No, I wasn't hung over

Late posting today--my apologies. As promised, here's the rest of our tour of the Carioca rum distillery in Puerto Rico.

Quite a facility, eh? I especially like the way they have a large patio set up for the workers, with festive umbrellas and little tables. I'm sure the workers hang out there between shifts and sip cold drinks.

I can't fgure out why you would need to write "rum distillery" in huge letters on the roof of your building, except perhaps for the benefit of tourists flying over in airplanes, but surely in 1943 that wasn't a consideration.

But boy, take a look at the inside of this place! No third-world conditions here! Spic-and-span! The people even wear white clothes. That's so . . . white of them.

They look curiously immobile, it's true. And I don't think the safety inspector would like that guy standing on the desk to reach the packing conveyer, but how many safety inspectors could there have been in Puerto Rico in 1943? Don't you know there was a war on????

Maybe the problem was too many Zombies imbibed between shifts on the patio.

Zombies are one of the few drinks featured in this book that are actually supposed to be made with rum. One has to wonder, though, about the effect of pre-mixing and bottling. Zombies really require fresh fruit juice. Adding carbonated water and ice isn't going to do the trick.

Offensive and wholly un-Puerto Rican label image, though? They've got that part nailed.

As always, click 'em to bigger 'em.

Yo-ho-ho, etc.

Here's a weird thing I picked up somewhere; I think at a used book store in Seguin (notice the sticker on the cover refers to Johnnie's at 10th and Red River, presumably Austin--there are still two Johnnie's Liquor Stores in Austin, but neither at that location).

What freak, huh? What's with the morterboard? Is it just to distinguish him from the sombrero-wearing peasants worshipping at his feet? Do they even wear sombreros in Puerto Rico?

This tiny booklet is copyright 1943, which may explain why Puerto Rican rum was "the largest selling in the U.S." Sayeth Puerto Rican Life: "Rum's popularity has waxed and waned over the centuries. In the 1800's it was largely replaced by American whiskey in the United States. It enjoyed a brief revival in the U.S. during World War II due to a whiskey shortage. Due to the Organic Act, which said that any excise taxes collected in the United States on Puerto Rican products would be returned to Puerto Rico, those few boon years had a huge impact on the Puerto Rican economy. For example, in 1940-41 Puerto Rico received $4.5 million in internal revenue payments, but in 1943-44 they received a whopping $65.9 million. Unfortunately, once whiskey production resumed at normal levels, rum sales decreased."

Which is kind of sad, since they could have used that money to upgrade the educational system in Puerto Rico. In 1943, according to this pamphlet, bartenders ran the universities. If you look at the table of contents here (I know, it's tiny; click the image for a larger version) you'll see that they are telling how to make any kind of drink with rum instead of with whatever liquor usually goes in that drink. A rum martini. Rum Alexander. Rum mint julep. And so on.
Now, the canapes, they show a little variety. Chive balls. Olive cheese balls. Tartar balls. OK, scratch that, they don't really show variety. And I think I'd have to drink something stronger than rum before I'd eat anything called "tartar balls." I hope to God that's some kind of translation error from the original Puerto Rican.

You'll notice I have steadfastly said "rum" rather than "Carioca" throughout this post. I have resisted the hypnotic commands of the little man with the moustache. Pray that I am strong enough to do so again tomorrow, when we will visit his factory.

Part 2 of the endless parade of wieners

So many, many things wrong here:

- The "Bacon Wrap-ups" at the top left? The recipe recommends canned Oscar Mayer Prefried Bacon.
- The "Gourmet Meatballs" contain liverwurst. Also dried onion soup mix, making them "gourmet" in the same way the Lipton Party Meatloaf that gives this blog its name is "party" fare.
- The "Ham Puffs"--I dunno, just something about packaged cream puff mix and canned ham, it seems wrong.
- "Rainbow Sandwich Loaf": Guess what makes the green layer? If you said "lettuce," or "spinach," or "avocado," or indeed anything organic, go to the back of the room. If you said "green food coloring," step up and claim your prize. It's a bottle of Maalox.
- The "Little Wieners and Little Smokies in Mustard Sauce." Again, sauce. Weiners. No. Putting mustard in it does not expiate the inherent sin.

On the bright side, there's no meat in the avocado dip (and unlike many mid-century guacamole recipes, it does not call for mayonnaise).

And finally, as we get ready to close out August and move into autumn:


Guess how much pumpkin is in the Pumpkin-Hollow Dip? Go on, guess! One cup? Two cups? Three cups?

Trick question, of course: There is no pumpkin in the Pumpkin-Hollow dip. Just Braunschweiger Liver Sausage, cream cheese, and onion juice. Onion juice. I see that in recipes from time to time but I've convinced myself it is just a theoretical contruct, like pi. Onion juice can't really exist.

Note: I belatedly realized I was mispelling Oscar Mayer all day yesterday. My apologies to the company for that. And only for that. They got bought up by Kraft too, which means you can now look for Jello recipes and play Wiener Pong on the same web site.

As always, click to enlarge the images.

80 years of misbegotten wieners

So you wish you were an Oscar Meyer wiener?

Be careful what you wish for. This booklet looks promising on the cover: beer, pumpernickel, and sausage. Alas, its purpose is to celebrate 80 years of Oscar Meyer products (one recipe per year, you see), which dates it around 1963. This is close to the nadir of convenience cookery; recipes from this period have all the celebration of caloric consumption of the 50s, plus the pull of the new decade meant people were trying to be exotic and different and forward-thinking. Always a bad idea. But it explains the MO of most recipes in this book: take a perfectly good dish and defile it with the addition of wholly inappropriate Oscar Meyer products. Exhibit A:

Wiener shortcake.
Sorry, Little Wieners Shortcake; the "Little" somehow makes it even more horrible. There are several things I don't understand here:
1) Why Cream of Chicken soup? If God had meant for hot dogs to be served in sauce, He would have created Cream of Wiener soup. He did not.
2) The only non-processed foods in this recipe are milk and green onions. And the green onions didn't make it into the pictured dish.
3) The French-style green beans are an especially unlucky choice. They make the whole dish look like something the dog threw up after eating grass in the backyard.
But having had 80 years to formulate their evil plans, Oscar Meyer doesn't stop with LIttle Weiners Shortcake. Oh no.

Wiener curry.

Sorry, Smokie Orange Curry, made with those appalling Smokie Links. I would not have thought they could be made to taste worse, but now that I think about it, cornstarch, canned mandarin oranges, and curry powder would pretty much do the trick. Top it with coconut and bacon bits, and the nightmare is complete.

There's more, but I think it will have to wait until tomorrow. I'm feeling a little nauseated.

As always, click the images to increase the nausea.

Cookbooklets!

Talk about tempting fate--I am scanning like a madwoman today, so Blogger better behave itself this week (yes, I have checked all my punctuation).

This little gem was given to me by a friend who knows me far too well. Have you ever wondered why Jello is so popular at cafeterias? Wonder no more. It turns out Jello actually costs nothing at all to serve, so every penny customers spend on it is pure profit. Or something like that.

Now, we are warned that "Food costs in this book are based on prices of June 1950," but still--2-cent Jello desserts? What's not to like about that, at least for the cafeteria owner who's charging 75 cents?

But as always, things that look too good to be true generally are. Ribbon Fluff Mold? It's jello, topped with Jello that's been whipped. (I always think "mold" is a bad word to put in a recipe title, even if it is gelation.) Jello Fantasy? It's Jello with a little cream poured on top. No, I'm sorry, it's actually "a mystery dessert with feathery trickles of cream." My mistake. In this version it has scored banana slices on top, which I guess is kind of mysterious. People will wonder "Why are they there? Why don't they sink?" Not my idea of a fantasy, but to each his own. Jello Jewels? Jello smashed through a colander.

The pricier recipes don't improve much. The most expensive thing in the book is Strawberry Chiffon pie (strawberry Jello, strawberries, egg whites and whipped cream) at 6.5 cents per serving, which doesn't seem bad, but with the fresh strawberries and everything, the Jello hardly seems necessary.

And guess what's on the last page? Tapioca recipes! Including Peppermint-stick Cream! In this version, you dissolve crushed peppermint candy in the milk as you make the tapioca, ommitting all sugar, and top with chocolate sauce. It still sounds awful, but hey, it only costs 3 cents a portion. Myself, I would gladly pay 3 cents, or even three dollars, to be excused from eating it, but I do not live in 1950 and I don't have to make my living selling food to people at 8000% markup.

On the back cover, I think you can see a dish of Jello Jewels on the left. Not sure what flavor that would be. Maybe orange? It looks like something that came out of a distressed sea creature, don't you think?
As always, click on the images to enlarge them, if you dare.

Do not bring your evil here

"Throwing a luncheon for the threewheeler set?" chirps this October 1950 ad from Good Housekeeping. Nothing will delight them more, we are assured, than a dish off tapioca laced with peppermint shards and dribbled with chocolate sauce.

Personally, I love chocolate and peppermint, and I'm willing to admit there are people out there who enjoy tapioca. Sunset magazine tells us that "tapioca recalls visions of warm pudding swarming with tender, clear beads that seemed to resemble fish eggs." Mmm, fish eggs.

In the 50's probably more people enjoyed tapioca, since previously it had been one of the relatively quick (partially pre-cooked) pudding options. But this, this . . . I guess I just think a lot of recipe creators should quit while there ahead. There are not that many ways to make people like tapioca if they don't already, and this certainly isn't one of them. It reeks of desperation. Jello and My-T-Fine were gobbling up market share with there quicker, more varied, smoother (except with the coconut) recipes, and you could make pie out of them. You can put tapioca in pies (to thicken fruit fillings, usually) but I sincerely hope there are no tapioca pie recipes out there.

Luckily for the tapioca growers, someone eventually came up with bubble tea. I still don't like it, personally (fish eggs in tea, mmm), but you sure can't make it with Jello.

1950's sales strategy #37: Humiliate the weak

Boy, is This One Depressing. In October 1950, Listerine ran an ad much like all the other ads they ran from the 1910'a all the way up until someone invented dentistry: cruel, shrill, exploitative, and chauvinistic. This time, they added Pointless Capitalization (for the First Three Paragraphs).

As always, click on the image to enlarge its bludgeon-like message.

Unpacking the assumptions herein makes me want to curl up in a fetal position and weep for the soul of womankind. It's not bad enough that Dora has bad breath; not bad enough that she's losing her only chance at romance, marriage, and family (the shameful potential fate that haunts every page of every women's magazine in the 50's); not bad enough that, because of her ignorance, she never even had a chance. They have to call her dumb. Dumb with a capital D, Dumb.

What an idiot, not to recognize that the odds are always in favor of a woman being offensive. What a moron, not to realize that halitosis was so common, and so offensive, that every woman who wasn't raised in a barn ought to know to spend three minutes a day painfully burning her mouth with alcohol. What an idiot, not to be ashamed of herself, her body, and her expectations. No wonder she isn't popular; she's been turned back from the border of popularity by the homeland security agents of offended Mankind.

Toonpedia tells us

The phrase "Dumb Dora" was slang in the 1920s for a not-very-bright female, made popular by the vaudeville act of George Burns and Gracie Allen. Allen played Dora, who was so dumb — and what followed would be a typical bit of her illogical logic, of the sort that got huge laughs from vaudeville, movie and eventually TV audiences. (The schtick was revived decades later on The Match Game, but with audience participation added — right before the punchline, in unison, they'd shout, "How dumb was she?")

Chic Young's Dumb Dora (actual name, Dora Bell) debuted from King Features in 1924, as a seven-day feature. Despite her subtitle, "She's Not So Dumb As She Looks". she sometimes did look very, very dumb. She was a typical young woman of the flapper era, with a reasonably steady boyfriend, Bing Brown, and a crowd of other suitors.

So at least the original Dumb Dora got some dates.

Possibly more food than in Farmer Boy

Catherine Woolley, author of the Ginnie books (and the Libby books, and the Cathy Leonard books), is renowned for her ability to connect with young readers. But I read her books for one reason: the food.

Ginnie was the first and best of Woolley's pre-teen protagonists, and before she transitioned to mystery-solving (Ginnie and the Mystery Doll, Ginnie and the Mystery Cat), she tended to have problems that revolved around typically 50's domestic issues: taking care of young children (Ginnie's Babysitting Business), winning a cooking contest (Ginnie and the Cooking Contest). These two books were written in 1963 and 1966, respectively, but the domestic picture they paint is pure 50s.

In Ginnie's Babysitting Business alone, the following foods, and descriptions of their preparation, adorn the modest plot:

Lemon-jelly cake (see yesterday's post)
fudge
fudge, again
and again
coffee, muffins, and scrambled eggs
steak
hamburgers, potato chips, tomoatoes, pickles, and toasted rolls. Also marshmallows (lesson for children's book authors: never hesitate to interrupt the plot with a cookout).
turkey with stuffing
sirloin steak, French fried potatoes, and cherry-stone clams
hot fudge sundaes with chocolate ice cream and pecans (at Schrafft's!)
mincemeat pie
turkey sandwiches and cocoa
pancakes
jello mold with apricots and cherries, angel food cake with whipped cream and strawberries, rolls, ham, tossed salad, potato cassarole

All this in a scant 160 pages (with illustrations). Ginnie and the Cooking Contest, naturally, is even more jam-packed with recipes and descriptions.

Woolley herself never married and had no children. But she lived to be 100, so maybe there's hope for the fudge-lover in all of us.

Running late

Woah, sorry, the day got away from me. More on Ginnie tomorrow. Here's a teaser though:

Mother's fresh lemon-jelly cake was so good that both Ginnie and her father took a second piece at dinner. "That's really cake!" Daddy remarked, passing his plate.

I should warn you, I also collect Nancy Drew books. That Hannah Gruen was a heck of a cook.

Two that won't kill you

Here are two cake recipes from the same Good Housekeeping as yesterday's, both of which I have made and both of which are edible. I can't say I've ever referred to anything I've baked as a "Yam-Yam Cake" (it sounds like something from Madam Butterfly). But if you call it a sweet potato cake people will get the point and no one will cringe and avoid your eyes. The recipe from yesterday's post contains the tail end of the sweet potato cake recipe: serve with whipped cream and walnuts, which you should do with practically everything, as far as I'm concerned.

The Jam Cake is a recipe I tried when I was looking for something approximating the Lemon Jelly cake in Virginia Woolley's Ginnie's Babysitting Business (a.k.a. Ginnie and Her Juniors). I think you could make this with lemon jelly but now, having found the recipe, I can't find lemon jelly in the store. Just lemon curd, and to hell with that. But, this is good made with apricot or pineapple preserves, and I've even made it with strawberry jam. But it is quite sweet--definitely don't frost it. It goes nicely with tea.


If you haven't experienced the Ginnie stories, be prepared to be bored to tears tomorrow!

Cakes I have made

It's coming up on harvest time, which means, here in Texas, that everything outdoors is deader than a doornail. That's why most of August is hay-making season in Texas: hay is dead grass.

In gentler climes, as I understand it, they harvest things because of the approach of cold weather, not the omnipresence of hot weather. Which sounds lovely, except it leads to romantic blunders like this Harvest Ribbon Cake, from Good Housekeeping's November 1953 issue.

Full disclosure: I have made this cake. And I have even served it to guests, although admittedly they were guests with excellent senses of humor. I did not, however, decorate the cake with almonds and what are said in the recipe to be sprays of grapes, but which look more like prunes. Maybe I did the orange peel (yeah, it looks like coconut, and wouldn't that be even worse?).

And pardon me for being petty, but are those daises in the background? Which are not exactly fall flowers?

Already in '53 they are leaning on the cake mixes for novelty:


I love this woodcut. The little Puritan girl looks like a child in one of those don't-talk-to-strangers comic books. The woman appears to be offering her a pan of lard, which would horrify me too.

I think when I made this, rather than use half of one cake mix for cupcakes (who's going to want extra cake in the house after making this?), I bought one of those little Jiffy mixes that makes half a cake. (Hey, they will send you a free recipe book! I am so there! I wonder iff all the recipes call for two boxes of cake mix, like the ones online do?) The tiny Jiffy mixes intrigue me. As does Sea Foam frosting, which I actually made, with its peculiar, synthetic texture. I find it intriguing, but I don't actually like it. Most cake frostings used to be cooked, not buttercream (well, OK, in the 50s anyway). But buttercream is what I was raised on; everything else seems exotic but not very tasty.

But the real disappointment in this cake is that none of the three layers are chocolatee. I guess that would overwhelm the other flavors; chocolate is pretty strong. But the spice layer looks dark, and it makes promises it can't keep.

Tomorrow, Blogger willing, I'll show you two more cake recipes from this mag that I've made, which are actually pretty good.

As always, click the photos to enlarge--if you dare!

Mea culpa, Blogger

So, after nine days or so of bitterly complaining about Blogger, emailing Blogger, and looking up other people's problems with Blogger, I finally figured out that this image, which I've been trying to upload all week, had a comma in the filename instead of a period.

Color me embarrassed.

Anyway, this is just a little one-off ad from that same Household magazine we savaged the week before last, featuring more of the same cultural insensitivity embodied by the Li'l Abner strip, which was evidently an integral part of 1950s cereal campaigns.

Post Cereal used to be called Postum Cereals, so maybe that's why they belabor the standard 50's Indian-speak for this ad--"hitum," "stayum," except why does the pheasant talk like an Indian? (The Indians did discover corn; I get that connection. I'm not stupid, except where punctuation is concerned.)

Wikipedia tells us, "The Postum Cereals company, after acquiring Jell-O gelatin in 1925, Baker's chocolate in 1927, Maxwell House coffee in 1928, and other food brands, changed its name to General Foods Corporation in 1929. General Foods was acquired by Philip Morris Companies in 1985. In 1989, Philip Morris merged General Foods with Kraft Foods, which it had acquired in 1987 to form the Kraft General Foods division. The cereal brands of Nabisco were acquired in 1993. In 1995, Kraft General Foods was reorganized and renamed Kraft Foods, which currently owns the Post Cereals brands." So Post is now owned by a tobacco company, which is kind of ironic in light of this ad.

You can read the history of every tiny company the Philip Morris combine has sucked up over the years on Kraft's heritage page.

Silver linings

So, while searching around for info on Blogger's photo issues, I stumbled on Auntie's blog. Take a look--a lot of her stuff is actually edible! Plus she talks about products you can still buy.

Damn Blogger to hell

One solid week of error messages when I try to upload images. A different error message every time, too. Damn and blast.

Maybe I should just show you some ugly things from right here and now.

How about a recipe for "cracklin' cornbread," courtesy of Post cereals (a.k.a. Kraft) that calls for eggs AND Miracle Whip AND pork rinds?

How about a "cake" recipe that begins with broken-up Twinkies, and then adds pudding, Cool Whip, and Butterfingers candy bars?

How about a "salad" recipe that calls for crushed pineapple, multi-colored miniature marshmallows, and powdered Jello to be mixed and left standing overnight? Before adding crushed buttermints and whipped cream? ("Very colorful," the recipe advises.)

I'll tell you, there are some sick people out there.

Let sleeping Bloggers lie

Did it work?

Nope. Still no photo upload. Sigh.