Kitchen Sink Sunday

Popular Science, Feb. 1957

I have a lot of odds and ends in my head, sort of like the dishes and glasses and things in the kitchen sink. Hence the title. And the image (which I'll tell you about in a minute). And I wanted to post. So here's the scoop:

- I've started a writing blog. It isn't "live" yet and I don't quite know when it will be, but I've been thinking for some time that I need one of those. Because I'm back tinkering with the mystery novel, but in a more fantastical Goreyesque mad-Victorian way. I've been at this story since the early 90s (it's kind of a chameleon, but the basic stuff is about the same) and last year I thought I only wanted to write non-fiction. But now...I think I'm onto something. I love Unfortunate Events and Edward Gorey and am even getting a bit into steampunk and...maybe this sort of thing should go on the writing blog...

Any suggestions for writer's groups on line? I belong to a few but have just set up the page there and then didn't do much...Scribblerati, She Writes, Writer's Digest. Sigh. What works for you, writing friends?

- Apropos of that, it's hard to juggle retro blogging and history/genealogy blogging. I want it all! And yet there are only so many hours in the day. And only so many creative brain cells in a head, etc. I seem to have Kitchen Retro as my alpha blog, trailed by the other two where I post now and again. Seems to work for now but I may retire one or two (not Kitchen Retro, though! I love it here!) because - well, see above. I hate the thought of retiring a blog but...ugh, cannot do everything. And I have tended to use blogging as a way to avoid creative writing. Yeah, I do. Hey, I may even be doing that right now! The writing blog would have the seeds of chapters, and stuff about the world-of-the-novel that I'm creating. So, not a means of avoiding. The opposite, really.

- If and when the writing blog goes public I will let you know.

- It feels like I'm jinxing things, talking about this. I've done that before. But hey, if it doesn't work out, at least I've given it my best shot. And even then - I'll probably have a break and then try again.

- And now, for the kitchen/retro part of the post: yes, apparently you can wash your typewriter in the kitchen sink. I've linked to the article, if you want lots of detailed instruction, but basically you take it apart, get all the little bits off. Don't forget to take the ribbon off! Then dunk it in your favorite dish detergent. Scrub thoroughly with a vegetable brush. After that, you can oil it and put it back together - although I think I'd be like Lucy Ricardo when she takes the TV apart and pretends to be on her own TV show (she "broadcasts" by getting inside the chassis and singing). She puts all the TV innards on a little rolling cart.  That's the Vitameatavegemin episode (it's really called "Lucy Does a TV Commercial" though).

Cross-the-Road Chicken: A Culinary Riddle

Oh look, the most unfortunately worded ad, and the worst-named dish, of 1970. This ad was in Life, not - you won't be surprised about this - in Ms. Magazine.

First, let's insult women:

Tomato aspic on limp lettuce leaves may go down okay with the ladies. But when a man comes home, he wants to eat.

So before you delicate ladies start chewing on aspic and soggy lettuce leaves, tie on a frilly apron and start making some real food for the man of the house. Since men "don't take hours over a hot green pea like you do," you ought to use frozen veggies.  Yes, well. I don't really want to know about men and a hot green pea, do you? I thought not.

And why oh why do they call it Cross-the-Road Chicken? Does Birdseye want us to think about running away from this dish? Are you supposed to tell riddles and jokes while you serve it? And if the chicken is indeed on the other side of the road, how are you even supposed to make this?

NYPL

The road-crossing chicken first turned up in a riddle in 1847 in the New York City magazine The Knickerbocker. There really were chickens running around New York back then - not right downtown, and they weren't crossing Broadway to see some shows, but people did keep them. In 1867, for example, a person signing themselves W.J.P. wrote a letter to the New York Times complaining of all the "flocks of chickens and herds of goats" running wild in the city streets - and crossing any roads they liked - mainly on the East Side, he wrote, above 20th Street.

Surely this is not the mental image Birdeye had in mind, but it does spring to mind. Springs and runs and generally makes a person not want to have anything to do with this dinner menu.

And what in the world is in the Mason jar down at bottom left? Never mind, I do not really want to know.

Good Luck With That

Louis Napoleon is delighted with margarine!

Margarine was invented because in 1869 Emperor Louis Napoleon III decided to run a contest. He challenged someone - anyone! -  to come up with a butter substitute for the army and poor people - something cheap, in other words. A chemist named Hippolyte Mège-Mouriès came up with the very first batch of oleomargarine, made of beef tallow (rendered fat) and skim milk.

Jelke's Good Luck was a variation on the original oleomargarine. This 1926 Jelke's Good Luck cookbook  proudly lists the ingredients of the stuff: whole milk, "nourishing beef oleo fat," and pork fat. I think I'll just have strawberry jam on my toast, please.

Good Luck is a curious name for something edible, isn't it? It sounds ironic to me (but then I guess a lot of things do, really). Want some of our fabulous fat-filled so-called-vegetable margarine? Well, good luck to your taste buds. And also to your digestive tract. And your marriage:

Life, November 15, 1937

Biff: I don't understand! Money's no object, and yet...you're so cheap. How can you feed our little princess this weird yellow stuff, anyhow? And me. How about me? I can't eat this. I don't even know what it's called. It isn't butter, I know that.

Sally: You old stick-in-the-mud, I'm smiling at you but that's only because I'm saintly and fabulous - two personal qualities you know nothing about! The baby doctor said this Good Luck margarine is the best thing for children since Pablum, so ha ha!

Biff: I will never eat margarine, no matter what Dr. Binkie says!

Sally: Ha ha ha, darling! You've been eating it for weeks! Good one, huh? Isn't that funny?

Oh yes, this is going to end well.

Strange side note: I found this New York Daily News article about the seedy exploits of the Jelke margarine heir in the 1950s. You know, speaking of not ending well. I don't know whether the movie actually got made, though.

A Walk With Miss Hartley

Let me start with you upon your promenade, my friend, and I will soon decide your place upon the list of well-bred ladies.

That's an invitation that's impossible to resist, is it not? Especially if we get to peek at this List of Well-Bred Ladies after we come back from the walk. And also at the List of Ill-bred Ladies. (I believe I know which list I'll be on, given Miss Hartley's reactions - well, you'll see).

Miss Florence Hartley (author of The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, published in 1876) desires me to convey to you exactly how you should Conduct Yourself in the Street. It's very important, you see, because a lady "is never so entirely at the mercy of critics...as when she is in the street." Clearly, Florence doesn't know my old sociology professor. Or some of my relatives. Or those girls in my dorm that year when...Oh, never mind. Let's just learn how to walk down the street.

I did so wear a green dress! (NYPL)

First, your dress. Not that scarlet shawl, with a green dress, I beg and - oh! spare my nerves! you are not so insane as to put on a blue bonnet. That's right. If you wish to wear the green dress, don a black shawl, and - that white bonnet will do very well.

All right, fine. The green dress it is. And the black shawl and white bonnet. Oh, and two aspirin. I seem to be developing a slight headache. I can't imagine why. 

What are you doing? Sucking the head of your parasol! Have you not breakfasted? Take that piece of ivory from your mouth!

Sorry, ma'am. You rushed me away from my oatmeal so we could go walking immediately, do you not recall? I do not treat my parasols like lollipops as a rule, you know. I just wanted to see what you would say. 

Why did you not dress before you came out? It is a mark of ill-breeding to draw your gloves on in the street. Now your bonnet-strings, and now - your collar! Pray arrange your dress before you leave the house!

Oh, please let me just put on my gloves, Miss Hartley. I didn't know it would be so cold out. Just look away for a second while I do. Please.

Parasols up, everyone!  (NYPL)

Do not walk so fast! you are not chasing anybody! Walk slowly, gracefully! Oh, do not drag one foot after the other as if you were fast asleep - set down the foot lightly, but at the same time firmly; now, carry your head up, not so; you hang it down as if you feared to look anyone in the face! Nay, that is the other extreme! Now you look like a drill-major, on parade! So! that is the medium. Erect, yet at the same time, easy and elegant.

Ugh, I'm exhausted. How long will this walk take, anyway? 

Now, my friend, do not swing your arms....Take care! don't drag your dress through that mud puddle! Worse and worse!

Oh look, I think I'll just run across the street.I really did enjoy our little walk, but... 

Stop! don't you see there is a carriage coming?...You can run across? Very lady-like indeed!...Wait until the way is clear and then walk slowly across.

Do not try to raise your skirts. It is better to soil them. (You were very foolish to wear white skirts this muddy day). But you told me to wear the green dress, therefore I am wearing green. Not white. Oh, never mind, I give up. I am going to just hide behind my parasol here. I won't chew on it, I promise. I just need a little break from - 

Don't hold your parasol so close to your face, not so low down. [Sighing] Yes, ma'am, I am just raising the parasol now.

NYPL

Uh, oh, here comes a gentleman. With an umbrella. Now what do we do, Miss Hartley, ma'am? Please? Oh yes, yes; I see. I see.  Let me just boil this down a little, though. You are getting hysterical, I fear:

1. If you meet a gentleman in the rain and he has an umbrella, and he will walk you to where you're going, that is OK. But don't "deprive" him of the umbrella if he's going the other way. And if he is a stranger - no no, do not accept the umbrella offers of a stranger! However:

2. While you're chatting about umbrellas to gentlemen friends - keep walking! "Never stop to speak to a gentleman on the street." Why? Because it looks shady, that's why! As if you are hanging around on the street. Ahem. Not ladylike at all. And likewise:

3. Do not "stop to gaze in the shop windows. It looks countrified." Also it looks as if you are waiting for someone. Very shady indeed.

But wait: there's more. Don't cut anyone by not speaking. Unless they are on the other side of the street. Then you do not acknowledge them. Even if they are gentlemen with umbrellas. And remember -

 Fare,yes; hoop skirt, no (NYPL)

Oh, never mind. Look, there's an omnibus! Thank goodness for that. Goodbye, Miss Hartley, I think I'll just walk in a ladylike fashion - but quickly, you know - over to the bus and - 

If you wish to take an omnibus or car, see that it is not full. If it is do not get in...It is best to carry change to pay car or omnibus fare, as you keep others waiting whilst the driver is making change, and it is apt to fall into the straw when passing from one hand to another.

Oh, I don't care what (or who) falls into the straw by now! Thank you very much, Miss Hartley, and farewell. Oh, and by the way: do you not know that it is terribly rude to keep shouting advice in the street?

The Balm of Thousand Flowers

How would you like a skin beautifier that you could also use as a toothpaste and a shaving cream? Impossible! you might say. And if I told you that this amazing balm was made out of the essential oils from 1,000 different flowers - you wouldn't believe it, right?

Right. Because - not surprisingly -  it wasn't. And it probably wasn't the best idea to brush your teeth with this balm, either.

Balm of Thousand Flowers was manufactured in New York in the 1850s and was to be used as a breath-freshening and tooth-whitening toothpaste - or as a shaving cream - oh, and if you had any left over you could put it on your face and "beautifying the complexion."  You could purchase it at W.P. Fetridge's, opposite the great white marble Stewart's department store in New York City.

Naturally, you were to beware of imitations. In fact, in 1857 the case of Fetridge vs. Wells was heard in new York. Mr. Fetridge wished the court to issue an injunction against a Mr. Wells for manufacturing "Balm of Ten Thousand Flowers."* The court denied Fetridge's case, "on the ground that the dear public had been deceived into thinking the article actually contained the multitudinous balms indicated by the name, when in fact a few essential oils was the nearest approach to the floral wealth represented" [Albany Law Journal (1887, p. 279)]. A Dr. Fontaine made Balm of Thousand Flowers, too, though he appears not to have been dragged into court by Mr. Fetridge.

Indeed, said Dr. A.W. Chase of Ann Arbor, Michigan. No need to go all the way to New York! He knew just how to make the famous Balm of Thousand Flowers. You won't be surprised to learn (as the New York courts in 1857 knew, too) that you did not need a thousand flowers to do so, either. And so will you, very soon, because I am going to give you his recipe. Of course, once you see the recipe, you most likely will not want to make or use the stuff. But you will know it, all the same.

Dr. A.W. Chase was the author of Dr. Chase's Recipes for Everybody, which went through a lot of editions (mine is the 1865 edition). He stuffed his book full of recipes for everything from medicines to paints to cakes and pies to household cleansers. And if you had horses around, he could tell you how to cure them of whatever ailed them.

This is Dr. Chase's recipe for Balm of Thousand Flowers:

Deodorized alcohol 1 pt.; nice white bar-soap 4 oz.; shave the soap when put in; stand in a warm place until dissolved; then add oil of citronella 1 dr.; and oils of neroli [bitter orange]and rosemary, of each 1/2 dr. It is recommended as a general perfume; but it is more particularly valuable to put a little of it into warm water, with which to cleanse the teeth. [Dr. Pierce's Recipes for Everybody, 1865, p. 280]

A writer in 1914 called Balm of Thousand Flowers "a cosmetic which in spite of its high sounding name was a liquid soap consisting of grease and lye." Not very ethereal - or safe -  at all. I think I'll stick to Colgate, thanks.

*See here for an 1861 advertisement for Imperial Rose Balm, which is said to contain "Balm of Ten Thousand Flowers."

Tropical Snow in Hawaii

If you were to go visit a house in Hawaii back in the 1870s, and you were offered a little something to eat, you would not see the preparations at all. Cooking was done in separate, detached "cook houses," but "in and on American cooking-stoves," according to Isabella L. Bird, who wrote about Hawaiian cuisine in her 1875 book Six Months Among the Palm Groves, Coral Reefs, and Volcanoes of the Sandwich Islands (she also went to Hawaii). Bird wrote this about the local cuisine:

Wikipedia

We have everywhere bread and biscuit made of California flour, griddle cakes with molasses, and often cracked wheat, butter not very good, sweet potatoes, boiled kalo [taro], Irish potatoes, and poi [mashed, cooked taro]. I have not seen any fish on any table except at the Honolulu Hotel, or any meat but beef, which is hard and dry compared with ours.  We have China or Japan tea, and island coffee. Honolulu is the only place in which intoxicants are allowed to be sold, and I have not seen beer, wine, or spirits in any hotel. [pp 123-4]

And  after her poi and griddle cakes, what did Isabella Bird have for dessert in 1875? She probably enjoyed some bananas, or sliced guavas, with milk and sugar. She said that these were both "very good," as well they might be, being local fruits. If the cook house staff was feeling especially ambitious, perhaps you would have a banana concoction such as Tropical Snow, as recipe from the 1887 Centennial Cook Book, atrtibuted to a Mrs. D.E. Beach:

An invigorating ride, followed by bananas for tea *

Tropical Snow

Eight oranges, 5 bananas, 1 cocoanut, 1 cup of sugar. Slice the bananas thin. Cut the oranges into small pieces. Grate the cocoanut. Arrange the orange, banana and cocoanut in layers, sprinkled with sugar. Have the top layer of cocoanut, with a few slices of banana for ornament. [p 106]

It would not be too hard to get bananas in California, but if you were a Victorian gourmet living in, say, New Jersey - it might have been a bit trickier. Bananas had been available in the eastern US since about 1850 -  but they were fairly expensive. In 1890 Good Housekeeping (vol. 7, p. 227) noted that bananas were until recently "counted among the luxuries of life" and that they sold in that year for 12 to 25 cents a dozen, whereas a few years before - in Isabella Bird's time - they had sold for four times that amount. Even with the reduction in price, a banana dessert such as Tropical Snow would have been considered an expensive treat for guests in the Victorian period - unless you had a house (and cook house) in Hawaii, of course.

*Illustration from Isabella Bird's Six Months Among the Palm Groves (1875), p. 30.

No Chignons in the Ice Cream, Please

Ball dress, 1872 NYPL Digital Gallery

May I introduce Miss Florence Hartley? She is the author of The Ladies' Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness which was published in 1876. But her - well, Miss Hartley, I must be honest, though polite of course - her very saucy way of admonishing and telling us what to do is really amusing. On another occasion, I will have to tell you what she says about how to dress to go out walking, it is quite rude!  In general, really, her advice is sometimes rather...well - and I mean this very respectfully, Miss Hartley -  challenging.

Take, for instance, some of her rules for how to behave at a ball (we are watching Pride and Prejudice again just now and so ballrooms are much in my mind). Miss Hartley's admonishments are in italics:

Avoid confidential conversation in a ball room. It is out of season, and in excessively bad taste.

But don't be too loud either, that's just vulgar...

Dance as others do. It has a very absurd look to take every step with dancing school accuracy, and your partner will be the first one to notice it. 

In other words, don't be too good at dancing. On the other hand, you're not supposed to be bad at it either. Right?

Once you stop dancing and think about refreshments (yum, refreshments!) things can take a decided turn for the (even) worse:

Never go into the supper-room with the same gentleman twice. You may go more than once, if you wish for an ice or glass of water (surely no lady wants two or three suppers), but do not tax the same gentleman more than once, even if he invites you after each dance.

I suspect that he may want two suppers, and is thinking that you are all kinds of rude for not just coming along. And what if you really did want seconds? I guess you could go hunting for snacks with some other guy. But then the servants in the supper room would all be like: oh, her again. And that would not do. I guess the most polite thing to do is to make sure you pack a few horehound drops in your reticule.

Snack time is not the trickiest part of a ball, though. Badly placed hairpins are:

Be very careful, when dressing for a ball, that the hair is firmly fastened, and the coiffure properly adjusted. Nothing is more annoying than to have the hair loosen or the head-dress fall off in a crowded ball room.

Well, isn't that the truth? Especially if you're trying to get back into the supper room for a little dessert. I think that the very definition of annoying is having your chignon fall off and land in the middle of the ice cream.

Tureen Tricks

Back when this blog was over at Wordpress, this picture was my first header image. It's taken from the back of a 1954 cookbook called 641 Tested Recipes From the Sealtest Kitchens, and the uniformed ladies are helping the blonde Hyacinth Bucket (dressed for her kitchen work in pearls and print dress) make some of those 641 recipes.

How they hit on the magic number 641 will remain a mystery forever. But I suspect that it involves normal recipes that you throw Sealtest dairy products at. Then you see what happens, and give the final product a name like Lazy Day Salad Loaf (a terrible oblong involving cottage cheese, sour cream, ketchup and gelatin).

The test kitchens were "far more than a laboratory. They are actually a series of kitchen units duplicating conditions as found in the modern American home." Yes, right down to the cabinet-topping murals of what look like carrots emerging from a badly-tilled vegetable patch. And who doesn't get dressed up in a nurse's uniform to cook up a few tricks in a tureen?

Several of the 641 Tested Recipes are in the sub-category known (only to Sealtest) as Tureen Tricks. These involve mixing cans of soup together with some Sealtest milk in a soup tureen and seeing what you get. The word "tureen" comes from the French "terrine," an earthenware dish. It came to mean a large, deep serving dish with a lid, usually used for soups or stews. They could be quite decorative and were meant to sit on the table and look fancy.

And when (not if: when) you run out of milk, you can try something called Surprise Tomato Soup. To execute this culinary trick, you heat up tomato soup and then throw in a lot of Sealtest cottage cheese. You have to be careful or else it will curdle. Sounds great, doesn't it?

The tureen in the photo belonged to the Duke of Wellington (picture from Life, Dec. 29, 1952). No tomato surprises in that tureen - the Duke of Wellington would not be pleased. At all.

Jack and the Oyster

Life, Oct. 14, 1940

The radio was turned up high
Blaring with all its might
And all of Jack's shrimp cocktail
Had been eaten up last night
So he was forced to call for something
Different to bite.

So Jack was sprawling sulkily
And crabbing, so that Mabel
Had flounced off to the movies and
The pleasures of Clark Gable;
And Jack was left with just a plate
Of oysters on the table.

Then suddenly he heard a voice
That squeaked and sounded mad;
It growled in a falsetto that
Gave ears an audible stab;
"That sounds like Mabel," Jack declared
"Or possibly a crab."

"An oyster, you big numbskull!"
Said the little bivalved creature,
"You've driven poor old Mabel to
Another double feature,
So I will have to play the role
Of culinary teacher:

"Guests come in every shape and size
As oysters always say
They loudly shout for Guinness Stout
So pour without delay -
And we will entertain you with
Our beachy repartee."

Jack and the oysters then admired
The stout bottle's allure
And then the oyster showed Jack just
Where Mabel's thimbles were
And how to pour each oyster a shot
But neither shake nor stir.

"The time has come," the Oyster said
"To talk of how we live:
Our lives are thirsty, hungry work,
With nary a sip nor smidge -
And also we're quite tired, Jack,
Of living in your fridge:

"We'd like some little oyster beds
In the bathtub, if you please,
And dinners that are savory
With plenty of toasted cheese
And don't forget our Guinness Stout-
Oh, and a set of keys."

So the Oysters lived upstairs awhile,
Partying in the tub,
Jack said, "How 'bout a pearl or two?"
"First we'll need rum syllabub."
"The heck with that," said Mabel,
"This is not an oysters' pub":

So she made up an eviction note
Right out of Cordon Bleu;
No more business with the Guinness
Or delightful cheese fondue;
And anon, the stout-filled tenants
Did become an oyster stew.

Tabasco: A Delicious Original

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of TABASCO® Original Red. All opinions are 100% mine.

Wikipedia

Tabasco is a state in Mexico and a variety of hot pepper - but, most famously, it is a brand of delicious hot pepper sauce that has been waking up foods since 1868 thanks to the McIlhenny Company of Avery Island, Louisiana. TABASCO® Original Red is made exactly as it was in 1868, with hot red peppers, vinegar and salt right from the salt mine on Avery Island. It has no additives and is completely pure and original - which is not something you can say about most sauces (or commercial foods, for that matter).

We'd had a bottle for awhile (it lasts about 5 years on your shelf, since it is aged in white oak barrels for 3 years) but I'd only used it in chili (highly recommended, by the way!) - but not on snack food. I really liked a few drops on plain pizza (my favorite kind) - it brings out the flavor of the mozzarella, which can be a little bland sometimes. I'm also planning to try it on grilled cheese, and on Pad Thai when we next get Thai takeout (Pad Thai, as you probably know, is a rice noodle dish with peanut sauce, tofu and shrimp).

TABASCO Original Red is indeed "So Much More Than Hot" because it enhances the essential flavor of the foods you put it on. It makes the flavors - well, brighter, somehow. Back in 1889 a journalist in The Century wrote: "Tabasco Sauce is well known both at home and abroad as a most agreeable seasoning" - and so it was, and still is. By the late 19th century it was a key ingredient in everything from salad dressings to soups and sauces, and was especially prized for enhancing the flavor of clams, oysters and other seafood. In 1883 a writer with the wonderful name Septimus Berdmore noted that Tabasco sauce should replace cayenne pepper in most recipes since it "can be incorporated so much better than cayenne."*

Nowadays Tabasco is incorporated into everything from dips to pizza and wings - all of which are ideal snacks for Super Bowl Sunday. Need more ideas? You can check out Tabasco's  Game-Day Party Menu and Pizza Perfected pages for more ways to use TABASCO Original Red. Pizza plus TABASCO could even become your own Super Bowl tradition. It sounds both easy and delicious - two culinary adjectives that go together as well as a plate of crispy chicken wings and TABASCO Original Red.

*Berdmore, Septimus. A Scratch Team of Essays (1883), p. 80.