement, Secret Service men immediately dashed to the kitchen to taste the chili--not for flavor, but to make sure it was safe eating for a President.

This is the recipe for Mrs. Worley's s famous chili which former Presendt Truman proclaimed "the best in Washington."

Mrs. Worley's Chili

4 pounds coarsely ground boneless chuck

1 cup chili powder

6 rounded tablespoons flour

2 quarts water

Chopped clove of garlic

Oregano to taste, about 1 teaspoon

1 tablespoon salt

Ground cumin seed to taste, about 1 teaspoon

Mix chili powder and flour. Stir until it makes paste. Brown meat in large skillet with small amount of fat. Mix paste with meat while browning. Add water, garlic, oregano, cumin seed, salt. Simmer two ours slowly. Best if left overnight and reheated the next day. Test-taste. Serves 10. Best with beans, tamales, or rice.

What's for Breakfast: Pineapple Upside Down French Toast

Today I remembered an old recipe for Pineapple Upside Down French Toast, and made up my own version.

I had chunks of pineapple in the fridge, and so cut them up into smaller pieces and scattered them over butter which I'd melted in a cast iron skillet. Once they had browned a bit, I sprinkled brown sugar and a bit of pineapple juice over the fruit, and let it condense into syrup for a few minutes.

I whisked together 3 eggs with some milk and a splash of vanilla, and broke the last 4 pieces of whole wheat bread into small chunks. (Thought this would be easier than trying to fit full sized-square slices into a round pan.) When the bread had soaked up all that custardy goodness, I plopped the sopping bits into the pan, completely covering the pineapple base. I let it cook on the stove top for a few minutes, then popped it under the broiler to brown up the top.

It was delicious. And easy. And it didn't need syrup.