How Miss De Grinch Got Mittens

Life, October 23, 1939

Life was all copacetic
For Lucinda de Grinch
Her coat was divine
And her shoes didn't pinch

Her makeup was thick
As the new-fallen snow
This fine winter princess
With a Maybelline glow.

But the only sweet aspect
Of Lucinda was that
A gigantic Life Saver
Was perched on her hat.

Yes, Lucinda de Grinch
Was a bit of a show-off
And her friends wore fixed smiles
And they wished she would go off.

"No, nothing is wrong,
I am perfect, it seems;
Admire me, of course -
But be like me? In your dreams!"

Then one day a box
Came for "Miss L. De Grinch"
There were mittens inside -
"More gifts! That's a cinch -

 I'm brilliant at getting stuff!"
 She said, as she grabbed;
Then the mittens addressed her:
"Madam, you've been nabbed:

"You think you are perfect,
Not a hair out of place -
Well, listen up, missy:
That's just a disgrace!

"We're all a bit lopsided
Inside and out;
I.e., no one's perfect
Of that there's no doubt.

"So put us on your hands
And you'll find, though we're fluffy,
We're sometimes too small,
And sometimes hot and stuffy -

"We will teach you to roll
With the things that life throws you
Odd sized and imperfect -
That's all the world owes you!"

And then they shut up
Since Lucinda was snoring -
Some inanimate objects
Can get rather boring.

And what happened then?
Her Fluff Mittens, they say,
On those manicured hands
Grew three sizes that day;

And that minute Lucinda stopped
Boasting so much!
She was nicer to folks,
And sometimes she went Dutch.

People said: sweet Lucinda,
She's the antidote for bitter,
But how come she can't see
That her mittens don't fit her?

Terry and the Pyrex

LiveJournal

Yes, Bill loves Terry's cooking now. Well, he'd better. He's already a disembodied head. Plus if he doesn't act happy, he is going to get those turkey legs right up his nose.

Not only that, but Terry has an ArtBeck Meat Baster, too. Look at how she's holding it - like a weapon! There's "nothing like it," indeed. And it is made of capitalized PYREX. Bill may also be made of PYREX. We just don't know.

Having said all that, basters are really helpful when you are making gravy - there was a year or two in between us losing our ancient one, and buying another. Don't ask. The only reason I can think of for our baster procrastination is that we only have turkey once a year (we get takeout on Canadian Thanksgiving).  Anyway, it was such a drag trying to make non-greasy gravy without one of these things. Also basting the turkey with a spoon was no picnic either.

But I still don't know why the ArtBeck baster top is as big as Bill's head. I think Terry may know. But I wouldn't want to ask her, not with her holding a panful of piping hot turkey legs.

Title from the comic strip/radio serial/50s TV show Terry and the Pirates, see here; also a 1940 movie, over here.

Mirror Mirror

Life, December 4, 1970

So did these ladies actually use the True-to-Light II or what? Because they all look a little bit orange. Especially the one in front. Maybe they set the True-to-Light to the festive Holiday Canned Pumpkin setting.

I must tell you that I really do have one of these. My mother got it for me when I was about to go to college, I think - so mine is from the late 1970s. I liked wearing makeup back then. I had quite a collection of orangey lip gloss and maroon and green glitter eyeshadows, all sorts of strange 1970s cosmetics. But the mirror itself - which looks exactly like the one in this ad - well, the lighting was supposed to be indoor, outdoor, day or evening and - it all looked the same. Pretty much. Some settings were a tiny bit brighter, I don't recall which. And the mirror bit would swing around whenever you tried to adjust the light, like a revolving door.

It's up in a closet somewhere and I am too lazy to go hunt around for it and then plug it in. At least I never wore foundation or fake tanner, so I mat have had green sparkly eyelids, but at least I never looked like I was second cousin to a pumpkin pie.

Here's a great 1972 commercial for the True-to-Light, shot in a weird pinkish haze (goes with orange!). It features the immortal line: "Unfortunately, most American women look best in the bathroom."

A Pantry In Boston

Widener Library (Wikipedia)

A long time ago we lived in an apartment in a 1920s house in Boston. It had high ceilings, and each kitchen pantry cabinet was so tall that you had to stand on chairs and things to get the dishes down from the top shelves. The floor was red and white linoleum, and there was a funny narrow butler's pantry off the kitchen, the only pantry I've ever had. It was my absolute favorite part of the whole place. Better even than my study, a room with windows on three sides.

My 1920s kitchen had 1920s appliances - no stainless steel kitchen sink for me, but who cared, when there was a special little room full of built-in cabinets, and narrow drawers, and shelves for all the cans and bottles and bags you could possibly want? Why, the kitchen cabinets could just be for dishes and glassware and cutlery. Because the pantry was where all the imperishable food went - if you were lucky wnough to have a pantry, that is.

That year I made gingerbread people that looked like the people I gave them to, and tried to write a thesis about Victorian novels (that did not work out as well as the gingerbread) and wandered around Harvard Square looking in bookstores. And I went to Widener Library to read old 1950s magazines in huge binders, in a particular dark nook with a single table and some chairs - with no kitchen chair pads or indeed any pads at all. I sat at the table with my 1950s magazines, with shelves and shelves of dark books watching me. It was like a pantry full of books, I suppose.  I especially remember one ad about how wonderful sugar energy was for kids - and a pictorial about women coping with kids who looked like sugar was the last thing they needed.

It was a strange year in a lot of ways, and hard too, and it seems like such a long time ago. But that butler's pantry - I can still see it in my mind, even if the rest of that apartment is dim as that odd corner of Widener. I love the kitchen I have now, but still: someday, I'll have a pantry again. I'm quite sure of it.

Going Through the Wringer

This Acme Single Clamp Wringer was advertised in 1955 in the British women's magazine My Home. Supposedly this makes room even in a "tiny kitchen" to do a full wash. Well, maybe. But I don't think a full wash load is going to fit in there.

The disembodied head is not so sure either. Look how she's gritting her teeth. And those eyebrows are scary, too. Mind you, she's a disembodied head, so maybe she doesn't have that much wash. 

Yes, this  ad certainly makes me appreciate my washing machine. And the dryer. I am so glad I do not have to turn the kitchen sink into a hand-cranking wash tub with a mini-mangle clamped onto the side. Particularly since I am just getting to the wash now, after being out all day trying to find presents and things for people. It is not Black Friday here in Canada, you see. Just a normal drag-around-the-mall day. I'm not giving any thanks for malls. But for modern washers and dryers, yes.

An After Dinner Mint

Wikipedia

This post is sort of a virtual after dinner mint: refreshing, mind-clearing and invigorating. Peppermint, chocolate and financial planning all in one. So as you are digesting your turkey and stuffing, in advance of all that Black Friday shopping - let's talk about money for a minute.

Once Thanksgiving is over, we all start thinking about Christmas  - or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or the Winter Solstice - or any combination therein. About shopping for presents, right? And the tree. And the baking of cookies and making of fruit cakes and puddings and so on. Oh, and Christmas stockings - it is amazing how much you can spend on those.

So one thing to put on your wish list might be some free online budget worksheet
and home budget software from Mint.com - not only won't it put a hole in your Christmas stocking budget (I couldn't resist that little pun) but it might just help you feel merrier about your money. And that's a good thing. I'm sure that Santa would approve - and maybe he'll even bring you a box of those delicious really really dark chocolate mints that you only seem to see for sale in December. I certainly hope so.

Nesselrode Pudding: A Thanksgiving Dessert

Count Nesselrode, thinking of dessert

It's Thanksgiving 1894, and you would like to serve your guests the most expensive, luxurious dessert that you can manage.

Can you guess what you'd be making? According to the New York Times, you'd be busy making Iced Nesselrode Pudding - and after they indicate with a vague verbal hand wave how expensive it was going to be (very), they tell you how to make it.

First, let's talk about what Nesselrode Pudding actually is. It was named for Count Karl Robert (Charles) de Nesselrode (1780-1862), a Russian diplomat who was best known for negotiating the Treaty of Paris after the Crimean War, and for this frozen dessert which was created either by the great French chef Carême, or by Nesselrode's personal chef M. Mouy (sources differ, as they are wont to do). Nesselrode desserts - be they puddings or pies - were cream-based, and flavored with chestnuts, rum and candied fruit (which was itself known later on as Nesselrode). Nesselrode pie was popularized in New York by Hortense Spier, a restaurant owner of the 1890s known for her fancy pies.

Getting back to Thanksgiving 1894, the New York Times noted that Nesselrode pudding was the "ice taken oftenest by women at restaurant tables" and that if some "plucky woman cares to attempt it in her Thanksgiving menu" they would give us "a receipt to make that expensive and delicious dessert at home." Chestnuts were considered a luxury in the 1890s, as was the candied fruit. For example, the Thanksgiving Day menu for the Plaza Hotel in 1899 listed a number of desserts. Nesselrode pudding was one of the more expensive ones at 40 cents - pumpkin pie was only 20 cents, and even champagne jelly would only set you back 25 cents.

So one might be inspired to save money and make a delicious Nesselrode pudding at home. Here is what the plucky home chef would need to do:

Wikipedia

Boil till tender three cupfuls of the large French chestnuts; remove the shells and brown skins, and pound to a pulp; cut a pound of French candied fruit into little pieces; cover with a wine glass of sherry; put in a cupful of water, with two cupfuls of sugar, and boil four or five minutes, or until it spins a light thread. Beat the yolks of four eggs to a froth, remove the syrup, and beat it into the eggs. Return to the fire and beat again. When the mixture reaches the boiling point put it on a table and beat until cold. Then add a pint of whipped cream, the fruit and the chestnuts, and a teaspoonful of vanilla. Freeze in an ice cream freezer, and stand away for two or three hours. The French candied or cooked fruit can be had at any first-class grocery store. For the benefit of persons living in smaller places it may be said that candied cherries and pineapple cut in bits and treated to the wine soaking answer every purpose of flavoring, and are usually to be made or obtained without difficulty.

And after spending lots of money on the chestnuts and candied fruit - both of which were considered to be luxuries in the 1890s -  she'd figure out how to budget taking everyone out for Thanksgiving dinner.

Source:  "Her Point of View," New York Times, November 25, 1894.

A Thanksgiving Ad to Verse: Lose Some, Windex Some

Life, November 16, 1942 - bigger version here

 [The stanzas in italics are from the ad on your left, and the stuff in normal font is what I've tacked on. Happy Thanksgiving!]

There's no doubt this lady
Is sadder than most
In fact she's all ready
To give up the ghost.

She's faced with a
Thanksgiving dinner for ten
And a window-wash job
Big enough for six men.

But wait! Inspiration
arrives just in time -
Doesn't WINDEX clean windows
so fast it's sublime?

Well, this poem goes on
You can imagine just how -
Missy sprays on the Windex
And avoids having a cow.

But really, does not
She have more pressing worries
The turkey is frozen,
Uncle Jake prefers curries,

The potatoes are lumpy
And the peas are a problem
They're so mushy and stewed
Even Fido won't gobblem.

And no one likes turnips
Which of all the side dishes
Is the only one finished
Surely this lady wishes

For something more culinary
And sooner, not laterer -
The heck with clean windows,
Unless WINDEX is a caterer.

The Groucho Marxist T Shirt

Wikipedia

One of the best funny t-shirts I've ever owned was a Groucho Marx T shirt  from the early 70s, when there was a revival of Marx Brothers films in New York. My parents took me to see some of them, which began my lifelong love of the Marx Brothers. It's a white T shirt with a caricature of Groucho that's saying "Tell 'em Groucho sent you." And so I did!

I like a lot of their movies from the 1930s, like A Night at the Opera and Animal Crackers, but I also  enjoy their first movie, The Cocoanuts, made in 1929, when talkies were very new. It was based on a Broadway musical from 1925 which was written for them. Both the play and the movie make fun of the 1920s Florida real estate boom. Groucho's character runs a hotel called the Hotel de Cocoanut, and there is much horsing around in the hotel lobby. Harpo drinks ink and eats a telephone at the check-in desk - which were actually made of Coca Cola and chocolate.

Since sound was such a new innovation in the movies in 1929, all the paper in the film had to be saturated with water so it wouldn't make any noise. And the poor cameraman was shut up in a glass booth (to keep things quiet on the set) loaded with ice (to keep the cameraman from overheating). Five songs in the movie were by Irving Berlin, but none of them were particularly memorable - anyone recall "Monkey-Doodle-Doo" or "Tale of the Shirt"? I thought not.

I also like all of the Marx Brothers movie posters, like the one for The Cocoanuts (above right). You can see that this was the only movie where Harpo had a red wig (you can't tell in the actual movie, since it was in black and white). I love how outrageous they were for their time, and how whenever they show up in the movie, the boring conventional plot would go right out the window. These days, the most revolutionary I get is perhaps waiting a bit past the Due Date for some of my library books. Done, ideally, while wearing a Groucho Marx T shirt. Because as an anonymous Frenchman once said, I am a Marxist -  of the Groucho variety.

The Candy Show: New York, November 1893

The real Temple of Vesta in Rome

What fun it would be to go to the Candy Show in New York City in November 1893. It ran from November 6 to the 25th, and was held at the Lenox Lyceum, a concert hall at Madison Avenue and 59th Street. Almost four thousand people went on the first day.

Candy companies from all over the United States were there to make candy right in front of the visitors who would then eat it. All the candy booths crowded the Lyceum's main floor and balcony, with a model of the Temple of Vesta - modeled after the one at the Chicago World's Fair earlier that year - right in the middle of the main floor. There were coconut-opening and caramel-wrapping contests, with gold medals for those who excelled at these events.

Wikimedia Commons

One New York Times reporter who went noted that most of the salesgirls there seemed to be named Bessie, and they offered chocolate bonbons, licorice, caramels and peanut brittle, among other things. Miss Bessie Day was in charge of cough drops (not officially candy, but never mind). Miss Bessie Montague offered "honeyed words and peppermint sticks." And Miss Bessie Bellerouge of the Geneva Fruit Company, who changed her outfit three times a day (white in the afternoon, pink in the evening, and sometimes blue) sold "cooling drinks" - which must have been welcome after all those sweets. There were 200 pounds of candy made fresh every day.

Peanut brittle, a popular confection in the 1890s and ever since then, too, was a top seller at the Candy Show:

There was a special demand for peanut brittle, which is the greatest rival of Graham's Boston chips [these were a kind of molasses taffy, apparently], dispensed by Miss Bessie Harrigan, who has dark eyes, the patience of Job with...young men with high collars, and the strength of a two-horse power engine, apparently, for she shovels out chips all day and half the night, and keeps her temper through it all.

The best part of all? The candies "look so good," said the reporter - and you can almost see him licking his fingers and pausing to sit down and rest his stomach for a brief moment - "and may be had for the asking, almost in unlimited quantities." One gentleman (possibly the same reporter) had "visited the exhibition about ten times and eaten something like twenty pounds of candy." And every woman who went to the candy show and bought a ticket, the New York Times said, would get a big box of bonbons - two pieces each from every candy maker there, "enclosed in his own wrapper." Pepto Bismol - and toothpaste - not included.

Sources:
"Candy Exposition Opened," New York Times, November 7, 1893.
"Attractions at the Candy Show," New York Times, November 8, 1893.
"Many Women, One Mind," New York Times, November 16, 1893.
"Miss Bessie at the Candy Show," New York Times, November 17, 1893.

Turn and Face the Strange Changes

Well, hello there.

I have done it. After much thought and agonizing and all that fun stuff.

Yes, Kitchen Retro has got a shiny new custom domain name! Now making the transition to making the scene at http://www.kitchen-retro.com. Expect hiccups and redirects and yes, even more blog posts in the days to come. More later, and apologies in advance for said hiccups...

Now I'm going to go customize Virtual Dime Museum. Hiccups in stereo!

How Green Was My Living Room

Millie Motts

Oh hi there! Come on in, I was just sitting around - waiting to show off my new favorite color. Can you guess what that color is? Why yes, green.

I've got the most divine green wall-to-wall carpeting. And I painted the walls a beautiful minty green, sort of a toothpaste green.

Green bellows, right near the fireplace, see? And of course the plants are green, ha ha! There's not much in here that isn't the color of chlorophyll cough drops. I will be painting the furniture green very soon. And redyeing my shoes. And my dinner parties will feature lime Jell-O molds filled with string beans and celery, avocados stuffed with canned peas, and Mountain Dew Cake with green frosting  for dessert!

*****
The green carpet in this picture is the exact color of the even-then-they-were-retro armchairs in the cottage we used to go to on Martha's Vineyard in the 1970s. But the whole place wasn't that color. Just the chairs, and the teapot that looked like a Savoy cabbage. That teapot was just like this one at Tea At Home With Olivia, isn't it great? There were cabbage teacups and saucers, too - a whole set, I believe. I certainly wish I had that set now, even though I collect blue and white china and pottery. And though I am not like the lady in the picture, I would serve green tea in that cabbage teapot, oh yes I would.

Mountain Dew Cake

Stove On Wheels

From Graphic Design TJS Labs

There's an episode of Seinfeld, "The Bottle Deposit," in which (among other things) Kramer and Newman ruin Jerry's car engine because when they borrow the car, they put their groceries under the hood. "The Triple A guy says I was this close to sucking a muffin down the carburetor," Jerry says.

Well, this Dinty Moore enthusiast from 1939 would understand this. But why stop at using the engine as a kitchen cabinet? Why bother to unload the groceries at all? You see, W.M.G. is very busy. He is a salesman "miles from the nearest restaurant." And the concept of the sandwich does not seem to have occurred to him. He simply must have a hot lunch. So he has hit upon the brilliant idea of attaching cans of stew to his exhaust manifold. After all, it is piping hot. And for dessert he can whip up some cherries jubilee with a can of pie filling and the cigarette lighter.

You have to wonder why he's brought the car in to the mechanic, though. Well, not really. I think we all can guess what the problem is - just a bit of lunch stuck in the engine. Here's hoping it isn't Ox Joint Stew day.

Burgers Really Swing

Ebony, June 1968; big version here

Oh, groovy, man. Burgers for dinner. But not just any old burgers, that would be a drag, a stone drag. These dudes really swing. Bitchen in the kitchen!

These burgers are making the scene - which happens to be a white background. They're being free, hanging loose, being themselves. Too bad it's 1968, they're a little too late for Woodstock. But hey, whatever.

And why are they all so far out, boss, rad and fab? Because when they say "lay it on me", they are talking about Best Foods mayonnaise, that's why. And whoever laid it on them wasn't kidding, either.

The Pink Panther burger has a splotch of mayo mixed with ketchup, and a pickle slice. Freaky. And the Flipsville has mayo and a spear of green onion. You may actually want to flip that one right over, because it does not look delicious. The Danish Mod is into cucumber. Egg Foo Yum gets with a horrible pun and some egg.

But the Dixie Belle is kind of a flake out. It thinks a tomato slice and a big splodge of mayo is cool. Why is it called a Dixie Belle? In what alternative universe is it groovy? Where are the tops of the hamburger buns?

And who thought this was a good marketing idea? Clue me in, man, 'cause I have no idea.

Dig some 60s slang at The Official 60s Site - and also over here, courtesy of Mrs. Cone's swinging 1964-5 9th grade English class.

The Last Word In Comfort

The Rotarian, April 1914

It's 1914 and we are going to go stay at the brand-new and luxuriously modern Rice Hotel in Houston, Texas. The Rice Hotel, at 909 Texas Avenue, had just been rebuilt in 1912; the first Rice Hotel (1883) was named for owner William Marsh Rice, founder of Rice University. It is on the site of the original Capitol building of the Republic of Texas.

Our room will have a lavatory and toilet, but you have to take a bath down the hall. That's all right, I guess, because -  although they are not Hansen Wholesale Ceiling Fans - all rooms have do have Ceiling Fans. Every room description on the right hand side of the ad mentions those ceiling fans! So we will be glad, as we lounge in what a 1913 ad calls "solid comfort" on "solid mahogany furniture" (they liked the word solid) - there aren't going to be air conditioners for awhile yet. So a Ceiling Fan it is.

Ceiling fans were invented in the 1860s, before electricity. Did you know that they were powered by running water back then? The water powered a turbine and several belts in a complicated way that I can't begin to explain to you. So I won't. Just be glad that the Rice Hotel in 1914 has electricity (electric ceiling fans were invented in the 1880s).

When we moved into our 1920s-era house, there was a huge ceiling fan in the living room - and no central air conditioning. Until we got A/C, it was fabulous having that ceiling fan. It really did a great job. And I do miss it sometimes, since I like retro things (as you know). And if you're like me, you can find out who makes the Best Ceiling Fans here! All kinds of brands, such as Hunter, Minka Aire, Casablanca, Fanimation and Emerson - whatever you like. No running water or turbines needed to run them, either.

A Zesty After-Dinner Plot

What does this picture say?

It asks the perennial question: What on earth did they serve at that dinner party? Everybody is asleep, or close to it. Even the two guys who are (just about) standing up.

Except for the hostess, apparently, and one lucky friend. They are full of pep and Virginia Dare wine, which they have not shared with anyone else. Half a bottle each, a nice well-balanced meal. They served everyone else turkey basted with Benadryl gravy, followed by glasses of warm milk.

Virginia Dare wine is so "zesty" that it actually wakes you up, you see. It's the espresso of alcoholic beverages. "The only wine of its kind in the world" - no kidding. But I still want to know what those two are plotting, don't you?

The 1944 ad is from Graphic Design TJS Labs.

When You Feel Like A Teapot

Dr. Alvin Wood Chase (1817-1885) was the author of Dr. Chase's Recipes for Everybody, first published in 1867. It was a cookbook, a household guide and a set of informal medical management courses - and it also provided solace and advice to regular non-medical people. Today I'm looking through it to see what he says about the Vapors or Low Spirits. Now I am not in Low Spirits at all, but I am feeling a little like lying on a chaise longue fanning myself, which pretty well equals the Vapors in my opinion (here is another explanation of the vapor phenomenon). Let's see what he has to say, then we can all take a break!

 Library of Congress

Dr. Chase says that doctors ought to know better than to call the vapors a real disease, but they hadn't had a medical teaching course for doctors and did not know any better. Maybe those doctors got the vapors too. Dr. Chase says it feels like you are "converted into a glass bottle" that is so fragile it - or rather you - cannot be handled, and you just lie down and take a lot of naps.  He also says that patients can "fancy themselves dumb waiters, tables, teapots, or to have lost their legs." Now this rather indicates that Dr. Chase hadn't had a medical teaching course any more than his colleagues had, but no matter. I guess if you feel like a teapot that needs a nap, that's what you feel like.

But there comes a time when you want to do other things besides sing about being tipped over and poured out. Dr. Chase says we need to energize our brains again with "tonics of quinine and iron, and anti-spasmodics, [such] as those of camphor, valerian, opium, ether, etc." And we need to take warm or cold baths, combined with a "carefully arranged" diet which includes wine. If all else fails, we must take a tablespoon of tincture of cardamom three times a day or "a tea-spoon of Gregory's powder in a little peppermint water."

Well, Dr. Chase, I am going to conduct a one-minute teach the teacher course and tell you what I think we should do if we get the vapors: go for a long walk on a wintry beach; come home to a tonic of hot chocolate; have a carefully arranged diet of your favorite takeout (I will agree with Dr. Chase here about the wine). And if all else fails, follow this with a warm bath and a tablespoon of Harvey's Bristol Cream (Gregory can take his powder* somewhere else). That ought to cure any tendency to feel like a sleepy teapot.

*Gregory's Powder was a mixture of powdered rhubarb, powdered ginger and "light magnesia" - see here. I guess the ginger - plus the peppermint water - would wake you up a bit.

Source: Chase, Alvin Wood. Dr. Chase's Recipes; or, Information For Everybody (1888), pp 279-80.

My So-Called Pumpkin Pie

"Maybe you didn't know it," smiles Dinah, "but most so-called pumpkin pies are made with squash!"

Well, it is good to know how to substitute things, in cooking. I always substitute applesauce for oil or butter in baking - it makes everything much healthier, plus you don't have to work the butter into the sugar, which takes a long time. I'll do it for holiday baking, or something, but not for any old blueberry muffin that comes waltzing down the counter.

This 1944 ad is all about substitutes. First of all, that does not even look like Dinah Shore (just ask the cartoon cat, he looks like he knows something). And second, she is saying that most pumpkin pies are made of squash! Now, I realize that this is taking place during World War II, but was there really a pumpkin shortage? Were they rationed? Sugar was, and coffee, and processed foods - here's a list.

So maybe canned pumpkin was rationed. But still. People could make pumpkin pie out of those little sugar pumpkins. I made crustless pumpkin pie out of a couple of those a month ago. Of course, then we got a big pumpkin for Halloween and I said: oh sure, I'll use this one too! We didn't carve it or anything, because we were kind of lazy this year. It has been out on the back porch wearing a bike helmet for the last week and I think I'm going to have to give up on it now, it is going off. Speaking of lazy. So maybe I will go buy some of Dinah's frozen squash! Hey, why not. I'll just call it pumpkin. And no one will ever know, unless they read this blog...

A Superb Cup of Real Coffee Goodness

Life, September 22, 1941

Why yes, this is just how I make instant coffee in the morning. First, I gaze lovingly at the coffee cup. Then I grin at the spoonful of instant coffee while holding it suspended above the cup. Nope, not in a hurry at all! Not cranky. Not exhausted. Not minding quite when I get that cup of coffee, not at all.

But wait, there's more. As I pour the hot water into the cup, I make a cute I-am-concentrating face. And then I hold up the cup to an imaginary camera and raise my eyebrows while my whole face says YAY.

And I am doing all of this in an inch-thick layer of makeup. Including brows so pointy I could probably open a can of coffee with them.

How can they possibly say that this is "without the work"?

Oh, well. I guess this was all new in 1941, new and exciting. Actually, instant coffee had been around since 1901, when inventor Satori Kato brought it to the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. It was first sold around 1910 (I'll see if I can get an ad from around then, sometime). But Nescafé had just put an improved version on the market in 1938 and they were ready to party.

So I guess this was quite exciting. And at least she wasn't using hot tap water, right? You have to change back into your old housedress and wipe off the makeup before you're allowed to do that.

The Pie of Tomorrow

NYPL Digital Gallery

Meet Mrs. Leo Steingut, champion baker, and Mr. Roy Moulton from the Piccadilly Circus Restaurant. They are at the 1939 World's Fair in New York City and Mrs. Steingut is receiving accolades from Mr. Moulton for her Pie of Tomorrow.

I love that: the Pie of Tomorrow. And yet there it was, that day in 1939: a Pie of Today. And now? It's a Pie of Yesterday! That's some pie. But what kind of pie? I looked at the back of the photo over at the New York Public Library site: they aren't telling. It looks like a kind of cream/berry concoction. They could be blueberries or raspberries. That's all I've got. I don't know what's so evocative of the future about berries and cream, but let's just run with this.

Just in case you want to make a forward-thinking, modern dessert, here's a different 1930s pie recipe. Let's call it the Pie of Next Tuesday. You can serve it when and if Alice in Wonderland comes to tea; she's already had Never Jam Today. This is from Ida Bailey Allen's wonderfully wacky Food For Family, Company and Crowd (1936). I incorporated the ingredients into the text to shorten things a bit, but otherwise it is all Ida. Have you ever heard of a chocolate oatmeal crust before? I hadn't. It sounds pretty good, too (though maybe not with lemon - I'd go with Mrs. Steingut's berries and cream):

Black and Gold Pie

Crust: Add 1/4 tsp salt to  2 cups milk and scald in top of double boiler. Pour in 1/2 cup quick cooking oatmeal slowly, stirring constantly, and cook until thick and smooth. Add 3/4 cup sugar and 1 square unsweetened chocolate and cook 15 minutes longer. Cool until stiff enough to hold its shape, and line a 10-inch pie tin with a thick layer. Fill with Golden Filling. Cover with meringue and bake 20 minutes in a slow oven, 300 degrees.

Golden Filling:  Mix 1/2 cup sugar, 1/4 tsp salt and 4 Tb flour in top of double boiler. Add 1 cup boiling water slowly, and cook until thick and clear. Place over hot water and add 2 slightly beaten egg yolks and the grated grind of one lemon. Cook 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from stove and add 3 Tb lemon juice and a Tb of butter. Cool and pour into chocolate shell.

Meringue: Add 1/8 tsp salt to 2 egg whites and beat until stiff. Add 4 Tb sugar slowly, beating constantly,. Completely cover pie with meringue, so as to prevent shrinkage when cooling. Makes 6 servings.

Random Thoughts and Asparagus Spoons

I have never been that happy about asparagus, but you never know. Maybe I'm just using the wrong silverware. I just wanted to post something, say hi, let you know what's up (nothing too dramatic, not to worry).

For my Entrecard pals: just so you know, I'm taking a break (could be a day, could be more, I don't know) from dropping  - there seems to be a virus/malware/ Blue Meanie type thing that I almost-accessed through my EC drops (once with the toolbar and then once even when I was being super-careful) so...I think I'm OK, have checked and cleaned everything, and I fled the scene before anything really happened. But you ought to know. Please be careful! I even went on Twitter to let people know, and you know how bad I've been at twitting. Tweeting. Whatever. And I let Entrecard know, too, but - well, we'll see.

I am also doing some freelance stuff so I will be updating my blogs (I have books to review here and at the Dime Museum) - but it will depend on what else I'm working on. I'm writing some eHow stuff, and other things. On antiques among other things, which makes me want to write about more antique kitchen/house stuff here. So I'll sort of be popping in and out. I will also try to visit and comment more. I have been lousy at that, I know. I'll try to be better!

Oh, and I've also written some Squidoo lenses, which are quite fun. There's a Squidoo widget on the sidebar. I need to do some non-Halloween stuff over there. How long can that Molasses Kiss lens last, anyway? (Insert joke about stale candy and stale seasonal topics, here)

Last disjointed thought: if those people are eating asparagus, WHY are the Oneida people showing us a big spoon?

The Krispy Kan

Life, May 22, 1950

I really like vintage tins and kitchen oddities, and sometimes the way I find out about them is through old ads. Someday I will have a kitchen full of wonderful retro stuff. The tin measuring cups and spoons I have from the 50s work better than any other I've had. Same goes for the old porcelain mixing bowls that were my mother's. And her wooden spoons always mix things perfectly.

Now I just need to stop wasting all those saltines and Ritz crackers, apparently. I need a little Blue Magic in my life (and my kitchen).

Just check out the magnificent Krispy Kan over on your left. Which I want! How could you not want this gorgeously cheesy canister (thus perfect for crackers)? It has a Magic Knob that absorbs moisture, so your saltines will be crunchy. It has a Beautiful Design of cracker flowers, thus visually reminding you what is inside! And it has many tiny cartoon ladies extolling its virtues. Perfect.

And you can see the Krispy Kan here at The Hunt For Vintage, at Davey's Vintage and at GoAntiques. It came in a variety of lovely colors - blue, red and yellowish, at least, from the look of these.

Steel-Water and Florence Oil

Augustus d'Este (1794-1848), a cousin of Queen Victoria, is considered to be the first confirmed case of  Multiple Sclerosis (MS), an inflammatory disease affecting the myelin sheaths which surround the brain and spinal cord. It was formally described for the first time in 1868 by French neurologist Jean-Martin Charcot.

Jean-Martin Charcot (Wikipedia)

From 1822 to 1846 d'Este kept a fascinating diary (which  was discovered in 1948) of his symptoms and of the various treatments that he underwent. He suffered from weakness in his hands and legs, numbness, dizziness, tremors and periods of impaired vision. Though he was confined to a wheelchair by the 1840s, d'Este remained cheerful and optimistic about life. I had never heard of him before, and was fascinated to learn about the types of early MS treatment that d'Este endured. For example, d'Este was regularly dosed with steel-water and Florence oil - neither of which I'd ever heard of, even though I have often written about Victorian patent medicines on my history blog.

Steel-water was a kind of mineral water that was used both internally and externally to treat "chronic inflammations of the eyes and eyelids" [Thomas Jameson, A treatise on Cheltenham waters and bilious diseases, 1809, p. 139]. The mineral composition of steel water is given here in an 1882 book about mineral waters - the "steel" probably refers to its iron and carbon content, as iron and carbon are the main components of steel.

Wikipedia

And Florence oil? That was simply a type of olive oil, imported from (where else?) Florence - "a very fine kind," too, according to the London Medical Gazette in 1837. In the early 19th century, it was used as a remedy for arthritis or joint pain, which is probably what d'Este took it for.

D'Este's meals were not typical of a modern Multiple Sclerosis diet - d'Este's physician, a Dr. Kent, advised him to eat beef steak twice a day and drink plenty of  "London Porter and Sherry and Madeira wine."* MS patients today would eat very differently: the protein in the steak would be fine, but today one would want to eat lots of fruits and vegetables, avoid caffeine and alcohol (so no porter, sherry or Madeira!) and also have some fish and whole grains too.

I've always enjoyed reading biographies, letters and diaries of famous (and not so famous) people. I have put d'Este's diary on my reading list: I look forward to learning more about his difficult life, and the cheer that he managed to sustain through it.

*Murray, T.J.  Multiple Sclerosis: The History of a Disease (2005), pp. 35-7.

Additional Source:
London Medical Gazette; or Journal of Practical Medicine, Volume 20 (1837) p. 376.

No Fruit - No Pony Ride!

From TJS Labs Graphic Design (Good Housekeeping 1935)

I now have another catchphrase to alternate with my previous favorite, "Glad I wore these official shoes!" And it is all thanks to dear Dorothea and her Little Lord Fauntleroy of a son, Egbert, who dislikes his breakfast.

I also love Egbert's opening line,  "Tell me, mother...what time do I canter?" Just the sort of thing you'd say to mom at breakfast.

But Dorothea's snappy comeback is my new favorite saying: "No fruit - no pony ride!" You tell him, sister.

How did Egbert even get to be English? Dorothea doesn't come across as English at all. She is getting way too excited about that juice, for one thing.

Also she'd have a little more Mary Poppins in her - "no fruit, no pony ride" would not mean "Honey please please drink this lovely juice and then you can have a lovely ride on Mr. Trotty." It would mean no fruit no pony ride, buster!

Maybe Dorothea started out all starchy and British and then the Libby's got to her. That could happen, right? Libby's Pineapple Juice seems to please the little prig, though. And his mother looks so relieved. Just you wait, though, Dorothea. Wait until he gets a load of what's on the luncheon menu. Or until Mr. Trotty decides to canter off and join the circus. Libby's can't fix everything, you know.