Who did Weight Watchers in the 1980s? I did, in 1985, when I was 13 years old. Yes, that's insane. I was a little chubby, but I probably would have run it off while playing softball.
I did lose weight. It lasted until about a week after I stopped the program. Having read 1977's 400-page hardcover tome, Weight Watchers International Recipes, I've gained an understanding of why the weight came back: When you eat nothing but horrible shit for a year, you go a little nuts when real food comes back.
When I was a kid, my dad often drank soda and iced tea from a big avocado-green tiki mug. That thing scared the hell out of me. I'd seen those Hawaii episodes of The Brady Bunch enough times during after-school reruns to know that idols = increased odds of getting whacked on the head with a surfboard or taken hostage in a cave by Vincent Price.
I was afraid of a lot of things back then. Like the Hamm's Beer cartoon bear mascot.
When considering Throwback recipes, I try to be fair to foreign cuisines. Just because a culture's eating habits are different from our own doesn't automatically make it a target for mean-spirited pithiness. Sometimes, though, it's hard -- especially when it comes to Scandinavian cuisine.
I have three Scandinavian cookbooks from the mid-1960s. In all of them, I've found recipes so dire that I thought surely they were jokes.
Nope. That's just Scandinavian cuisine. It's bland, pale and, for me, a little scary.
Even when I was a kid, I wasn't much of a fan of Jell-O. The only Jell-O-related food I really liked was poke cake. Make a white cake from a mix, poke holes in the top, pour ungelled Jell-O -- I preferred orange since I like that baby aspirin taste -- cover the cake and chill. The results were an extra, unjiggly burst of flavor in the cake, with a thin layer of Jell-O skin on top. All the flavor of Jell-O with none of the creepy, clammy jiggle.
I have lots of poke cake recipes in my collection, but I never think to make them for Throwback because I have fond memories of them.
I don't have a problem with occasional soda-based cooking. My mom's made beans with Dr Pepper for years, and I don't think I've found a chocolate cake better than Coca-Cola
Cake. So when Kelly gave me a copy of 1965's Cookin' with Dr Pepper, I didn't think I'd find anything Throwback-worthy. Sweet potatoes glazed in Dr Pepper? I'd eat that.
Actually, in looking through the book, that might be the only decent recipe. I was distracted from the awfulness of Bean Dip à la Dr Pepper when presented with recipes using Diet Dr Pepper, which was introduced in 1962 to sluggish sales. People thought Dietetic Dr Pepper was intended for diabetics, not people who want delicious Strawberry Bavarian with about 20 calories.
So sue me. I'm not a baseball fan, so the irony of making a dish called Triple Play Warmer after the Cardinals lost their second game to the Dodgers was lost on me. All I knew was it was a cold and rainy night and I could use some warming.
The master of all advertising cookbooks, A Campbell's Cookbook: Cooking with Soup, spawned this recipe. I have the 1976 edition, the thirteenth printing. That's a hell of a lot of recipes with canned soup, and they can't all be winners like tuna casserole. The Triple Play Warmer, like 98% of the recipes in the book, wasn't created because it tasted good. It was created to sell as many cans of soup as possible.
A few months ago, I introduced you to one of my favorite people in the world, my British pal Sally. This week, I got a care package from the U.K.: two cookbooks from Sally's mom's collection, copyright 1962. They're weathered with use, which I love, and full of notes from Sally about which recipes her mom used to make. She even left some clipped magazine recipes hidden among the pages.
Sally's mom, Gill, was classmates with Mick Jagger at the London School of Economics. There's much debate on the nature of their relationship. Gill claims they lunched regularly. Sally and her sister think Gill's not telling the whole story.
Yes, I'm giddy to own cookbooks that nourished one of my favorite people with recipes cooked by someone who shared sandwiches with Sir Mick.
What's the first rule of microwave cookery? No metal. No one likes to explode. In 1979, the kind folks at Reynolds Wrap attempted to argue with physics in their book Reynolds Wrap and Microwave Cooking. I'm sure it was a public service and not a ploy to sell foil.
My first foray into microwave baking didn't go well, so I didn't have high hopes for my nuked Spicy Date Nut Bread topped with flaming foil. In fact, my hopes were so low that I didn't bother to buy dates for it. I figured I could substitute the prunes that have languished in my cabinet since the Prune Whip incident. Besides, I'm lazy, and isn't that the true heart of microwavery?
Good riddance, summer. I'm not a fan of you, and I rejoice in Tuesday's Autumnal Equinox. I'd be remiss if I didn't send summer packing with one last blast of summer chow, though. Like barbecue. Perhaps some Ham-Peach Barbecue from 1967's Good Housekeeping's Clock-Watchers' Cook Book. Because nothing says "barbecue" quite like "clock-watcher."
When my friend Kelly gave me her copy of 1968's Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Cookbook, I thought it might be hard to find a bad recipe in a book published by the company that made New York hot dogs famous. Then I saw the cover, illustrated with a photo of a glass of wine and a crown roast made of hot dogs. Even classics can bring the suck.
The Nathan's book swings from hot-dog delights to nightmares, encompassing the best and worst of human creativity.
You wouldn't like me when I'm hungry. It's a horrible sight to behold. Although I have enough body fat to keep me alive in the wild for the better part of a month, if I go an hour past mealtime without a feeding, there's hell to pay.
My loved ones have seen the wrath of the fat, hungry food writer, and they work to keep the beast at bay, which probably explains why I'm usually not hungry when I make my Throwback recipes. Or at any other time, for that matter. To prevent the hunger-induced rants, my husband throws granola bars at me as if he were trying to fend off a starving bear with live salmon.
Being well-fed provides the luxury of pickiness, so it's pretty easy for me to snob it up on most recipes.
Even the most hardcore food snob has that one processed food that she just can't shake. For me, it's pimento cheese. These days, I usually make my own with Scott Peacock's gussied-up recipe, but a few times a year I need the processed-orange-crap-in-a-deli-tub cheese from my childhood.
Thanks to Pyrex Prize Recipes, I'm over it. With its Salmon Rice Casserole recipe, Pyrex hasn't just turned me against my beloved pimento cheese, but I don't think I'll be able to eat rice, salmon or olives in any form ever again.
Good old Betty Sullivan. She was a 1965 Superwoman. Not only did she manage to make three squares a day for her six kids and husband, but she also maintained a busy career heading the test kitchen at Hamilton Beach. With so much happening in her go-go life, Betty somehow still had the focus to write The Blender Way to Better Cooking -- 200 pages of recipes, all requiring a blender.
I think Betty was probably mixing some pretty potent Mai Tais when she developed Jellied Chicken Loaf. I've seen variations of this disaster in many old cookbooks, but Betty's is the most pulverized and contains the highest number of unnecessary steps.
Have you been despondent since last week's post? Worried about eating sea pie and dying alone? It's time to find you a man with 1952's Date Bait: The Younger Set's Picture Cook Book by Robert H. Loeb, Jr., which was loaned to me by Kelly of Sounding My Barbaric Gulp.
I don't have to bait a date. My husband Brian and I will mark ten years of wedded bliss in a few weeks. I didn't even have to make a Cheemato Soufflé to win his heart.
Pasta and putting out did the trick and was a hell of a lot easier.
There's nothing wrong with being alone, according to The Solo Chef, published in 1981 by Conran's. What the hell does a corporation that billed itself as "America's busiest home furnishing store" know about being alone?
They knew that "...no matter how many benefits arise from solitary living, eating well is rarely one of them." Because solo simpletons tend to think cooking for one is "more difficult than finding a worthwhile restaurant you can afford and feel comfortable in by yourself."
When I was in fourth grade, I loved Vienna Sausages and took them in my lunch to school several times a week. I also liked Laura Branigan and Tic Tac Dough, so what the hell did I know?
I can't remember the last time I had Vienna Sausages, or when I realized that gelatin-packed canned meat isn't the best food choice. Leave it to those jackasses at Good
Housekeeping to bring the Vienna Sausages back into my world with their 1967 Keep Cool Cookbook.
There is nothing "cool" about this cookbook. The recipes are so uncool that they get the hell beat out of them on the playground. Nor are they cooling.
No one can beat a joke dead into the dirt like I can. Since last week's meat-stretching edition of Throwback, my brain has been on a giant innuendo feedback loop. You know what cracked me up? Pickle Stretcher!
That's an exaggeration. I'm sure some of the recipes are more in line with the fresh vegetable concoctions that mean "salad" to us. There's a lot more gelatin than produce in this book, though. Jell-O's official website claims that congealed salads became popular around 1930. Gelatin's relatively cheap, and even though it's not brimming with nutritional goodness, it can make a little bit of food go further during depressed economic times.
If you're in such bad financial shape that you need to make pickles go further, you probably shouldn't be spending your time making fancy gelatin molds.
My sense of humor never developed past the age of twelve. Beavis and Butthead will always crack me up. Bodily functions? Hilarious. Cheap innuendo? My favorite. Which is why I cackle every time I come across the 1974 copy of Better Homes and Gardens: The Meat Stretcher Cookbook in my collection.
Heh. I said "meat."
So much giggling to be had in a book about meat stretching. But the killer? The Tokyo Turkey Toss. Because, oh my God, it could either be a euphemism for an unlikely sex act, à la the Dirty Sanchez, or it could involve vomiting.
I couldn't do it, though, because scrapple, like haggis, should never be vegetarian. Also, it's hot, and I don't want anything boiling for an hour anywhere near me.
Robin Wheeler writes the blog Poppy Mom. After years of making and eating fancy food, Robin is sick of it all. She's returning to the basics: recipes that haven't surfaced in three decades. She reports on the results for Gut Check every Tuesday.
While Gut Check is on vacation this week, check out some of Robin's best work:
I have seen Hell. It happened at 4:32 A.M., eight hours after I ate
half of a Friday Frank. Suffice it to say, it took exactly one month of
writing "Throwback of the House" for me to encounter a recipe that
required an Immodium chaser and lots of prayer.
How terrible
were these minced-fish grease bombs? My cat and two dogs, who act like
starving refugees when any form of food is concerned, all refused the
Friday Franks. Had they eaten it, I'd have to burn down my house to
counteract the pure evil of their intestinal distress.
Can someone please tell me about the mid-20th century obsession with
shaped foods? In my extensive readings -- two whole pages of Google
searches -- I can't find anything to explain the culinary, economical
or psychological reasons why cooks felt the need to contort foods into
loaves, rings or molds.
Was it an attempt to control something
when the rest of the world seemed out of control? Or was it the Cubism
and De Stijl movements trickling down into housewifery?
Do not serve to dads with heart conditions. The sodium and fat in the
deviled ham alone (480 mg and 15 g, respectively) are enough to make a
cardiac valve stint a little shaky.
The egg, cheese and bacon fat will slam that sucker shut, making it the
last Father's Day you'll be celebrating.
Halfway through summer vacation, and my daughter is completely sick of my face. I know I'm not much fun for a five-year-old, what with my crappy food and my perpetual
hangover. A kid can only take so many viewings of the Ice Age trilogy before she revolts against poor parenting. To distract her from the uprising I know she's planning, I put her to work.
With its handy system of indicating age-appropriateness of recipes, 1977's Amazing Magical Jell-O Desserts seemed to solve a bunch of our problems. It would give my kid something new and exciting to do, and in the process she'd be making her own damn snack, leaving me time for important grown-up tasks, such as starting fights on Twitter.
I'm not here. I'm in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, visiting my in-laws and dining on pasties (with a long A and having nothing to do with stripper attire), fudge and Scandinavian baked goods. These shining examples of regional cuisine aren't just delicious, they're also among the only edible foods in this part of the country.
With the largest concentration of Finnish people outside of Europe, the U.P. isn't exactly a flavor destination -- unless you like really hard cinnamon toast and pale sausages.
This doesn't mean Yoopers aren't interested in cooking. During my eleven years as a Yooper-in-law, I have recieved the Northcountry Kitchens Cookbook for Christmas three times.
I don't want to alarm you, but three of the recipes I've made for Throwback -- prune whip, orange-date bars and the Easter bunny antichrists -- all appear in this book, which was
published many decades after the originals.
My dad's the guy who nuked some bologna for ten minutes back in the day. He's not much of a cook, but now that he's retired, he's starting to find his way around the kitchen. He can make apple pie and jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese and wrapped in bacon.
I'm proud of his progress, and if I could be with him on Father's Day, I would reward him by relieving him of is kitchen duties for brunch.
I found the perfect recipe in Better Homes & Gardens' 1971 edition of Cooking with Cheese: Dad's Denvers.
Ah, summer food. It's the only thing I like about summer. I'd gladly live in a climate that never rose above 60 degrees if it weren't for giving up local produce, cookouts and a good old-fashioned summer cheese bake.
What? You don't have the summer tradition of cranking the oven to 350 degrees, boiling some water and suffering a clogged artery-related heat stroke? In 1958, the experts at Good Housekeeping thought that sounded like a fine idea, so they gave us a recipe for Summer Cheese Bake in Egg and Cheese Spaghetti and Rice Dishes.
I'm really starting to question the validity of the Good Housekeeping Seal because these people don't have good sense. For this "summer" treat, heat the oven and boil some macaroni. Blot yourself with some ice cubes wrapped in a cloth to prevent fainting.
My friend Maggie sent me a blog post by Spanno regarding "vintage hot dog horrors." Ha ha. Funny.
But...wait. It's just pictures of shitty old recipes. Sure, that crown roast made
of hot dogs looks hilarious, but did Spanno make and eat it? No. At least I took the effort to make my Treet crown roast and take a bite.
Okay, a nibble.
Honestly, my husband ate most of the meat product, I ate the strawberries that didn't have Treet goo on them, and the rest went into the trash. But that's not the point. The point is, it's fun to laugh at bad old recipes, but it takes an iron stomach to make them. So I'm challenging Spanno to a throwdown, wiener-style.
Robin Wheeler writes for the blog Poppy Mom. After years of making and eating fancy food, Robin is sick of it all. She's returning to the basics: recipes that haven't surfaced in three decades. She reports on the results for Gut Check every Tuesday.
This week, I looked at the May issue of Martha Stewart Living and had myself a little giggle fit over elegant gelatin recipes. This meant I'd be making something from my 1977 copy of Amazing Magical Jell-O Desserts for Throwback.
Before I could bust out my molds, I got the news that one of my favorite octogenarians had passed away. My mood for magical Jell-O faded, replaced by something more substantial.
Flo, my departed friend, was a devoted dieter -- specifically, Weight Watchers in the days before the points system and Richard Simmons. She and her husband, Rudy, followed diets created over 30 years ago. They would cheat a little during holiday gatherings with my family, where everything contains butter and cream cheese, but Flo always contributed a sensible dessert.
Robin Wheeler writes for the blog Poppy Mom. After years of making and eating fancy food, Robin is sick of it all. She's returning to the basics: recipes that haven't surfaced in three decades. She reports on the results for Gut Check every Tuesday.
I remember my family's first microwave oven. It was 1980, and the first thing my dad cooked was a few slices of bologna.
For ten minutes.
On high.
Robin Wheeler
He left the curled, blackened slices on a plate in the fridge, uncovered, for about a week.
No wonder I view microwaves as machines of destruction instead of a modern convenience. My microwave is stashed under the wet bar in my basement, handy for occasions when guests come to my house, get drunk and want to blow shit up.
Robin Wheeler writes for the blog Poppy Mom. After years of making and eating fancy food, Robin is sick of it all. She's returning to the basics: recipes that haven't surfaced in three decades. She reports on the results for Gut Check every Tuesday.
Long ago, I found two treasures at a used bookstore: a 1932 reprint of the Fanny Farmer cookbook and an old recipe binder. It's filled with handwritten recipes and magazine clippings from the 1950s through the early 1980s. I don't look at this book much, because it makes me a little sad. I imagine the woman who so carefully put together this piece of work, and I wonder why her bratty heirs allowed it wind up in heirloom no man's land.
Robin Wheeler
This week, I pulled the binder from its special spot on my cookbook shelf, sure that I wouldn't find a Throwback-worthy recipe.
This binder's full of classics -- how to prepare fresh vegetables, enough awesome cakes to make a fortune at a cake walk and instructions on making every kind of crown roast imaginable.
"Hey, Sis? Do you remember your ninth birthday, when Mom lost her shit and made a crown roast out of Treet?"
Robin Wheeler writes for the blog Poppy Mom. After years of making and eating fancy food, Robin is sick of it all. She's returning to the basics: recipes that haven't surfaced in three decades. She reports on the results for Gut Check every Tuesday.
Are you a busy lady? I'm a busy lady. There were lots of busy ladies in 1966, entering recipes in the 17th annual Pillsbury Busy Lady Bake-Off in hopes of winning the $25,000 grand prize.
What better time than the mid-1960s to be a busy lady? The times, they were a'changing. Women were taking care of their families, breaking into the workplace and getting involved. The National Organization for Women was founded in 1966.
And who knows? Perhaps one busy lady had plans to win the $25,000 and start her own organization. Like, perhaps, the Furies Collective or Redstockings.
But a busy lady can't even begin to subvert the patriarchy in earnest if she's spending hours in the kitchen every day, so one busy lady created the Busy Lady Beef Bake.
Robin Wheeler writes for the blog Poppy Mom. After years of making and eating fancy food, Robin is sick of it all. She's returning to the basics: recipes that haven't surfaced in three decades. She reports on the results for Gut Check every Tuesday.
I'm pretty shameless, but even I felt a twinge of shame upon purchasing a tub of prunes for this week's recipe. It didn't help that the cash register spit out a coupon for laxatives. I was also buying cran-grape juice and yogurt, but the store's computer system didn't diagnose me with a yeast infection and a UTI in addition to chronic constipation.
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