Catsup in Strange Flavors

Life, March 12, 1965

Hickory flavored ketchup. Pizza flavored ketchup. Or, if you must - and the Hunt's people in 1965 felt it was necessary -  catsup. But the word "catsup" never looks right to me. The cat's up on the table eating that hamburger bun. The cat's up to something, I can tell by the way she's looking at me! But not catsup in flavors.

The word is derived from the Malay word for a Chinese table sauce called  ke-chiap (made of fish and spices) - kechup. So ketchup it is! Not catsup. 

Speaking of which: know what our cat's up to these days? When she drinks water from her bowl, she likes to dip her paw - dunk it, really  - right in the water and then walk around, leaving watermarks on the wooden floor, the rug, a chair - whatever's handy. Does anyone else's cat do this? She just started doing it a few months ago, before it got hot, so it doesn't seem weather related. She has a grand old time doing it and looks so confused when I tell her no!

At least it's only water. Not - har har - ketchup.

Here's the cast of My Three Sons circa 1965, the year of the ad, shilling catsup or ketchup or whatever:

A Brisk Worth Taking

Life, March 25, 1957

Everything brightens up with brisk Lipton's tea!

...You got that right. And not only that, but I've actually matched my tea set to my hair, my lipstick, my shoes AND the dustpan. Hah! Try and top that, coffee swillers.

I think I'll just sit here in my yellow Happy Place forever. I have a comfy chair. And some tea. And later on, I will tidy up by throwing out all those vacuum cleaner attachments with the trash. Yes! Why not!

But for now, they are behind the chair and I can't see them and boy this tea is brisk.

Must be that double shot of brandy.

The 949 Year Old Man

Upper Burial Ground, Germantown

Burial Insurance plans would have been a good idea for William Uxley back in 1822. He died age 49 in Germantown, which is part of Philadelphia, and was buried there. The stonecutter making his tombstone made a mistake and carved Uxley's age as 94 years instead of 49. But there wasn't any money for a new stone, so the stonecutter simply filled in the first 9 with plaster and put a second 9 after the 4. By 1905, though, the plaster had worn away and the stone read that William Uxley died in 1822 - age 949. So even if you're not 949 years old, seniors funeral insurance is an excellent idea.

Mr. Uxley put me in mind of some of my own ancestors who were from the Philadelphia area; one of my great grandmothers was born there. Some of her Swiss Mennonite ancestors originally settled in Germantown*, and may be buried near William Uxley for all I know. The non-Swiss ancestors were Welsh and Scotch-Irish, some of them Quakers and some not. My great grandmother's father was a Civil War veteran, and her grandfather was supposed to have run away from home to fight in the Mexican War in the 1840s. I'm not certain whether he did or not, but I intend to find out. I don't know where either of these men are buried, but I intend to find that out too (if you have ever read my history blog, you'll know that I have been an amateur genealogist for a long time).

Creating Military Memories is a wonderful idea, something that wasn't available in the 19th century. Although my Civil War ancestor did write a letter about his service, at least. He was at the Battle of Antietam, but not in it - he was guarding the bridge over Antietam Creek with his regiment -  luckily for him, since there were 23,000 casualties that day - the highest number for any single day of that war. And though he didn't live to be 949 years old, he did survive the war and lived well into the 20th century.

Source:
"Tombstone Says 949 Years Old," New York Times [from The Philadelphia Record], Mar. 23, 1905, p. 8.

*Her ancestor Jacob Frick (1717-1799) went straight to Pottstown and then to Chester County, near Philadelphia. But his brother Conrad settled in Germantown.

A Commonplace Breakfast

Duke University

Think of all the ordinary bowls, and unpuffed cereals - not to mention all the lazy no-good people like me - who take a look at this 1914 advertisement and say: yeah, they are coming down to Some Commonplace Breakfast! What about it?

Those kids are dressed for fancy puffed wheat or puffed rice, served in etched sundae glasses. They knew there was something better than cornflakes in a crockery bowl without a pedestal! Polished Mary Janes, little belted suits, Buster Brown hair and creepy smiles. This is how you greet fancy children, people. With thrillingly puffed cereal done in "Prof. Anderson's way."

And who might Professor Anderson be? Alexander P.* Anderson, who discovered in 1901 that when you heat up cornstarch, it explodes into puffed - um, cornstarch. He soon moved on to rice and wheat grains and things and popped them, too. And then he founded the Alexander Puffed Rice Company. His puffed grains were a huge hit at the St. Louis World's Fair of 1904; he shot them out of some guns, I don't know why, and puffed rice was henceforth known as "the food shot from guns." This would never convince me to eat something, but apparently it worked a treat, and puffed cereal became very popular. Anderson sold his patents to Quaker Oats, and the rest is (advertising) history. All so that Buster and his sister could flounce downstairs for some distinctly uncommon morning grub.

We actually like puffed wheat, and there is some in a plastic bag on the cereal shelf. But I don't pour it into fancy glasses. And no one wears patent leather Mary Janes around here. That's not a bad thing, I think.

*For Puffed, of course. Actually, his middle name was Pierce. But it should have been Puffed.

The House That Made Squirrels Jealous

Popular Science, September 1926

This must have been the most unusual house in the neighborhood (or the forest) in Seattle, Washington, back in 1926. It wasn't the only tree-trunk house around, though. The picture below and on the right shows a house in the eastern Washington (the D.C. one), from about 1925, near the Smithsonian Castle.* I suppose this was a 1920s fad of sorts, though not everyone, of course, could indulge in it.

Now it isn't just the redwood trunk or the conical roof that interests me - take a look at those Seattle windows

Library of Congress

at the front. I'm not sure how you'd get any replacement windows if, say, a squirrel tried to throw some nuts at it because you'd co-opted some of his prime real estate. The owner had placed a "Bad Dog" sign outside the house to deter "curious persons" from bothering him. But what about the curious squirrels? Because they must have been really confused. And jealous, too.

Now, if you happen to be in the Seattle or Lake Washington area and need new windows - there is no need for jealousy or Bad Dog signs or even a handy hollowed-out giant tree trunk. You can just read more right over here. Even if you don't happen to live in a redwood.

End note: There's a redwood log house, made in 1938, at Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum in Florida, see here - but  it is lying parallel to the ground - and it doesn't have cool windows, unfortunately. Oh, and there's another in California, but carved out of the whole tree, not a section. And also: no cool windows. They did it up right in Seattle, I think.

*And an asterisk, too! The admin offices and info center of the Smithsonian Institution are in the red sandstone Smithsonian Castle, built in 1855, located on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. Too bad the admin offices and info center are not in the redwood trunk.

Tea and Antipathy

Life, December 4, 1939

Tea can't solve all the problems I can see here, you know. And it also can't solve the slightly blurred image. I would like to say that more tea would fix that, too, but it probably won't. You can see things a bit better here, though. And anyway, you can get the general idea from the title: Was Mark Really Mean? Or is it just that he has no pep, and needs a new beverage as suggested by the nurse in the middle left panel?

Guess what. He really IS mean. And it has nothing to do with a lack of pep. A lack of manners, maybe. Because when Mrs. Mark attempts to interest him in a cup, he says no and then "wait - you say you've really learned how to make it? OK, I'm on - but for a trial only -"

What a snarky dude you are, Mark. I would pour it right over your head, if it was me you were talking to like that. But Mrs. Mark does  not seem to mind. And whatever she puts in his tea, it seems to work. Because soon Mark is out making a snowman with his kid, and generally running around being happy. And he is possibly going to join the railroad*, because there is a happy folksy railroad guy slugging some down and saying it "digests easy" (yeah, it does, it is mostly water). He adds that it not only perks you up but also lets you sleep. Not on the job, one hopes, Mr. Railroad Guy.

At the bottom, you may notice that the teapot is a Mr. T. Pott - I thought that in popular culture teapots tended to be female and spoke with the voice of Angela Lansbury, as per the Disney movie Beauty and the Beast.

My grandfather worked for Burlington Northern - in the offices in New York, though - in the 1930s. I don't recall anyone saying that he was crazy about cups of tea. But then he didn't wear a striped hat either and never referred to things being "brewed hearty-like." His highest term of approbation was that something "wasn't half bad." I can't imagine the tea folks wanting that as an advertising slogan though, do you?

*I see what you're thinking, Mrs. Mark! Well played.

Dr. Oetker's Fabulous Home Bakery Contest

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Dr. Oetker for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

 

Dr. August Oetker invented baking powder* back in the 1890s, and after that he never looked back (except to check what was in the oven, of course). I have always liked his custard mixes, and I also own a 1963 Dr. Oetker cookbook which is one of my great treasures. I look through it pretty often, testing out my German (which is rather half-baked, so to speak) and admire the pictures - especially one of a tremendous Black Forest cake with asymmetrical bands of white cream and chocolate (I don’t know how they did that, but it looks great).

But Dr. Oetker does not only make you delicious desserts, oh no! He is, after all, a doctor, and realizes the importance of a nice dinner (and then you can have your dessert). He also makes frozen pizzas of all sorts. And if you are a Canadian resident who likes pizza, then you are in for a culinary and monetary treat!

I should tell you that I buy Dr. Oetker pizzas regularly, and we really like them. I usually have a few in the downstairs freezer to have on those nights when I haven’t whipped up something incredible (or even edible), and they never let me down: they are always delicious. Panebello Bakery Crust Pizza is Dr. Oetker’s latest innovation, and is it a delicious one: frozen pizza with a great crispy crust and one of four delightful toppings - take your pick from Country Pepperoni, Classic Canadian, Vegetables and Goats Cheese and Bruschetta. You can buy them at most major groceries in Canada for $5.99 to $6.49. You can go over to visit oetker.ca for the nutritional information, too.

And not only that, but Dr. Oetker is giving you and me the chance to win 1 of 5 Divine.ca Home Bakery Bundle Giveaway packs, each of which is worth $500!

Hungry for for information? But of course: each of the 5 prize packs contains 8 coupons for each of the four new varieties of Dr. Oetker Panebello Pizza: Vegetables and Goat Cheese, Country Pepperoni, Classic Canadian and Bruschetta. But this Bakery Bundle is not just a package of coupons! You will also receive: a Breville Toaster Oven, a pair of Dr. Oetker oven mitts, a Dr. Oetker Pizza Cutter, and 1 Williams-Sonoma Pizza Peel.

In other words: this is a totally amazing offer! It is just for Canadian residents, though (sorry, American friends and readers!).The details are over at divine.ca and the contest is running between May 4 and June 13, 2011.

So you and I both should get over there and enter. I am especially keen to own a pair of Dr. Oetker oven mitts - I am hoping they are representation of Dr. August Oetker (my hopes aren’t high, but still). And then I can make my hands converse in German together - about recipes! What fun.

*Alfred Bird of England also invented baking powder in the 1840s, according to my sources (Wikipedia, ahem). I say let’s give them both credit. Alfred Bird is better known for his custard powder, anyway. Oh, and the pizza image is from Wikimedia Commons;  and the cookbook cover is from me.

Moon Renovation Power!

Gallery of Graphic Design

Some day you're going to do something about that upper hall floor...

Oh hello there, Armstrong's Linoleum Floors. Didn't see you there under the pile of books and stuff. I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.

And yes...someday I really am going to do something about that upper hall floor. And about the way the hall rug clashes with the wallpaper. And maybe I'll take down that spiky 1930s disco ball thing hanging from the ceiling so it doesn't drop on my head when I'm bringing the laundry upstairs.

The floor is actually linoleum that looks like wood, though. I can give you that, at least. Although when I first saw this ad, I thought it was the Before picture, because the rug looks like its hiding Bad Floor. We do that, too. We are going to refinish the living/dining room wooden floors one of these days (for which read: maybe never, because we are kind of busy and also kind of tired) but in the meantime: hello, area carpeting! But ours is not pink and yellow and does not almost-match the walls.

ComicVine

1930s version of Imperium Crystal

I really, really wish we had a 1930 Spiky Disco ball, though. It looks like the crystals in Sailor Moon.  I am going to try and find a picture of one for you. Oh, here we go. This is the Imperium Silver Crystal we have here - so I reckon there's something going on with this upper hall that has nothing to do with the flooring.

In fact, we may need a whole new backstory for Sailor Moon. Sailor Moon in the 1930s, redecorating and renovating houses with linoleum and flashy wallpaper and colored glass bottles in the windows. Moon Renovation Power! She uses her wand and magic locket to transform houses that are dark and shabby. Because the Bad Guys let them get all run down and shabby, you see. And she always leaves her designer trademark hanging from the ceiling.

Maybe she can come to my house when she has a minute and refinish our floors.

The Weary Trousseau

1941 ad, big version here

Seventy years ago you could find this bridal bargain in all the finest stores: a toaster, a coffee maker and an iron all in a lovely box and called, collectively, a Wheary Trousseau. I would actually love to own this fabulous vintage stuff, all of it, but it was the name Wheary Trousseau that particularly appealed to me. Yes, you will be weary after making toast and coffee for the groom; and cleaning up afterwards; and washing that fancy tablecloth you got as a wedding gift; and then doing all the ironing.

If you go over to the big version (link under the image) you can see the details a bit better. One detail I love is that the Weary Trousseau case has a handle - so you can tote this stuff around. Are you supposed to take it on your honeymoon? Is that going to be a fun "Honeymoon Special," making toast and ironing stuff in the hotel? Oh, General Electric, thank you - that sounds so romantic!

Radio With Pictures

A little article in the April 1950 edition of Popular Mechanics today has made me grateful for the television technology we have now, everything from flat screen TVs to s-video cables and VGA TV cables - all the things I never think about when we're watching The Office and reruns of Seinfeld and Pilot Guides. Just like I never think about that first TV set I remember from my childhood - a black and white model with rabbit ears on top, that sat in a wobbly metal stand in our living room.

Back then, there was no optimized cable company to make getting that television signal any easier. But even in 1964, when I was two, watching the six o'clock news from my playpen (yes, there is even a home movie of this) things were a tad easier than they were for the Parsons family back in 1950.

The pictures you see here are of Mr. and Mrs. Parsons, who lived in the little town of Astoria, Oregon in 1950. Mrs. Parsons was keen to have "radio with pictures," or television - since she knew that a lot of people were watching it down in Seattle. But Seattle was 140 miles away, with a lot of 4000 foot high mountains standing between Mrs. Parsons and Texaco Star Theater. Luckily, Mr. Parsons not only ran the local radio station (without pictures) but also maintained the radar and navigational devices for the local fishermen. So he rigged up an 8 tube receiver-sender up on top of his house and finally managed to get a signal.

Cue everyone going over to the Parsons' place to watch television - literally everyone in town. It got so that the doorbell would ring and they'd just yell, "Come in and have a seat!" without looking up. But eventually, as you can imagine, they started running out of those seats (also out of popcorn and soda). So Mr. Parsons decided to get the whole town rigged up using - you guessed it - cable:

He strung cable up buildings, down elevator shafts, through underground tunnels carrying utility lines. The cable went into private homes, taverns, stores...Parsons figures his receiving-sending unit with coaxial cable system to service 10 television sets could be manufactured to sell for about $1000.

That that was a lot of money back in 1950 - never mind a lot of buildings and elevator shafts decorated with a whole lot of cables. So I'm mindful of the amazing technology we have now. And we can even get Texaco Star Theater - on YouTube, for example - so there's that, too.

The Saltine Sea

Lobster Newburg was first created about 1867 - or possibly 1876, according to the Delmonico's site (link below) - stories differ, but this is the most popular version -  by a man called Ben Wenburg who was a sea captain and thus presumably knew his way around a lobster or two. He is said to have been in the business of transporting fruit on his ships. So really, he ought to have been thinking up bananas flambé or something nice to make with cherries, but this was not Mr. Wenburg's plan. He wanted a creamy lobster entrée in a chafing dish, cooked with butter and onion and a little Tabasco sauce.

NYPL

So he went over to Delmonico's - even then a famous New York restaurant (it's still there, by the way) - and demanded a chafing dish and some lobsters. Cooked it all himself and then had the chef, one Charles Ranhofer, taste it. The verdict: yum! Although really, can you imagine marching into a fancy dining establishment and acting like a Victorian version of Iron Chef? A trifle forward, really.

So it is hardly surprising to learn than Ranhofer and Wenburg had a Falling Out. I don't know why, but it ended in Ranhofer banning Wenburg from Delmonico's and changing the name of the dish - which was a popular menu item by then - from Lobster à la Wenburg to Lobster à la Newberg. And it has been a faux-French staple of fancy chafing dish cookery ever since.

Of course, if you don't have lobster, never fear. You can just use some canned salmon, as the 1960 advertisement up at the top of this post suggests - with an exclamation mark. But if you do, you'll probably need to compensate by making the dish more elegant in other ways.

And that is where Saltine crackers come into the equation. They were first made in 1876 - same year as Ben Wenburg cooked up his first lobster! Conincidence? I think not. This is just what he really needed to have added to the original dish. After all, they are Premium Saltines. And best of all, they come in a box that won't make you mad. Perfect. Clearly, this is just what Ranhofer and Wenburg needed.