Date With A Pumpkin

Life, October 26, 1953

Well that's true. Morning mouth is scarier than a Halloween mask. But if you go out with guys wearing a pumpkin on your head, I guarantee that you'll scare off your date.

A better date with a pumpkin would involve making a delicious dessert out of it, not wearing it.

Here's one from The Lily Wallace Cookbook (1947) that isn't the usual pie: 

PUMPKIN ICE CREAM

4 cups light cream
2 beaten eggs
1 1/4 cups brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups mashed or canned pumpkin

Put cream in saucepan. Cover and bring to boiling point. Reduce heat. Add eggs, sugar, and seasonings. Cook, stirring constantly, until a coating forms on spoon. Stir in pumpkin. Heat thoroughly. Chill and freeze. Yield: 1 quart.

Don't forget to brush your teeth with Chlorodent after you eat your ice cream. And have a great Halloween!

The Fourteen Hour Wife

Vintage Ad Browser

Being a wife in the 1890s equals scrubbing the floor, according to Gold Dust Washing Powder. That Eight Hour Man is no captain of industry, or else his Fourteen Hour Wife would have a fleet of housemaids and they'd have to do the scrubbing.

As for me, there's no powder in the world - gold-dust-enhanced or not - that would save me any time. Never mind strength or patience. I don't know how much money it'd save either, but as soon as I'd saved enough I'd be off in my time machine looking for a Swiffer to take back to 1895.

The wording of this also implies (to me anyway) that she's only a wife for fourteen hours. As soon as she clocks off, she turns into the Ten Hour Floozy. Now that sounds like fun! I'd like to see an ad featuring her.

Trick Or Raisin

Life, October 16, 1964

Fewer tricks when you treat 'em with Sun Maid Raisins, huh?

These children are probably not all that thrilled, not really. Like Junie B. Jones, they are thinking that they did not say "trick or fruit,"* did they? But they will pretend for the camera. They'll come back and toilet paper the house later.

Having said that, the clown boy does look like he's dropping the raisins back into the bowl. Doesn't he? The tiger, too - he's about to drop them back in, too. And the girl is only smiling because she decided to hang back and wait until they get to the next house, where there's probably some candy corn, at least.

There's a particularly funny bit in the sidebar, you can see it better here, where they are pushing raisins for the grownups, too. Set out some bowls of raisins, folks, because

Perhaps you're having an adult-type party yourself!

What does that even mean, an "adult-type" party? If this adult-type person is going to have to keep answering the constant ding-donging of trick-or-treaters, I'll need something more festive than Sun-Maid  to sustain me: a chocolate martini would be ideal, I think. Straight up, hold the raisins, please.

*This is my favorite line from the classic holiday tale Junie B. Jones, First Grader: Boo...And I MEAN IT!

The Belles of the Kitchen

"Belles of the Kitchen" (NYPL Digital Gallery)

The Belles of the Kitchen was a play written by Mrs. Field, the aunt of the Vokes Family of actors - three sisters, a brother and an adopted brother who toured to great acclaim in the 1870s and 1880s.

Rosina Vokes (1854-1894) grew up in London, the daughter of Frederick, a costumier, and Sarah Vokes. The entire Vokes family acted: Rosina and her siblings Frederick, Victoria and Jessie. They had all loved to sing and dance from an early age and were encouraged to go into acting. Mrs. Field took the four Vokes children to Plymouth and there they "were taught elocution and stage action." Rosina was only four when she went to Plymouth.

Library of Congress

Mrs. Field had been a music teacher, and seems to have had many connections in the theatrical world. She arranged for the children to join a "pantomime troupe" and it was in this troupe that they became well known as the Vokes Family. But they wanted to act, not do pantomimes - so Mrs. Field wrote "The Belles of the Kitchen" for them to appear in.

"The Belles" was first performed at the Drury Lane Theatre in London in 1870, and to great acclaim in New York in 1872. They returned to New York with the play two years later, too. When the Vokes Family appeared in Toronto,Canada, one critic described the sisters as "Victoria, demure and dignified; Jessie, elegant and aristocratic; Rosina, merry and mischievous...with a sprightliness and vivacity all her own." Rosina returned to America in 1885 with her own troupe, also with great success. Sadly, she died aged 40 in 1894.

What was the play like? It was a musical comedy - with plenty of dancing involved. I suspect that it was a fairly typical vaudeville production, enlivened by the charm and talent of the Vokes sisters (and of the brothers' dancing - one critic seemed mesmerized by their legs, for some reason). I wasn't able to find a synopsis of the play. I'd also like to know more about Mrs. Field, the playwright, but she doesn't tend to be credited with writing the play. If and when I do find out more, I'll come back to this post and let you know.

Sources

"Amusements: Last Night's Incidents," New York Times, January 6, 1874 [Vokes Family in Belles, at Niblo's Theater]
"Music and the Drama," The Canadian Monthly and National Review (Volume 10, 1876), p. 184.
Welch, Deshler. "Rosina Vokes' Life,"  The Theatre (Volume 2, 1887)  p. 352.

Rosina Vokes at Answers.com

Sheet music from Belles of the Kitchen at the Library of Congress
Vokes family in the 1881 UK census (confirmed by Victoria Vokes' birth record here)

Live La Dolce Caffe Vita with the NESCAFE Dolce Gusto

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Nestle Dolce Gusto. All opinions are 100% mine.

I love coffee, no matter what. Even if my usual cup is full of instant, I am glad it is there. But once a week we go out for café lattes, and this is an amazing treat. Also expensive. Also full of the kind of caffeine that keeps me up all night, googly-eyed and cranky (such a great combination!). So we've been looking for a home coffee machine, my dear spouse and I. One that can make us special coffees, caffeine-calibrated and delicious. Ones that don't get cold when you drive them home to drink on the back porch. Well, now I know just what I want. If you love coffeehouse coffee or cocoa on a cold crisp autumn day like today - or iced cappuccinos in the summer (I know I do) - I know just what we both need: the NESCAFE Dolce Gusto.

The NESCAFE Dolce Gusto is a one-cup coffee machine that makes everything from Caffe Lungo (espresso with twice as much water as a regular espresso) to Latte Macchiato (espresso with milk) to Mochas and Chococino (otherwise known as frothy, amazing hot chocolate). You use special capsules of 100% Arabica coffee and you can adjust the froth levels, temperature and strength of your drink. I would always go for maximum froth to make a lovely crema layer. The Dolce Gusto's 15 bar pressure pump will create this with no trouble. The 15 bar pump is crucial because a regular coffee machine only has 1 or 2 bars of pressure. And the temperature can be as hot or icy as you like. It is the only coffee machine around that will make hot or iced drinks, so you can enjoy it all year round.

Wikipedia

Best of all, your coffee can be exactly as you like. This is perfect for me with regards to caffeine - as I said earlier, it affects me a lot. I would be able to enjoy fabulous lattes any time of day, yet still get to sleep at night. And I would want to try every coffee variant you can make with the Dolce Gusto, because I have only ever had lattes. What can I say, I find Starbucks et al very confusing. But I'd love to experiment at home and become a real expert.

The Dolce Gusto is sleek and modern looking, too - an asset to any kitchen counter. It comes in four designer colors: red, white, black and titanium (which is silvery). I'm thinking white or titanium would look best in our kitchen which is mostly white with wooden counters. I can dream, can't I, as I slurp my instant and write this?

You can be your own professional barista with the NESCAFE Dolce Gusto. I know that I want to be. If you go check out some of the reviews at Divine.ca, you will see that I am not alone in this. So the NESCAFE Dolce Gusto is truly at the top of my wish list for the holiday season. And if I get one before Christmas, I promise to make Santa a nice big decaf cappuccino with a lovely Christmas tree drawn in the foam, and a homemade biscotti on the side. He won't even have to leave a tip in my barista tip jar.

A Stunning Improvement

Sue: Come in, Jeannie, come right in! Let me take your - no, wait. Before I take your hat and coat - no, don't sit down! I must show you my bathroom.

Jeannie: Actually I only came over to ask if I could possibly borrow a cup of sugar. I really need to get going to pick up little Jimmy at school and -

Sue: It's right down the hall. Come on! You simply must see what I've done in here.

Jeannie: Err...oh, I really had rather not...

Sue: Don't be silly, I've redecorated! Look! Green. Everything is green. I've even got a green dress on to celebrate, see?

Jeannie: Well, yes. It is green all right.

Sue: Tell me that isn't a stunning improvement!

Jeannie: Oh, err...yes. It is! What a stunning improvement. Now I really must be -

Sue: See the rug, and the green wallpaper and the little green jars. And the toilet seat cover, look at that! It's called a Pearl Seat, apparently.

Jeannie: Goodness me. Yes. Never mind about the sugar. I'll - I'll see you later.

Sue: I can't stop peeking in. Oh - bye dear. If you run into anyone we know - just send them right over, all right?

[This 1947 ad is from the cornucopia of ephemeral wonder that is  LiveJournal Vintage Ads.]

Live La Dolce Caffe Vita With the NESCAFE Dolce Gusto

I love coffee, no matter what. Even if my usual cup is full of instant, I am glad it is there. But once a week we go out for café lattes, and this is an amazing treat. Also expensive. Also full of the kind of caffeine that keeps me up all night, googly-eyed and cranky (such a great combination!). So we've been looking for a home coffee machine, my dear spouse and I. One that can make us special coffees, caffeine-calibrated and delicious. Ones that don't get cold when you drive them home to drink on the back porch. Well, now I know just what I want. If you love coffeehouse coffee or cocoa on a cold crisp autumn day like today - or iced cappuccinos in the summer (I know I do) - I know just what we both need: the NESCAFÉ Dolce Gusto.

Wikipedia

The NESCAFÉ Dolce Gusto is a one-cup coffee machine that makes everything from Caffe Lungo (espresso with twice as much water as a regular espresso) to Latte Macchiato (espresso with milk) to Mochas and Chococino (otherwise known as frothy, amazing hot chocolate). You use special capsules of 100% Arabica coffee and you can adjust the froth levels, temperature and strength of your drink. I would always go for maximum froth to make a lovely crema layer. The Dolce Gusto's 15 bar pressure pump will create this with no trouble. The 15 bar pump is crucial because a regular coffee machine only has 1 or 2 bars of pressure. And the temperature can be as hot or icy as you like. It is the only coffee machine around that will make hot or iced drinks, so you can enjoy it all year round.

Best of all, your coffee can be exactly as you like. This is perfect for me with regards to caffeine - as I said earlier, it affects me a lot. I would be able to enjoy fabulous lattes any time of day, yet still get to sleep at night. And I would want to try every coffee variant you can make with the Dolce Gusto, because I have only ever had lattes. What can I say, I find Starbucks et al very confusing. But I'd love to experiment at home and become a real expert.

The Dolce Gusto is sleek and modern looking, too - an asset to any kitchen counter. It comes in four designer colors: red, white, black and titanium (which is silvery). I'm thinking white or titanium would look best in our kitchen which is mostly white with wooden counters. I can dream, can't I, as I slurp my instant and write this?

You can be your own professional barista with the NESCAFÉ Dolce Gusto. I know that I want to be. If you go check out some of the reviews at Divine.ca, you will see that I am not alone in this. So the NESCAFÉ Dolce Gusto is truly at the top of my wish list for the holiday season. And if I get one before Christmas, I promise to make Santa a nice big decaf cappuccino with a lovely Christmas tree drawn in the foam, and a homemade biscotti on the side. He won't even have to leave a tip in my barista tip jar.

Book Review: Discovering Words In the Kitchen

Discovering Words In the Kitchen
Julian Walker
Shire Books, 2010
96 pp.

I am known, in my family, for getting up from the table in the middle of dinner to go look up a word in the dictionary. Often it is the same Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology that my mother used to consult when she needed to look up a word we were using in conversation at dinner many years ago (so you can see where I got it from!). My family are kind and tolerant, and they like word history too, so they just smile when they hear me say "let me just look that up" and go off to the bookshelves in the next room.

Now, with Discovering Words in the Kitchen - a wonderful little culinary etymological dictionary - I can have my words and eat them (or rather, eat my dinner) too. Walker's introduction is a concise and helpful history of dining in Britain through the ages. The rest of the book is divided into sections dealing with all manner of ingredients - fruits, vegetables, cereals and so on - as well as with a few common dishes such as the omelette. The omelette (to give you an example of the things you can learn from this book) is either a variation of the Old French oeufs mêlés (mixed eggs) or possibly  from the Medieval French alumette (from the Latin for "thin layer" or "sword blade"). Kitchen implements, cupboard ingredients and general cooking terms are also covered.

So now I keep Discovering Words in the Kitchen right in the kitchen and instead of simmering (originally simpering, but also possibly from the Germanic root sim meaning to hum) when I need to drop a bit of word history into the conversational soup (Old English soppe, something in which soppets or suppets - toasted bits of bread - were dunked) - I will be able to stay in my chair and refer to this informative and very enjoyable book. This will please everyone here at home except one of the cats, who feels that she ought to have a place at the table, and takes my seat every time I leave it.

Note: Shire Books was kind enough to send this book to me for free (as well as several other titles that I'll be reviewing in the future) - but as always the opinions expressed are totally my own.

The Barnard College Locker Mystery

Wikipedia

Amateur intrepid detectives at a woman's college, some mysterious goings-on at the lockers
and a fascinating, rather sympathetic villain: all elements of an amazing true story from 1913 worthy of an American Dorothy Sayers.

Barnard College was (and still is) an all-female college, associated with Columbia University, in upper Manhattan; it was founded in 1889. The Teachers' College and Arts Building at Barnard had a problem in the winter of 1913. There was a mysterious thief who was stealing things out of the school lockers. But instead of hiring an outside, male detective to scope things out, the students decided to form a detective patrol themselves. Some of the women made rounds outside the buildings, and some staked out the locker areas. They blended into the everyday crowds of Barnard students. They were patient, too. It took them a full 30 days to find a suspect. Two of the detectives, Margaret Byrnes and Dorothy Fitch, both from Queens, told the court that they had watched the suspect try six different lockers before they reported her to school authorities and "sent to the West 125th Street Police Station for a policeman."

That suspect was Elsie L. Schmidt, "a schoolgirl from Brooklyn," according to the New York Times. She told the court that she had graduated from Erasmus Hall High School in Brooklyn in 1905.* She lived in a boarding house in Brooklyn, on Lincoln Place. The landlords didn't know anything about her; they said that Miss Schmidt had only been living there for a month. Elsie said that she was hoping to attend Barnard College to study German, and that she'd picked up the neckpiece by mistake while visiting the college. She said she'd been looking for an open locker - these were probably wood lockers back in 1913 - to leave it in for its owner. The Times noted that students now put locks on their lockers and maybe they even went so far as to find  lockers for sale that were extra-sturdy.

The Harlem Police Court was so impressed with the detective students' testimony that they held Schmidt for $500 bail - a huge sum of money in 1913. When Schmidt was arrested she was carrying a large purse, empty except for a "fur neckpiece, which was said to be the property of a Barnard student." I wish I knew what had happened to Elsie, but the New York Times does not seem to have published a follow-up (they seem to have done this a lot back a century ago, this is not the first time I've longed to know what happened).

It did not look good for Elsie, but I feel rather sorry for her - wandering around Barnard, wishing she was going to college there, maybe taking things to make herself feel, in some strange way, like she belonged there. Yet I also rather like those girl detectives prowling around the hallways and household arts lockers and gym lockers. And though I've given up fiction for the time being - it makes me want to turn this into a story of some kind.


*She was probably Elsie Louisa Schmidt, born September 15, 1892 in Brooklyn, see here.

Source: "Girl Captured By Barnard Detectives," New York Times, March 29, 1913.

The Pacesetter House of 1951

Vintage Ad Browser

This Pacesetter House of 1951 is setting the pace a little bit too fast for me. Because a fireplace is supposed to be relaxing to sit by, right? And to me, this looks a little too much like a test pattern.

I used to really like the test pattern - when I was about three. Yes, back in 1965 I used to love getting up a little bit before 6am, which was when Sunrise Semester came on, and watch the test pattern. For those of you too young to have savored this amazing visual treat, the test pattern was black and white geometric stuff that TV stations showed on your screen when they were off the air. Yes, even the TV stations used to clock off and sleep for a few hours every night, back then.

designobserver.

The test-pattern tiles aside, what also bothers me here is the grey carpeting on the ceiling. It looks like the room is standing on its head, so to speak. Maybe that's just me, though. I wish we could see the rest of this Pacesetter house. Imagine what the bathroom tiles must be like! I love the coffee table and the sofa, though.

What do you think?

Retro Road Trip: West Houston Holiday Inn, 1972

One of my favorite retro cookbooks is the 1972 edition of The Holiday Inn Cookbook, featuring descriptions of every Holiday Inn in the US and a featured recipe from each one, too. I've written about a few of the Inns here, but it's been a long time since the last one. So it's time for a retro road trip!

Viewlinerltd

And the best part is that traveling via The Holiday Inn Cookbook is that we won't need an oil change or a brake job - so let's get into the virtual Acura TL and go stay at the 1972 era Holiday Inn in west Houston! We will dine on Chestnut Shrimp in the Capri Dining Room. Note: there are no chestnuts in the Chestnut Shrimp, they are actually regular breaded and fried shrimp with - well, sliced almonds.* And with the shrimp we will have some Tart Orange Salad (yes, this is a day full of gelatin recipes here at Kitchen Retro).

Then we can frolic the night away in the Roman Club (I sense an Italian theme going on here, don't you?). We will be only 9 miles from the Astrodome and the Port of Houston, so maybe tomorrow we can go check those out. And if we need a little Houston auto repair - well, that will be right around there too. I'm not sure whether the Houston Holiday Inn in the wonderful postcard is the one we'll be at (there were four in Houston in 1972) but maybe we can go over there another time. It's a bit cold for outdoor swimming pools now, anyway. 

Tart Orange Salad

Dissolve one 6-ounce package orange Jello [sic: Jell-O] in 1 cup boiling water. Sprinkle 1/4 cup sugar over 2 cups diced oranges and let sit for 10 minutes. Drain 1 cup crushed pineapple, but save juice. Add enough water to pineapple juice to make 1 cup and add to Jello. When Jello begins to set, add fruit and chill. Serve on crisp salad greens. Serves 6 to 8.

*No, I do not know why they are not called Sliced Almond Shrimp. And it's Jell-O because that's the commercial name, you have to have the dash! Yes, I care about this sort of thing. It's all part of the glamorous life I lead. Makes me a little nutty (please pass the sliced almonds).

The October Bride

Life, October 23, 1939

You hear a lot about June Brides, but here at Kitchen Retro we have discovered some things about one of the lesser-known of the bridal species: the October Bride. No, she doesn't dress up in a pelican costume to serve Candy Corn to her guests in the brand-new wedding-present vegetable dishes. She is too modern for that. She is glad to be really modern. Too modern to make salad dressing, anyway. Not like all the pioneer women who spent hours shaking up gourmet dressings to go with mixed greens.

Or perhaps not.

Well, anyway, when the October Bride invites people over, she likes to amaze them with her delicious - well, I don't know what they are. Because she calls them "Salad Bowls"  -  in quotations. It must be code for something else.

It is code, actually, for bowls full of Hellmann's salad dressing. Never mind the lettuce and tomatoes. Just pour in a job lot of dressing. Don't even look as you pour. Grit your teeth for the camera, dear. This is what October Brides do.

But if you really, really want to put something that means salad-in-quotation-marks in your so-called "Salad Bowls," why not try this concoction from the late 1960s:

Prize Vegetable Salad (from Favorite Salad Recipes of Jaycee Wives, 1968)

1 envelope unflavored gelatin
1/2 cup cold water
12 maraschino cherries, chopped fine
1 cup cabbage, finely shredded
1 No. 2 can crushed pineapple
8 marshmallows, chopped fine
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/2 pint cream, whipped


Dissolve gelatin in cold water; add enough boiling water to make one cup. Add cherries, cabbage, pineapple,  marshmallows and mayonnaise. Fold in cream. Pour into oiled mold, chill until firm. Yield: 12 servings.


Bon appétit - and trick or treat!

Victorian House Calls

A doctor in the 19th century may not have had a hospital uniform to wear as a symbol of his profession, but he would have had other ways of letting people know exactly who he or she was. These ranged from the white lab coat to special vehicles and bags. Lab coats were first worn in the 19th century. They were worn by  doctors and scientists when in laboratories, and gradually came to be worn in hospitals as well. Lab coats were well known by 1897, when an anonymous MIT junior wrote in the student publication Technique:

I ardently struggled with clothes-bags and coat-hooks
As into my lab. coat I struggled pell-mell,
Then rushed to my locker and broke many test-tubes,
And thought that I'd rather by far be in h-ll.

If you were a doctor making house calls you would not wear a lab coat, but street clothes. Nowadays, there is quite a range of scrub sets for doctors and other medical personnel to wear as a means of keeping things and people sterile and safe; but scrubs were not developed until the 1940s. The first use of sterile attire came during the 1918 epidemic, when  medical staff began to wear gauze masks and rubber gloves.

Before scrubs, there were other things made specially for those in medicine - such as special carriages. The Physician's Basket Phaeton was "just the vehicle a physician requires." Of course you did need to add a horse to pull it (the horse was not included!).The phaeton was an open carriage named for Phaeton, son of the Greek god Helios. Phaeton took his father's fiery carriage out for a spin and set the earth ablaze in the process. The Physician's Basket Phaeton was much safer than this!

And when the doctor was riding out, he or she would want a bag to carry supplies in. The "elegant satchels" and the Solid Buggy Case at left were ideal. They do look really heavy to carry, though - don't they? Like suitcases. Good thing the doctor had that phaeton and wasn't walking.

[Phaeton image is from Leonard's Illustrated Medical Scientific Journal (1889)]

Candy Is Dandy, But Muscatel Is Swell

I've been saving this 1939 advertisement (big version here) for Muscatel and other California wines, for a long time. And since I really wanted to write a "From Ad to Verse" poem today (it's been awhile, you know!) it seemed like the ideal jumping-off point: ad plus boozy 1930s matrons plus the wife of my humorous-poem hero, Ogden Nash:

When Mrs. Ogden Nash, the gracious chatelaine,
Had bridge games and hen-filled parties on the brain
She knew that these occasions, to be really swell,
Depended chiefly upon Muscatel:

Not on wee sandwiches cut into hearts and clubs and spades
Nor on party games and ice-breaking escapades
Out of the latest book of etiquette
Can she depend to mollify this set,

For Mrs. Ogden knows, at least in Baltimore,
Some zing's required to keep friends from bolting out the door;
How well she knows her audience: these gals are tough,
And wearing twiddly hats is more than quite-enough:

More twiddle is not requisite. Indeed
Cards, snacks and booze are really all they need;
So pour that golden California wine
Into each matron's glass - they both will shine,

Both glass and gal! This party is first-rate,
Sip slowly, though, and keep your hat on straight;
So here's to those who wish the ladies well -
And those who don't can go to Muscatel.

Lavender Provender

My planters will hold a lot of lavender!

I have never been much of a gardener, but someday that is all going to change. I love fresh herbs, especially things like lavender and lemon verbena, and when I was very young someone gave me a planting kit with seeds and a bunch of tiny little plastic containers. And I tried to grow them, really I did. Only I was in a highrise apartment building and my room faced north onto a dark courtyard and...well, you can imagine how well that worked out.

Now I actually have a backyard, so all I need is a few outdoor commercial planters to put my future herbs in. Oh, and some seeds and seedlings, of course. And some gardening books! Planters are excellent for herbs, vegetable, flowers and small trees because they protect them from diseases in the soil, and from weeds. You can adjust the amount of sunlight and water they get, too. You can even shelter them on the porch when the weather gets wild. They can be small containers, of course, not commercial planters - in fact, I will probably start out small.

Lavender field in Tasmania

Having said that, a commercial planter would hold plenty of lavender, which would suit me fine. I love lavender anything - the color lavender, Yardley's lavender soap, the lavender skin cream I got on a trip to Belgium in 1989 (it was so amazing!), lavender honey, the background of this post - you name it. Maybe I will have two or three large commercial planters with different kinds of lavender, who knows! But then we will need a bigger back yard, I suppose.

What will we do with all this lavender? Dry some for sachets, of course. We can make our own lotion, oil and candles. And we can make treats like  lavender ice cream. We can even make some unusual candy. Here is a mid-Victorian recipe for lavender sweets:

Lavender Lozenges

Fourteen pounds of powdered sugar, one quart of gum, half an ounce of Mitcham oil of lavender. These are mostly colored with a faint blue or deep pink, and cut out with a fluted cutter or other shapes to fancy.

[from Henry Weatherley, A Treatise in the Art of Boiling Sugar, Crystallizing, Lozenge-Making, Comfits, Gum Goods an d Other Processes for Confectionery, Etc., 1865, p. 107]

Henry Weathersley omits any directions for mixing or cooking the ingredients (Victorian cookery and household guide writers often did this). He does tell us just how to color them and cut them out though, in case we actually figured out how to make the stuff.

[Images from Wikipedia]

Glamorene

I love some of the names that they gave products in the 1950s, and this is my new favorite: a rug cleaner called Glamorene. Doesn't that sound more like foundation makeup ("covers up all your imperfections for a more glamorous, lovelier you!") or nail polish ("won't chip for at least two days!"). But no. It is a funny looking powder that you shake on the rug after someone spills an ice cream sundae or something (hint: pick up the sundae dish first).

There were a bunch of funny ads but I restrained myself and am just going to show you two. On the right is a 1953 ad in which Mom is wielding a special Glamorene brush and has coerced her daughter not only into vacuuming but also into wearing a matching outfit complete with frilly apron. Note that the jar of Glamorene is on the clean side of the carpeting, giving an inanimate side-eye to the strangely even coat of dirt on Mom's side. That is one filthy rug! How can people who dress up in party clothes to do housework have such a dirty old rug?

I guess they are too busy keeping their frilly clothes clean. And yes, I know that those are not really party clothes. I remember going to grade school in that sort of outfit, minus the apron. In third grade we girls were finally allowed to wear pants and I was SO happy to get a pair of jeans! Yay, bellbottoms! I've rarely been so happy about a single clothing item than I was about those bellbottom jeans.

Anyway...I also wanted to show you a detail from a 1952 Glamorene ad, featuring the jar and a tiny lady dancing around next to it acting like someone had just given her the equivalent of my third grade fashion statement. Yay, I get to clean carpet soils!

Ironic note: I have just this minute managed to spill coffee on the beige rug under this desk. Where's that jar of Glamorene (and a 1950s lady with a brush) when I need one?

Ironic note #2: Maybe we don't want to use this stuff after all...Here's a 1952 Time article about a Reader's Digest sponsored nationwide "cleaning tour" of salesmen demonstrating Glamorene, which is described as a "compound of cellulose fiber (resembling sawdust)." The tour almost got derailed (or, as Time quips, had the rug pulled out from under it) when someone died cleaning a rug on a plane. The rug cleaner contained trichloroethylene, and at first everyone thought that the cleaner in question was Glamorene.  Only it wasn't. And so sales picked up again. And people still do want to buy it, too. I'm not sure that it is still being made, though.

A Long Ago Mountain Sunset

Sunset near Tucson, Arizona (Wikipedia)

In 1891 an anonymous pioneer woman wrote a letter from Arizona that was published both in the Chicago Tribune and then in the New York Times:
 
If you could see me now!...Here we are in a little mud hut, the floor of earth and the walls of mud bricks. The roof is of shingles, but spaces between permit the wind to enter and play round the cabin in gusts. A rough bed of wood stands in one corner with a wire mattress; over that are spread a buffalo robe and some blankets...There is a rude fireplace whereon burn brightly mesquite logs. Two desks and some campstools complete the list of furniture. The washstand is unique - a piece of cactus-stump with a broad shingle for the top, on which rests a tin basin. Boxes with shelves nailed in ornament the walls and serve for dressing-tables, closets, etc.

Wagon at Old Tucson Studios (Wikipedia)

...This is a wild, picturesque spot, on a high plateau, surrounded by mountain peaks, looking down upon either side into deep gulches...During the day I tramp over the hills, and at night watch for the beautiful sunset which floods the sky and mountains with purple and red. Nowhere on earth are more startling effects produced by cloud and atmosphere than here in the wilds of Arizona. ["Life in an Arizona Mining Camp," New York Times, May 5, 1883]

Wouldn't you love to go for a sunset walk with this brave, pioneering, unknown woman - and ask her some questions? I know I would. One thing I'd like to have known is how did they get any of their belongings up so high? I suppose there would have been a wagon, with a donkey or horse to pull it. Those wagons were the pioneer equivalent of modern Tucson movers or a good Phoenix moving company  - or indeed of any moving company at all. Truly, in the 1880s out West you were on your own. Certainly, a Victorian version of Billy.com movers would have given this lady the option of bringing so much more with her. Yet don't you get the sense that, despite the hardships and the cactus dressing stool and boxes with shelves, that there was this great compensation for all that in the incredible beauty of the Arizona mountain landscape? I think so.

A Pink Abomination

Pink, but quite nice really (The Bottle Depot)

Toothpaste and tooth powders were first made my the ancient Egyptians, but it was only in the late 18th, and increasingly in the 19th century, that they started appearing in various fancy flavors such as honey, cherry,orange and areca nut (betel). Toothpaste ingredients included chalk or salt, and sometimes bits of old toasted bread "blackened in the fire, reduced to powder and...mixed with a little honey and a few drops of essence of peppermint"* - not the sort of thing that would make your teeth clean!

In 1879 The Living Age told the story of an fictional inventor whose tricks were probably pretty close to those employed in some Victorian advertising:

1887 ad - will not go mouldy (in theory, anyway) as is "Climate Proof"

A tooth-paste had grown mouldy upon the counters of a score of chemists. The inventor, in an access of despair, sent a pot to the Princess of Wales, and then printed forty thousand labels calling his pink abomination the "Royal Sandringham Tooth-Paste" as used by H.R.H." What followed? The tooth-paste thus relabeled found a thousand purchasers, and in an incredibly short space of time the inventor was rich enough to fill a column of the Times with testimonials, all proving that until the Sandringham tooth-paste came into use there never was known in England such a thing as a really white set of teeth. Why did the public buy this tooth-paste?...It likes to buy what royalty buys. [The Living Age, vol. 142, 1879 p. 256]

And of course we do still like to buy things because celebrities wear them, eat or drink them, or lose weight using them. The closest thing I found to the imaginary Royal Sandringham Toothpaste was Gabriels' Royal Tooth Powder, made in the 1870s and 1880s in England. But the Gabriels' ads were rather terse and didn't have any testimonials or amusing illustrations, unfortunately. Their tooth preparations were not pink abominations, it seems.

*Lippincott's Magazine (vol. 18, 1876, p. 125).

Retro Mailbox Ingenuity

Popular Mechanics, Dec. 1911

We have an ancient wall mount mailbox - and it is getting tired. I know this because it falls out of the wall a little bit every time I leave the house, and I give it a little push in and think: you know, we need to get on this one of these days. That's because this one dates from the very earliest days of wall mount mailboxes - yet it is not a gorgeous retro vintage antique at all. We did finally replace the Mesolithic doormat, so I feel confident that we'll be buying a new mailbox very soon. I believe that at one point the mailbox used to be painted black; and it does have a nice little curlicued holder underneath the box part, for rolled-up catalogues and magazines.

The earliest home mailboxes date from the middle to late 19th century in the US. In 1863, the Post Office began delivering mail to people's homes, but since there were no mailboxes, the mailman had to knock and then wait and wait, then come back if no one was there. Gradually, people (prodded by the mailmen, no doubt) began to install mailboxes for their homes. But it wasn't until 1923 that the US Post Office made residential mailboxes (or mail slots) absolutely required - required, that is, if you wanted to get your mail.

Popular Science, Oct. 1918

The group of house mailboxes at above left are from 1911. They look like they're having a little coffee klatsch, don't they? A group of neighbors in Atlanta, Georgia put all their mailboxes on the wagon wheel, so that the mailman could spin the wheel around and thus deliver the mail quickly.

Now, wall mounted mailboxes were never an option out in the country -  not now and not in 1918. That's when a farmer in Texas set up this clever pulley system (on the right) to save him the long walk down to the mailbox and back. He even rigged up an electric bell in the wooden post so that the postman could ring when the mail had been delivered. Much better altogether to be that mailman than the one in the 1860s - who was probably still waiting to deliver some of his mail.

Cook On Your Refrigerator

Life, March 9, 1953 (big version here)

I'm not sure how this works, but it would be really convenient in a tiny studio apartment, wouldn't it? Convenient, but you wouldn't be able to cook very much, or for more than one person. Imagine trying to do dishes in that sink. Or doing more than, say, heating up a can of soup on the stove.

What is really odd, I think, is that this was made by the General Air Conditioning Corporation - not the sort of place you'd think would make anything except, well, air conditioners. It was made in both gas and electric versions and would only take up a little over 4 square feet of space. In the ad at the left, you can see different sized versions of the 3-in-1 including one with an oven unit on the left and a fridge/stove on the right (this looks like the best one to me). The "Executive Refrigerator" on the bottom has no stove or oven and looks like a modern hotel mini bar, doesn't it? You can click the link at the left to see the big version of the ad.

Life, June 11, 1951

I especially like the glee of the women in the ads - they are SO happy with this multi-purpose mini-kitchen! Just dress up in your finest evening gown, tie on an apron, and smile: dinner's just a can away!

Rubberecycle: Keeping Things Safe and Green

Rubberecycle Rubber Mulch makes it easy to go to the playground and stay safe. I remember when playgrounds were paved in cement (which I talked about in the previous post). But now, Playsfer Rubber Mulch is used to carpet playground areas and keep kids safe when they fall. It comes in a variety of colors, too: Terracotta Red, Forest Green, Royal Blue, Cocoa Brown and Basic Black. Best of all, the rubber chunks and chips that make up the mulch is made from 100% recycled scrap tires, so it is green and environmentally friendly. The playground at my kids' old grade school was redone using rubber mulch, and it was wonderful to see what a difference it made - no more scrapes and dangerous tumbles!

Rubberecycle keeps racehorses safe in the arena, too, with Surefoot arena footing that lasts for years, and stays clean and insect-free. It also cushions the horses' joints so that they can run more comfortably (I'm sure that children's joints are also cushioned by the Playsfer). Surefoot comes in the same colors as the Playsfer Rubber Mulch, and is mixed with sand for strength and stability.

Rubberecycle rubber mulch products stay safe and unfrozen all winter, and theywill last for years without excessive maintenance. Rubberecycle also makes rubber curbs for playgrounds (a fabulous idea, because I remember form my own playground-mom days how many little kids are curb-level and bump themselves badly on them), and mulch for soil-protecting garden ground cover. All of these products keep things safer while preserving the environment too: a win-win situation for us and for the earth.

Harriet and Me

Wikipedia

When I was growing up in Manhattan, I used to go to Carl Schurz Park at East End Avenue and 86th Street, just like Harriet the Spy. I wanted to be just like her, with a spy route and a belt with hooks for all her tools and pens and notebooks. I don't think Louise Fitzhugh actually said which park it was, but Harriet lived on 88th Street in New York and the park was by the river near her house - so I knew. Carl Schurz Park is home to Gracie Mansion, the official mayor's residence, and has many lovely green places, as parks do. But the bits I went to were heavy on cement.

Wikipedia

My mother and I sat on a bench at the riverside Esplanade on hot summer days. There are some great photos of the Espanade over at The City Review (and at below left, too - just mentally subtract the snow!). I drew trees, the chain link fence, and the river with a set of magic markers that came in a little tin. They didn't work very well but I loved the tin, so that was what I used. Writing in Harriet-like notebooks came later. And I kept those at home, not on a belt hook. It was safer that way.     

Harriet and I had more in common that Carl Schurz Park, though.  We both had to dress up in humiliating costumes for class dance performances. Harriet was, you may recall, an onion in her class Thanksgiving dance. And in 2nd grade, I had to dress up as an ersatz 1920s flapper to do a line dance version of the Bunny Hop. The boys just had to wear silly sashes, but the girls had to dress up in crepe paper skirts and headbands with Kleenex flowers. But at least Harriet did not have to go out in public dressed up in a lot of silliness. I did - because we had to go dance in a plaza at - you guessed it!  - Carl Schurz Park. I don't know what was worse - Bunny Hopping in the terrible June heat, or walking through the Upper East Side dressed in crepe paper and Kleenex.

Not on my head, please [Examiner]

My class also went to the Carl Schurz playground as a treat at the end of the year - dressed normally, which was in itself a treat. But the playground, alas, was paved with cement. The girls had to wear dresses or skirts - it was a school rule until about 1971. So I ran around in a dress and inevitably fell down a bunch of times which was hard on my knees. I see the photos of us all on that playground (taken just before disaster would strike, always) and that's what I think of - falling on that hard boiling hot grey cement.

But at least I didn't have to dress up like an onion.

A Great Exhibition of Cake

NYPL

We're going to go to a Victorian wedding today, and it's all because of the cake.

Very perky!

Behold the incredible bridal cake of Lord Edward Fitzalan Howard (1818-1883) and Miss Augusta Talbot, who were married in 1851, the year of the Great Exhibition. Well, and this cake certainly is a Great Exhibition in itself, so the timing was perfect. This cake is as frouffy and frilly as a satin ball gown straight out of Godey's Lady's Book. And it also has several flags and pseudo-Grecian nymphs and cherubs posing around it.
My favorite part of this creation is the little dogs (or lions, but they look more like dogs to me) in crowns sitting down at the bottom. The one in the front has quite a perky expression.

I wouldn't be surprised if this was a fruitcake because that's what a traditional English wedding cake would have been. When I got married this is what we had, fruitcake with white and lavender icing. It was really good  - even though I am iffy in general about fruitcake (partly because I am revisiting some 60s fruitcake ads for upcoming posts).

Google Books

An 1871 book called The Gentleman's Table Guide tells us what would have been served at the wedding breakfast with the bridal cake - soups, hot and cold entrees and a large variety of other sweet things including pastries and ice creams. The full menu is over on the left (and has given me several future post ideas).

Can you imagine how nerve-wracking it would have been to actually cut the Howard wedding cake? How would you even begin? (If I had been Miss Talbot, I would have sent it down to the kitchen and let them worry about it). Would you have to dismantle all those columns first? Are the statues made of sugar or did they get reused for someone else's wedding cake? And if they were edible, who got the pieces with bonus nymphs and/or roses? Because we all know that the pieces with frosting decorations are the absolute best pieces of cake to get.

White Furniture and Fog Horns

FreeDigitalPhotos

When I was a kid, we spent summers on Martha's Vineyard, before Chappaquidick, before loads of wealthy people bought houses there. It was really nice but not super fancy and the cottages we rented were just like that too - my favorite place had square low armchairs upholstered in nubbly aqua cloth, and a tea pot that looked like it had been made out of a Savoy cabbage. The black and white TV had rabbit ears which could only pick up two channels - both of which were fuzzy (to go with the rabbit ears). But it was one of the most relaxing places I've ever been.

In the upstairs bedrooms, under the eaves, there were bureaus with white drawers and the downstairs guest bedroom had a white dressing table. I've liked the look of New England cottage furniture for a long time - the retro kind, the kind I remember from the 1960s, simple and beautiful, made to be used, with lines as clean as beach sand.

Everything smelled like sea salt and lavender sachet. I used to lie awake at night listening for the soft sound of the fog horn, like a tuba being played under water. It was calling out to let me know I was very close to the ocean. I lived in the city most of the time but it's the memory of those long-ago cottages and their retro comfortable look that has stayed with me. I still dream about living on an island in a plain cottage with some retro aqua armchairs, someday. But I'll skip the rabbit eared TV, thanks.

Mrs. Peek To the Rescue!

Never mind the war effort. Or the fact that Marge is a really good air raid warden and a lot of people are depending on her to, you know, sound the air raid siren so that they can be safe from bombs - that sort of thing.

Never mind all that, because Jim is having a Cold Dinner again!

Fortunately, Warden Sally knows a lady called Mrs. Peek. And she will save the day - and the dinner. Is she also a air raid warden, too, perhaps? Or a kindly old soul who will come over to Marge's house and rustle up some Toad in the Hole* for Jim?

Well, no. She is a can of pudding. But you can heat her up in a saucepan and everything will be Jim Dandy, so to speak.

Jim is delighted that Marge has given up her job - hasn't she? No, Jim. You are getting Mrs. Peek in a can from now until V-Day. And Marge can keep wearing that snazzy helmet with the big W on it.

History Note: Mrs. Peek, who has been on the job since 1898, is still at it! And she makes cakes and other goodies, too - though Christmas Pudding is the most famous of her wares.  The Peek Frean biscuit company in Bermondsey, London, created the Mrs. Peek's brand. The canned puddings that Marge and Jim like so much first became popular during the First World War.

And the wonderful early 1940s ad is from Steve Johnson's Cyber Heritage.

*Toad in the Hole is an English dish consisting of  sausages in a Yorkshire pudding like batter.

Toad In The Hole

A Chunk of Retro Change

Meet the Spotted Wobbegong: alive and kicking, just like this blog!

I have been wondering what to do with dear old Kitchen Retro for some time. You may know the line in Annie Hall where Woody Allen's character says to Annie that a relationship is like a shark - it has to keep moving forward, or else it dies. And that's maybe also true for blogs. And I don't want Kitchen Retro to become a dead shark, really.

So I'm going to be tinkering and evolving things over here. It's going to have some category pages like

Retro Recipe Exchange
The Cocktail Party

Road Trips
Retro Etiquette

...And some other things, too, probably. On other words, there will be less of a focus on Only Ads. And more focus on the retro household/kitchen - along with some road trips, of course (cue the motel postcards!). And there will be some paid posts, too - but if you read The Doubletake (and I hope you do or will!) you've seen a couple of those over there and I aim to entertain with them the same way I do with Regular Posts.

I am going to focus on retro/vintage home/everyday stuff more - in keeping with the original concept and title of this blog - but widen and change the ways in which I write about it. There will still be old ads - here and on The Doubletake (I do love old ads!).  I am really looking forward to taking Kitchen Retro on into the holiday season and the next year.

The Head Behind the Fridge

 Hello, is that the Philco Help Line?

Yes ma'am, what can I do for you this morning?"

Um...I know this is going to sound crazy but - well. There's a head behind my new Philco fridge.

It IS an "entirely new kind of refrigerator," you know, ma'am.

But the head -

Can you describe this head, ma'am, at all?

It - it looks a little like Joan Crawford and - a little like my old neighbour, Sally. Ugh - she keeps baring her teeth at me! I really need you to send a repairman out here.  Or some really big cupcakes. I think she's hungry...

[1951 ad is from Vintage Ad Browser.]