A Sinister Chicken Salad

Here is another lesson in etiquette from 1920s social pundit Lillian Eichler. I love the way this sounds like an excerpt from a second rate novel about flappers and the psychological stresses of the Jazz Age. Which apparently include chicken salad:

She hears herself give the order as in a daze. She hears him repeat the order to the waiter, in a rather surprised tone. Why HAD she ordered that again? He would think she didn't know how to order a dinner. Well, did she? No. She wasn't sure of herself. She didn't really KNOW.

[It is a little bit rude of the gentleman to sound surprised at this. Especially since she seems to be rather predictable at dinner. Look, there's nothing wrong with ordering chicken salad all the time, really. I mean, it is a little boring. But it is not impolite. She did say please, you know.]

Feeling detached - hearing herself give the same dreary order as if from a great distance high above Calamari's (famous for seafood with tentacles, not so much the chicken, madam)...Oh, thinks Emerald Miller, the aging and no-longer-quite-so-famous soubrette, she must be such a bore to him. Now Rudolph will never pop the question. She isn't sure of herself, that's the problem. She can't even order a dinner properly. How will she be able to manage Rudolph's servants, if she ever becomes his wife?

But little does she know that Rudolph sounded surprised at her order because he is not only already married, but his estranged and deranged wife Gladys - who lives in the closed-off west wing of stately Picktooth Hall - has been ordering chicken salad for her dinner for the last ten years. And Emerald keeps ordering it too. He can stand it no longer. Must every woman in his life be obsessed with poultry? The fatal words "chicken salad" - said just once too often - will push him over the edge, tonight. Right now. But what next? And will Emerald, returning to her body, no longer in a daze, have the courage to tell Rudolph that she not only wants to change her order. And then demand the engagement ring that he has been promising her, with chicken-salad regularity, for the last year?

Chew on that social problem, Miss Eichler.

The Midnight Before Christmas

TJS Graphic Design Labs

'Twas the night before Christmas
We were resting, and how;
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a cow.

Then Elsie came in
She was dancing and caperin'
And she put on a grin
And a strange frilly apron:

She was mooing quite loud,
As she danced a gavotte,
And made Borden's Instant Coffee
In a huge coffee pot.

"Wake up," Elsie bellowed,
"To Roaster-Fresh Flavor
It's only twelve-thirty,
So do me a favor,

"Wake up and get happy!
Why not do all these dishes,
And then we'll make cookies
They'll be just delicious

If we use Borden's Milk-"
How loudly she mooed!
Oh Elsie, do hush,
Neighbors think it is rude

To moo after midnight!
But this cow had had coffee
Enough for a herd
And was getting quite bossy:

So we cleaned and we baked
Until three in the morning
Full of caffeine and sugar;
And when Christmas was dawning,

We looked over at Elsie
Our eyes heavy and big;
She'd got into the sherry,
And was dancing a jig.

So we tiptoed upstairs
In the dawn's early light;
Don't tell Elsie we've had it -
Merry Christmas and good night!

*****
I want to wish all of you a very happy holiday!

Wicked Fresh As Winter Mountain Snow

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Toms of Maine. All opinions are 100% mine.

Tom's Of Maine has been around for 40 years - a company not only known for quality products (dental products, deodorant, and soap) but for its work for people, communities and conserving the planet. And this looks like the year that I am going to finally treat myself to some of their terrific products. I always knew that it was a "good brand" but I didn't realize just how good it was. I've seen the Wicked Fresh Toothpaste and Wicked Fresh Mouthwash in my favorite health food/organics store and I think, gee, those look SO good, but I have lots of toothpaste at home and I had better use it up, etc.

 

However. 

 

Recently, my lips and tongue started feeling numb several times a day and for the longest time I could not figure it out. After a lot of research on the internet - and some scientific testing - I figured out that it was a sensitive-teeth toothpaste I was using. That made me think about all the stuff they put in regular toothpaste - chemicals and so on. So you can imagine what good timing writing this post has been!

 

Wicked Fresh Toothpaste (which comes in peppermint or spearmint flavor) is made from a patent-pending botanical extract and peppermint oil. It makes your teeth clean and fresh, and protects you from cavities without harsh chemicals. And the Wicked Fresh Mouthwash? Also fabulous and totally lives up to its name. It keeps bad breath away without burning your mouth - something I've never liked about regular mouthwash. I recommend them both.

 

There's a That's Wicked Fresh contest page  where you can win Wicked Fresh Prizes over at the Tom's of Maine site . You need to tell them about a Wicked Fresh moment in your life, and you can win a $500, $250 or $100 Target gift card. That really IS wicked! Here's what you need to do: follow them on Twitter at @TomsofMaine, then tweet your Wicked Fresh moment. If you like Tom's of Maine over at Facebook, you'll get a bonus entry.

 

I'm in Canada and alas we have no Targets (sigh - maybe someday!), so please, go there and have tons of fun in my place! I'll tell you a Wicked Fresh moment in my life though - for free: 

 

Years ago, out in British Columbia, we went cross country skiing in the mountains. It was beautiful - pristine, white everywhere, and wicked is exactly the word for how cold it was.  When evening started to fall, we went to a hot spring. Got in our bathing suits, rushed outside and into a hot, hot sulphur pool. Sat there looking at the sky, which had turned deep blue and filled up with stars. A light, lacy snow started falling on us in the perfectly hot pool. Wicked Fresh, indeed.

Fun With An Eggnog Pie

This is a pretty straightforward recipe for Eggnog Pie, with some canned fruit thrown in. I'm sure you've seen this kind of thing before.

The part that intrigues me is this: that we're supposed to "have fun with" the pie. Don't wait until Christmas, either. The pie wants to go out and have a good time right now! Go get your hat and coat.

What does that mean, have fun with the pie? Does it tell stories and play games? Does it know any good jokes?

I don't think you tend to want to go out and party with other desserts, whether they are pies or not. You know that a fruitcake would just sit in the corner, whining about why doesn't anyone like it. The gingerbread men would run away as soon as you locked the front door and started to rummage for the car keys. But you can count on those eggnog pies. They probably even watch "The Perry Como Show" just like the American Dairy Association urges us to do at the bottom of the ad. And I'm sure they memorize all the songs, too.

There's probably some rum or brandy in that eggnog, come to think of it. That would explain a lot.

The Lost Condiment

I wanted to show you a picture of cocktail onions today because I have a 1950s Christmas centerpiece idea from the fabulous Sadie LeSueur* (past Sadie posts are here and here) to tell you about. Let's get that out of the way first and then I want to talk about this peanut butter madness that you see down there on the right.

Gumdrops: with or without splinters? (Boys' Life Dec 1957)

Sadie wants you to go get a plastic Christmas tree from the dollar store and hang cocktail onions, radish roses and stuffed olives from it. Like teeny Christmas ornaments, get it? She says that "these little trees are usually used to hold gumdrops and can be found at candy counters in ten cent stores." The picture over here is the best I could do. Boys' Life suggests using a twig from outside for this Gumdrop Tree, but I think a plastic dime store thing would be more - hygienic. Also less splintery. Maybe you should just use the apple.

Life, October 10, 1960

Anyway, I went looking for a beautiful picture of cocktail onions (or radishes, or olives) to go with this recipe, if you can call it that - because, alas, Sadie LeSueur's book has no illustrations - you have to use your imagination! And I was stopped in my virtual tracks by this Skippy ad, in which cocktail onions are scattered about on top of peanut butter and who knows what else. This is one of those classic 1950s put-the-ingredient-on-everything ads, and not only have they lathered Skippy on every snack food you can think of, they've named all the snacks after Skippy, too.

Skucumbers = Skippy on cucumber slices
Skarrots = Skippy on carrot slices
Skeezers = Skippy in between two pieces of cheddar cheese

My favorite two snack names are Skipikkles - Skippy on pickle chips! - and Skooties. No, they don't have anything to do with cooties (I think). They are crackers spread with a mixture of chili sauce and Skippy peanut butter. Imagine the possibilities for conversation: Welcome to the party, folks - we have Skooties!

*Author of Recipes, Party Plans and Garnishes (originally published in 1958; I have the 1970 edition).

Hot Dan and the Eye of Sauron

Gallery of Graphic Design

We've had a peek at Sauron's bathroom, remember that, way back in the Kitchen Retro archives? Well, he's had his bath and now it is time for dinner.

And dinner has never needed Hot Dan's assistance more. Because Sauron is  getting so frustrated with the Orc chefs - all they ever make are goopy casseroles. And their gelatin molds? Full of little rocks and things. And this makes him very, very angry. Worse-than-Gordon-Ramsay-on-Hell's-Kitchen angry! And since he was already angry before dinner, that is not good.

In fact Sauron is so unhappy with his meals, he just throws everything on the floor and then destroys another army of elves. It makes you cranky when there's nothing good to eat (tell me about it).

Hot Dan to the rescue! Because he has made a Tasty Salmon Dish in the shape of Sauron's favorite logo -  with lashings of French's Hot Mustard! It will change the course of Lord of the Rings. Sauron was just mean because he was hungry, that's all. That happens.

Now, thanks to Hot Dan, Sauron will cheer up and stop being horrid to everyone. In fact, he will invite everyone in Middle Earth over for dessert and coffee pretty soon. Just tell Hot Dan to keep the mustard jar away from the Gâteau Mont Doom (just like Gâteau Mont Blanc, only you flambé it and there's a ring hidden inside).

[Many thanks to Gallery of Graphic Design for this wonderful 1941 ad, by the way.]


Petits Monts Blancs

Foiled Again!

Life, December 3, 1956

Yes, wrap everything in tin foil to make Christmas festive (and silvery)! Wrap individual cookies, wrap presents, wrap the bottom of your tree. If it isn't moving, wrap it in Alcoa! Of course, after awhile you are no longer "wrapping with individuality," but so what. It's so sparkly that you'll be too busy looking for your sunglasses to worry about being original.

You'd think that they'd only just invented aluminum foil, looking at this 1956 Ode to Alcoa Wrap. Originally it was made from tin - as in, um, tin foil - but about 1910, the first aluminum foil rolling plant was opened in Switzerland. And after that, there was no looking back. Aluminum foil was being used in the US a few years later to wrap Life Savers, candy and gum. Forty years after that, it's 1956 and people are wrapping everything from candy jars to turkeys in the stuff.

Alcoa was not really all that new, either. Alcoa stands for the Aluminum Company of America, get it? It was founded in 1886 and was an aluminum smelting plant for a long time, pre-foil. Hurrah, now you know.

A final Alcoa holiday hint: wrapping small insignificant gifts in foil gives them a "rich, important look." So when you are wondering how to package that eraser or those socks, you will know just what to do.

An Undiscouraged Fruitcake

The Rotarian, November 1923

This charming advertisement dates from 1923, and what I particularly like about it is the text. It seems to have been written by someone who is very keen on Love's Hawaiian Fruit Cake - someone who perhaps identifies a little too much with its ingredients:

Contains all the fundamentals required of any good fruit cake - and something else. Rich, fragrant, tropical fruits! Not tropical fruits that have suffered the indignity of of being picked too green, handled too much or otherwise discouraged, but the ripe, luscious morsels picked from trees almost at our bakery door.

Don't you just love that? I'm trying to imagine what these discouraged pineapples, bananas and coconuts must look like. Oh, they are sad! They suffer when you mistreat them. They hate looking green! See how they are creeping up on Clara Bow there in the miniature lei  - waiting for the right moment. They will protest! They must! It is for the good of all the coconuts. And pineapples. And bananas (unless they are off writing guide books for teens*, of course).

Would such a fruit cake make a good Christmas present?

This is not a trick question, folks. The answer must be YES. And hurry up with your order because the chef is not Superman, you know:

NOTE: Our Jean Babtiste** Tampon says he can't make more than a million of these cakes, so order yours NOW. We'll see that it reaches your friends at just the right moment.***

Oh, Jean Babtiste (whose wondrous name I am adding to my list of The Most Fabulous Names In History - I do collect names, actually) - only a million? Oui, he is only one man - and there are just so many guavas he can encourage before he simply cannot take any more. Sacre Bleu, it is not right to make too much cake! Only one million cakes in one million "attractive metal boxes." And not one crumb more!

* Shameless (and, one might say, undiscouraged) plug for other blog of retroactivity!

**Yes, it is spelled Babtiste, not Baptiste.

***How do the Undiscouraged Fruitcakes know just when the right moment is? Is it when your friends start wishing aloud that they had a nice doorstop? Is it when they start talking about their love of pineapples? When, oh when?

A Clever Retro Christmas Salad

Life, December 20, 1943

What is more festive than a strange gelatin mold salad? Well - lots of things, really. We haven't even begun to explore the wonderful world of retro fruitcake, for example. But let's start out slowly, with a Carnation-milky, gelacious Christmas Tree Salad from 1943.

They are made of Lime Jell-O mixed with milk and lemon juice (won't it curdle?) molded in cone-shaped paper cups. And they are decorated with "mayonnaise, apple, pepper, cheese." Why stop there? Why not olives, cherries, candied fruit and carrots cut into star shapes? And multicolored sprinkles! And pickle chips! 

I think they probably do suggest that sort of thing in the booklet "Clever Ways With Carnation For the Duration," which you could order for free back in 1943. I would totally send away for this, because how can you resist the rhyming title plus the "treasured recipes of famous food editors"? I think this was one of those treasured recipes. I'm quite sure of it.

Popular With Chaperones

1922 Arthur Murray ad [Wikipedia]

In the last post we talked about the mysterious things that a gentleman was supposed to do (according to 1920s etiquette expert Lillian Eichler) if he did not know how to dance. Well, I have read the pertinent part of Miss Eichler's chapter on dances and dancing. And I have got a few things to tell you about this important subject.

Lillian is, frankly, a bit tired of these guys who don't know a waltz from a foxtrot, for she begins (and you can almost hear the weariness in her voice) by saying that "Always at a dance, there are guests who do not dance" and that they "[are] one of the unfortunate things the hostess has to put up with at every one of her dances." Miss Eichler, are you speaking from personal experience? I fear so. And she goes on to say that these are invariably men - those annoying men! - because women, of course know all the latest dances.

What should the erring gentleman do? Well, learn, Lillian snaps - why, there are dancing schools "in every city and town." And if you're stubborn and mean enough to refuse to learn - well, you know what you have  to do? Listen to this:

The man on the right is supposed to be amusing the chaperones.

If for any reason, a gentleman does not know how to dance, and does not want to learn, he may make up for it by entertaining the chaperons [sic]...conversing with them, walking about with them, and escorting them to the refreshment table, and altogether show by his kind attentiveness that he realizes his deficiency and wishes to make up for it.

Oh, doesn't that sound like a rip-roaringly good time, hanging around with the chaperones, sipping fruit punch and tut-tutting about Young People Today.

But no matter how boring this is, the Non-Dancing Gentleman is not, not, NOT allowed to lounge about "in the dressing-room, smoking and chatting with other gentlemen." How come they get to lounge around smoking, Miss Eichler, huh? That hardly seems fair. And why are they all in the dressing-room and not the library - I was under the impression that the library was where gentlemen liked to hide during dances.

If only the gentlemen of the punch bowl would just go to Arthur Murray and take a few classes! Then they will be as popular as the dancing sailor in the 1928 ad (above right; the link will take you to the big version) which illustrates today's post. Then maybe some of them will ask the chaperones to dance; I'm sure they'd like that.

The sailor, by the way, sent away for Arthur Murray lessons and claims to have learned on the ship, "without music or partner." I wish we could see a picture of him practicing a solo cha cha up on the poop deck. I'll bet you anything Lillian Eichler would, too.

The Blunder Years

The Book of Etiquette prevents a great many embarrassing blunders.

Too bad Zeppo here doesn't have a copy yet. For the sake of the poor anti-hero of this 1922 Book of Etiquette ad, let's just finish this up without further ado. Here are his latest mistakes:

1. Zeppo needs to wait a second when he is introduced to a girl. You can't just stick out your paw and yell "Glad to meetcha!" No sir. You have to wait for her to extend her hand first. And if anyone gets to yell out "Glad to meetcha!" - well, she does. But maybe now she won't.

2. If you get past all that and you're taking her out to dinner, you let her go in first. Now, this is pretty basic stuff. But Zeppo actually has to see another couple before he realizes his "humiliating blunder." I'm not sure that reading a book is going to help him, not unless the book can sit in his jacket pocket and stage-whisper things like "Hey, you chucklehead, stand back - you're supposed to let Millie go first!"

3. This last one is my favorite because it is so - mysterious. You see, if you insist on going to a dance but you can't dance, you are supposed to "do what [you] should, under the circumstances." What you should not be doing is holding up the wall like Zeppo and "making yourself conspicuous." But he doesn't seem all that conspicuous to me - everyone's ignoring him. I'll just bet it is "a most fascinating chapter." I really need to get a copy of this book. And when I do, I'm going to check out the chapter about dances first.*

Zeppo and his erring friend Alice are also blundering around in these posts:

Olives With A Fork
The Wrong Suit
Mrs. Snickerdoodle's Mistake

*NOTE: The Book of Etiquette (2 volumes, 1921) was written by none other than my pal Lillian Eichler, whose 1924 etiquette book I own and adore (in the 1947 edition, but still). And it is available over at Internet Archive, so I am going to go check it out and report back to you about the Mysteries of the Dance. Also, there are some other excellent ads for this book, which appears to have been the Gone With the Wind of good manners guides - there is one, for example, in which chicken salad is the culprit, with a charming photo illustration. All this ahead, mixed in with seasonal kitsch and retro!

Mrs. Snickerdoodle's Mistake

This is the third kind of horrible mistake you might make if you don't have the Book of Etiquette advertised in the November 1922 Popular Mechanics. The first was eating olives with a fork, as you may recall, and the second was wearing informal dress to a formal dinner.

And it gets worse! This time, our ill-mannered hero has been put into time out and we are peering over the shoulder of a lady registering at a hotel. She is checking out the other names in the register. Why is that, exactly? Is she looking for someone? I sense a shady assignation. But no, the book is not going to mention that (too bad). The problem is not that she's meeting up with Mr. Nick Carraway, the seedy traveling salesman, but that she has registered incorrectly. Oh, the horror! She has signed in as Mrs. Alice Snickerdoodle when, as a divorcée, she should sign the register as Mrs. Flapper Snickerdoodle. Flapper being her maiden name, you see - this is the correct thing to do.

Never mind, Alice. Just cross the whole mess out and sign in as Miss Betty Boop. Then there will be no etiquette problem at all. Although the lemon-faced hotel clerk in the three piece suit might get a little suspicious.

The Surrealist Camera

Here's a little respite from our 1920s etiquette posts - just because it's Monday, and I need a brightly-colored image to wake me up before I go out to hunt down some holiday bargains (ugh).

There is a terrific book called Photoanalysis by Robert U. Akaret which shows how you can decipher ordinary family snapshots by looking at people's expressions and body language in relation to each other. I used to have a copy. I'm going to order another from Amazon, because it is such a great book (and used copies are cheap, hurrah!).*

I can only imagine what Robert U. Akaret would make of this little moment in time, over on your left. The camera has a misleading name. It is not a Realist at all. If it was, it would show that:

-That lady is as glazed as a supermarket fruit pie, and somewhat less fresh.

-The kid is about to start screaming. He's probably overtired. How exciting is a tree, anyway? Soon he will be batting at and breaking the ornaments. Which will not go over well.

- And Dick Van Dyke wants to go watch the game in the den right now. Well, right after he puts more peroxide on his hair.

Santa is jolly pleased to be both outside the frame and small enough to escape on the giant camera. Note that he is turned primarily in the opposite direction, ready to book once the kid breaks that ornament and nerves get frayed - in Technicolor. Body language doesn't lie!

Many thanks to Wishbook, who found this fabulous ad and put it on Flickr.

* Speaking of Amazon, I have a nifty gear fab Amazon store now - just one click away, over on the sidebar to your right. Lots of retro holiday stuff plus my favorite section - a veritable vintage buffet of retro cookbooks, mostly from the 1950s. Imagine the Jell-O recipes you could find in them!

The Wrong Suit

Ad for etiquette book, Popular Mechanics, Nov. 1922

The saga of the man who ate his olives with a fork continues - and it is not a happy story, children. He is wearing formal evening dress. But this is an informal dinner! He knew this from the invitation, but he did not know what informal means.Please remember to consult your etiquette books before a similar tragedy befalls you.

This is what one of my vintage etiquette books* has to say:

Formal evening dress is for weddings, the opera, "ceremonious dinners or balls" or any Very Formal Occasion. It consists of "tails" - a swallowtail jacket, a waistcoat, white bow tie and a top hat. Black silk socks, black shoes, black or dark blue overcoat. White silk muffler. And if you do speak softly and "carry a stick" it should be "without ornamentation." So please leave your gold-encrusted scepters at home, gentlemen.

Informal dress is for restaurants and going to the theater, and dining "at home" - this means a tuxedo a/k/a the dinner jacket. Waistcoat optional (black or white), black bow tie, black shoes and socks, top hat optional. If only the guy in the picture had worn a black bow tie!

Note that the other guy, who is really happy and chatting away, is only wearing a business suit. How about that? Is that OK? Where is his tuxedo? Well, my sources* say that a business suit is appropriate for "all informal occasions" during the day. So he is wrong, too! Maybe the take-away message here is that if you act happy and confident you can get away with the Wrong Suit. But I don't think the etiquette books of the 1920s want you to know that.

And anyway - as for the hapless olive-chomper, maybe this IS informal to him. Maybe he wears black tie around the house all the time. Maybe when he's lounging on the sofa reading the funnies and listening to Terry and the Pirates on the radio, and eating potato chips (with a fork) - this is what he wears! Formal dinners are when he breaks out the Robes of State and the Imperial Crown. He didn't know!

*The New Book of Etiquette by Lillian Eichler (first published in 1924; this is the 1947 edition, pp 349-50).

Olives With A Fork

Detail from advertisement, Popular Mechanics, November 1922

There are things in vintage etiquette books that you would never, ever think of these days. And yet, back in the 1920s they were really pretty much going to indicate to people whether you were someone to take up socially, or whether you were going to be relegated to a corner of the back porch with a leftover sandwich.

So I was very pleased to find some handy illustrated tips from an etiquette manual from 1922. This is the first one we're going to examine. And it is all about olives. Because you do need to know what to do when you are confronted with a relish tray at some fancy holiday dinner. You have to pick them up with your fingers. No throwing them up in the air and trying to catch them with your mouth. Just pick up an olive and chomp away. No big deal.

But alas, the poor guy in the middle has just made the most awful mistake - he has actually taken an olive with a fork. The other guests can't even look at him. The conversation stops just like that. You can just feel the icy tension in the air.

Let's just hope that they won't be having any other tricky foods. You know, like corn on the cob. He'd probably try to eat that with a fork, too. And then he'll try to take the frozen pudding with his fingers. Hint: it's more polite if you wear mittens.

The Work-Savingest Retro Kitchen

I am crazy about retro kitchens - any kind, from Victorian kitchens right through the ones in the 1970s with all those Harvest Gold appliances. One of the first houses we looked at when we were buying our first house, a long time ago, had a wonderful huge old-fashioned kitchen with a 1950s refrigerator, the kind with a huge curved handle that you sort of had to wrench open. The rest of the house was nothing exciting, but I really wanted that kitchen! I'm perfectly happy with what we have now - white and blue with wooden counters, traditional looking but, you know, newish. But along with that butler's pantry that is in my future (maybe), I can window-shop in the past for a retro kitchen, right?

Anyway, I thought it would be fun to peek into some retro kitchens. This one dates from 1946 and was advertised by the American Gas Association as one of its "New Freedom Gas Kitchens." New was a big word just after the war - like the New Look in fashion, which was popular around the same time (closer to 1948 though, I think - please correct me, vintage fashion experts, if this is not quite right!).

So, what do you think of this? I like the green and white, though the green is a bit strong and bright - it works, though. I like the ring pulls on the cabinets - I've never seen that in a kitchen before. And the bamboo shade that you can lower to divide the kitchen from the breakfast nook - very cool. Plus, I really, really want that radio and the mixer on the counter. Also the green canisters behind the mixer.

Not sure about that printed carpeting though.

What do you think?