Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, March 18, 1992 TAG: 9203180264
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
There it was in a plastic Kroger bag, in between the rusty Toast-R-Oven and the box of 78-speed records: the key to our culinary past.
We were even more surprised when seller Denny Owens, a VA Hospital nursing assistant, gave us this entire bag of cooking booklets and clippings circa-1950 - the decade that spawned such neo-niceties as cornflake casserole, Cool Whip and Tuna Noodle Doodle.
We would've haggled, maybe even paid full price, for these mid-century treasures. But Owens - not knowing a good molded fish salad recipe when he sees one - just wanted them out of his attic.
So it's with thanks to him that we delved into this '50s food project. That we pored over such delicacies as mincemeat upside-down cake and celery pinwheels from the Appalachian Power Company's "Festive Foods for the Holidays" booklet.
That we learned from an Emily Post column on The Roanoke Times Society page that "There is no end to the questions asked about table settings, table service and table manners!"
And that we were perplexed over the molded cabbage-cranberry salad recipe from the Roanoke Gas Company's home-service department cookbook.
These, from the days when utility companies gave things away. When eaters seemed to enjoy the revelation that apple pie was really made from Ritz crackers, and that the party snack to serve was just plain old Wheat Chex putting on airs.
At a time when the country craved more than square meals and simple nourishment, post-war prosperity spawned such innovations as the bundt cake, supermarkets, the automatic defrosting refrigerator and the idea that modern food should be thoroughly convenient.
Fifties food was so fab.
"Never has so much been available to so many as now," wrote cookbook author Poppy Cannon in a typical fit of 1953 euphoria. "And the can opener! That open sesame to wealth and freedom . . . from tedium, space, work and our own inexperience."
With those words, staff artist Rob Lunsford and I delved deep into our stack and came up with a menu: For appetizers, we found lettuce rolls in a Bond Bread holiday-sampler booklet - a loaf of white bread, crusts removed, and spread with a mayonnaise-butter sauce, topped with a piece of iceberg lettuce, then rolled and chilled.
Rob chipped in a course of celery pinwheels from the Apco booklet - an artistic celebration of store-bought pimento cheese.
The meal itself included frankfurters in bread (a precursor to pigs-in-a-blanket), glazed salmon mold, potato nests with creamed peas, noodle ring with creamed spinach, tuna fish pie with Pet milk and canned biscuits, and an avocado salad layered with lime Jell-O.
For dessert, we chose honey-wine pickled fruits (a la cocktail) and a toffee bundt cake made with crushed Heath bars.
All told, the meal called for 14 canned items, a little fresh produce (celery and not-quite-ripe tomato garnish for the wienies), a large jar of mayonnaise, two loaves of white bread and the candy bars. A can of potato sticks was added just for fun, putting the total at $36.
We tried to assemble a panel of experts for tasting, inviting 11 friends, '50s-memorabilia collectors and appreciators of kitsch. But when four canceled at the last minute (an all-too-mysterious 24-hour flu bug), it struck us: Retro-food party givers should never reveal the menu ahead of time.
One friend, a serious gourmet who was born in the '50s, politely declined because of a "prior commitment," but offered her assistance should we ever do a column on nice places to dine outdoors, preferably on the parkway. A real fair-weather foodie.
Of course there were crises to conquer, the reduced guest-list notwithstanding:
Would it do to use the post-'50s microwave to melt butter?
No need to be purists, we decided, also using the food processor for blending and Canola-oil cooking spray for greasing baking dishes.
Is unflavored gelatin really supposed to smell like spoiled meat, and if so why?
Yes, we checked, the smell should knock you over; gelatin is made from some pretty unappetizing animal parts. Gives a whole new meaning to Jell-O Pudding Pops.
Rob learned the hard way that condensed milk and evaporated milk are two different things, and that you should carefully read the can for sweetened vs. unsweetened. A phone call to his mother, Adeline, for her creamed-peas recipe - and his pea-filled mashed-potato nests were all set, even if they did taste candied.
This meal had no hint of herbs, seasonings, infused oils, sun-dried tomatoes - or anything else remotely '90s. Or for that matter, edible. "A distinct lack of seasoning," summarized our editor, polite but disgusted by the presentation.
Fifties collector Beth Francis, who runs The Atomic Kitschen furniture and collectibles business, was quietly amused throughout, thumbing through her mid-century reference books to explain why "there's not much to the lettuce rolls" - convenience and available ingredients were the keys, not flavor or spice.
Although he came to regret it, my husband had two helpings of the tuna fish pie . . . "because of the canned biscuits on top - they looked like the best bet."
Without question, Rob's kids, Jake and Catherine, had more fun than anyone - watching their dad suffer through the process of creaming peas and assembling pimento-spread celery. Also, they liked the candy-bar cake - hands-down the best thing served.
Bottom line: The meal tasted like a doctor's office smells.
Not that there weren't visionary qualities to appreciate.
After all, '50s food did pave the way for that ground-breaking invention of the '60s: green-bean casserole with cream-of-mushroom soup and French-fried onions.
Conspicuous Consumption is an occasional series about the way Southwest Virginians are eating, drinking and cooking.
by CNB