A Bad Craft With Unhealthy Fruit

Tomheroes.com

This could be your head!

Oh no, it couldn't. Because I do not want any part of Vincent Price's dried-apple crafts. Not even on (especially not on!) Halloween. The ad says that if we all make little dried apple heads - and wear them as necklaces and things (what a thought) - it will be "like having Halloween all year round!" Yes, wearing an old piece of fruit on a string around my neck in August will really make it seem like the end of October. I'll have to try that sometime, Vincent.

Not right now, though.

This ad is probably from the mid-1970s. I know this because I did some research (i.e. I Googled a little). I found a bit from Ms. Magazine, a delightful understated bit of snark, about this product:

"...dried apple sculpture is a respected folk art, but Vincent Price on the cover of Whiting's grotesque Shrunken Head Apple Sculpture distorts a good craft, and a healthy fruit."

I love that prissy phrasing: a good craft and a healthy fruit. As opposed to all those unhealthy fruits you see in the store. And - a good craft? Maybe so, but I can't quite picture Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan sitting around making little granny dolls from apples, can you? A woman needs a shrunken apple head like a fish needs a bicycle!

Here's a photo of the actual, horrible kit over at Boing Boing.

Anyway:  Happy Halloween, Samhain and All Hallows' Eve. And Happy Reformation Day - today was the day in 1517 that Martin Luther tacked up his list of  95 theses (known as the 95 Theses, big surprise) on that church door in Wittenberg, Germany. And happy birthday to John Keats, born in 1795, who wrote sonnets about peaks in Darien, though he had never even been to Connecticut.* Also odes to nightingales. But never about apples, dried or fresh.

Oh, and to all my fellow NaNoWriMo-ers out there, happy last day before we all start staring at those blank screens and freaking out! I'll be around, here and on Virtual Dime Museum - just not every day. And if the posts are even shorter and more inane than usual (that goes for both blogs and double for The Doubletake if I even get over there) - you'll know why.

*I do know that he didn't mean Darien, Connecticut.

Stop A Trick on Halloween

Life, October 26, 1959

This will indeed stop a trick - right in his or her tracks, as it were (you can make up a few jokes right about here*). Is it better, worse or about equal to getting a box of raisins or some pencils in your plastic pumpkin/laundry bag/gigantic Gor-Tex enhanced Mountain Equipment mountaineering pack?

I was not even particularly happy to see these mini boxes of cereal at breakfast. You thought: oh yeah, tiny cereal boxes, there they are. Big whoop. And never once did I cut them open and pour milk in them like you were supposed to be able to do (I think). That would be messy and boring. Two strikes. One to go. I guess this is strike three: seeing them on Halloween. At least they should be in disguise. In costume. Dress those little cereal boxes up in Brach's chocolate wrappers or something, people!

*I'm a little low on creative energy today as I have just spent the morning writing up a synopsis for my NaNoWriMo novel - you can click on the link on the right if you want to check it out)

Bill and the Magic Bottle

1941 ad, big version here

This is a little fairy tale about a man who was kind and generous enough to throw lots of parties for his friends. But his friends - well, they don't look like greedy ogres or wicked forest creatures. But their happy, friendly exteriors are false. They are fibbing when they say they liked Bill's party.

They just about manage to hold it in until Bill closes the door on their cheery cries of  "Thanks for the swell time, Bill!" They all love the word 'swell,' since it is 1941 and that was some cool talking back then. But they can hardly contain themselves, and instantly, large loud speech bubbles are flying in the air:

Bill sure tries hard to be a good host!

But I don't see how such a swell guy can serve such awful drinks.

Goodness, what do you think Bill can be serving them?  Tap water in jelly glasses? Beet juice cocktails? Canola oil on the rocks?

Then they think of even more snippy things to say once they get in the car:

Somebody should tell him what people like to drink these days.

Why doesn't he serve Virginia Dare wine...That's my idea of being sociable.

You've got to feel sorry for Bill. I don't see why such a swell guy has such shallow friends. Why doesn't he meet some folks who don't snipe about his beverage choices and, oh I don't know, like him for just being Bill - a swell guy. They could just all meet up in a bar, you know.

But then later that night, guess who drops in on Bill? Why, Virginia Dare herself - in a fancy costume and braids, the Good Fairy of Cheap Booze. And she thought she'd better show up with a hostess gift. A bottle of - oh, you know what she brought, right? 

And you also know what happens at Bill's next party. Those no-good smirking so-called friends of his are fawning over him and his get-togethers like nobody's business: oh yes, Bill's parties are "tops" now that he serves Virginia Dare. "And it's so inexpensive," the lady says in the last scene - with just a hint of condescension. Yeah, Bill is tops, but he's...oh dear, kind of cheap. Next time you drop in after hours, Miss Dare - don't forget to bring Bill some new friends, too, won't you?

Would you like another virtual glass of Virginia Dare? Oh please do, it's the wine America calls for!

Truth or Virginia Dare
The Accidental Wine Expert
A Zesty After-Dinner Plot

A Head Full of Electric Magic

Pop. Mech. April 1929 [big version here]

Two heads really are better than one - even with differing amounts of hair on them.

Use the 1920s miracle hair-growth technique, Dermo-Ray. to grow a new crop of hair, and not only will you have a new look - you'll be able to see and interact with your former bald self.

You will, however, have to use "the electric magic of  infra-red rays" on your head. So you will need electricity in your home. You know, so that you can plug your scalp in and heat it up with infra-red rays. Apparently this was discovered by a nameless surgeon. How did he find this out? By chance, or was he cooking his scalp? I do not really want to know, but it is rather mysterious.

Popular Mechanics, July 1928

Anyway, just send for the Dermo-Ray device (which is, disturbingly, not pictured). And in no time at all ("within a few weeks" - anything from 2 weeks to a year or more, in other words) you will have lots of new hair. And a very hot scalp, too; you can chuck all the fedoras in your closet for good. Three cheers for the Larson Institute of Chicago!* It's just too bad that these guys - all four heads - do not look happier. You'd think the After Head would look a little perkier, wouldn't you?

*Where else? Of course this place is in Chicago - because back in the early 20th century Chicago was the (unofficial) world capital of all sorts of astonishing novelties and inventions. Just click that tag "Retro Chicago" if you want to be totally amazed and entertained by more of them.

The Jell-O Stunt

Life, March 5, 1945

Yes, this is what the ad decrees: "Pull another stunt!" it says. What, another one? But you have already made a stunt of a dessert with a single apple and a package of Jell-O. I'm sure you did not forget to use a fancy mold. And to stick some leaves you found in the backyard just under it, half sticking out. It will look like something you found growing outside now (if you ever do find something like this growing outside, just lock your doors and stay behind the curtains).

Now that you have desecrated your apple, it's time to move on to the main event. Just - pull another stunt! Really, that is what it says:

...pull another stunt! See what a good hearty salad you can make with a few carrots and peas, a hard-boiled egg or two - and some Jell-O!

And then you will have "Jellied Vegetable Entree." It is what you see when you look up the phrase "A recipe for disaster" in the dictionary. Unless you are having some little twee cartoon rabbits over for dinner. They seem to like this sort of thing.

It contains canned peas and carrots, onion, vinegar, cayenne pepper, lemon or lime Jell-O. And hard-boiled eggs. They may be as hard-boiled as Sam Spade, but they are frightened. You can see that. They are edging up just to where they can peek out of the lemon (or lime) Jell-O. Some of them have escaped, but are making the fatal mistake of resting on the plate.

Run for it, hard-boiled egg slices! This is your chance, while they're across the room getting the mayonnaise. You have to fill the center of the Jellied Vegetable Entree with mayonnaise (it is the law). Just watch out for the mutant apple Jell-O molds out there.

A Clean Halloween

Gallery of Graphic Design

Here's a little Halloween mystery for us all. And we are going to need the two weeks left before Halloween to figure it out.

Usually ads for this holiday involve candies, raisins or other things kids want to collect when they're out trick or treating. Although I always disliked the raisins and the pencils back when I was ringing doorbells in our New York City apartment building. Never went outside, no sir! I had to take the elevator with my mother trailing me, and I couldn't even go to all the floors. There was enough disappointment built right in to suffice without people giving me pencils.

Anyway, this ad...Where to begin? The maid - or possibly mother dressed up as one - is saying to the departing trick-or-treaters:

"Wait for me, kids - I just remembered this is the day of the week I put Drano in all the drains!"

Um...HUH??? What in the world is this supposed to mean? I know we learn, later on, that Drano's cauldron-searing "churning, boiling action" cleans drains and is also going to infiltrate the sewers outside with their "sewer germs" (won't some one think of the baby alligators?). But these kids are ringing doorbells. They are not going anywhere near the sewers. Are they? And what are her plans - does she want to go explore the sewers? In a French maid's costume?

Oh wait. Maybe she means she wants to follow behind them and put Drano in the sewers to protect them from germs. Gee, doesn't that sound swell? Just add a bunch of pencils and raisins and it's going to be the best Halloween ever!

[Many thanks to the fabulous Gallery of Graphic Design for, once again, a stellar advertisement!]

Can You Dig It?

In 1962
Before recycling was a word anybody knew
There were these two models,
One quizzical gal lugging multitudes of bottles

The other, all peppy blonde élan
Tossing can after can after steel can
Smilingly, and as a matter of course,
Without even bothering to remove the straws.

Orange soda or grape, or some fruity hybrid quite undrinkable
Whatever came in a can, it was unthinkable
To save it in a box or bag or closet
Because unlike bottles there was no deposit

And Bethlehem Steel encouraged us to toss
Their cans and then buy more and more, of course;
Steel cans made into flotsam and also jetsam*
So folks would run back to the store to get some.

How strange to see them blithely throw away
A bunch of cans and then just go away
But then so much was not yet true
Back in 1962.

*Did you know that flotsam and jetsam are (aside from being terms for odds and ends of stuff) real nautical terms for specific kinds of wreckage? Flotsam is floating wreckage and jetsam is stuff that was thrown or jettisoned off the ship.

Aviva and the Angel of the Cassiar

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

Aviva Canada Inc. is running a contest for would-be community philanthropists. This is just the sort of thing that Irish Nellie would applaud - loudly. 

And who was Irish Nellie? An amazing Canadian woman, born in 1845 in Ireland, Ellen Cashman originally went to Boston with her family in 1860. She went west and ended up in British Columbia by the early 1870s. Nellie and her mother went there to be miners; as you can imagine, female miners were almost unheard of back then; she often dressed as a man both for comfort and to defend herself. She was, as you can imagine, tough and fearless. 

But Nellie was also very community-minded. She was in Victoria in the winter of 1873-4 when she heard that there was an outbreak of scurvy, and no supplies, up at a mining camp in the Cassiar Mountains in northern British Columbia. She rounded up 6 men for her party and started out. The conditions were very dangerous - snow, avalanches, and of course back in the 1870s, no highways. It took Nellie and her men 77 days to get there; but get there they did, and she saved at least 75 miners' lives. The miners called her the Angel of the Cassiar.

Cassiar Highway

While she was busy feeding Vitamin C to the scurvy sufferers in the wild, she also she helped raise money for St. Joseph's Hospital back in Victoria. By the late 1870s she was traveling in the US, though she returned to Canada to be a miner in the Klondike in the late 1890s. All her life she worked for her living - often as a miner, in various places -  but she always helped her community out, too. The Angel of the Cassiar helped fund hospitals, a Catholic church in Arizona, and a public school - the first one in Tombstone, Arizona. She died in 1925 in St. Joseph's Hospital in Victoria, the  first beneficiary of her good works in the community.

Why not emulate this amazing woman and do something great for your community - with a little help from Aviva? Aviva Canada Inc. one of Canada's largest insurance providers (home, auto, leisure and business) are once again hosting the Aviva Community Fund Contest. This is their third year of doing so and they are offering $1,000,000 to Canadians who inspire, support and lead community initiatives across Canada. Aviva has already given $1.5 million to 19 community groups since 2009. Send an idea to AvivaCommunityFund.org - then start telling the people you know from work or your neighborhood and get them involved, too. Aviva will pick the best ideas and if you have one of them, you'll get some of that $1,000,000 to help you start that community garden or school playground (three of last years' awards went to help schools build better playgrounds).

How do you get involved? Send your idea to Aviva - remember the deadline is November 30th, 2011. The winners are going to be the folks whose ideas get the most votes, so make sure you promote your idea on your blog or website, and through Twitter  - Follow @avivacf - and make sure to like Aviva Community Fund on Facebook. Your entry will be even stronger if you add some great photos and videos. In addition, get an insurance broker on board to help support your idea; this will make your entry stronger, too. And don't forget to check out the Aviva Facebook page to see all the ideas already submitted. You can vote for your favorites ideas there, too, also until November 30th.

This is such a great chance for anyone in Canada who wants to do something amazing in their community. And tell 'em Irish Nellie sent you!

[Source for Irish Nellie's biography: Wikipedia (link under her picture) and the wonderful Dictionary of Canadian Biography Online.]

Grand Pants and Beatle Jackets

Let's start the week off right: with some Grand Pants. The Grand Pants Company of Kansas City, Missouri had the answer (in 1909) to that perennial question: What sort of wool garment will I be wanting this fall?

My answer is always: cashmere cardigans in a variety of shades, please. But the correct answer is: gigantic wool trousers, held up by a smirking boy half-hiding behind a doorway made out of wooden rulers.

Added bonus: the name of the company. Irresistible. Who doesn't love a pair of Grand Pants?

The Grand Pants Company was run by a Mr. Samuel Gretzer - and Grand Pants were not his only sartorial invention. According to  1908 news item in The Kansas City Journal, Gretzer had designed a new, trendy collarless coat for men - long before the Beatles in their collarless suits, mind you:

Grand Jackets [source]

 Its snug shoulder-hugging lines curve artistically about the neck, but there is absolutely nothing which could be termed a "collar," or part of one....Samuel Gretzer, owner and manager of the Grand Pants stores, asserts that this style will be positively seen on the streets this coming season. Mr. Gretzer is the originator of the Grand Pants idea, a plan of selling which has become justly famous, and has been copied all over the United States - that of selling trousers at "$1.75 a leg, seats free!"*

The collarless so-called Beatle suit of the early 1960s (as worn by you-know-who), was based on Pierre Cardin's collarless jackets. And Cardin was supposed to have been inspired by Edwardian men's suits (that is, of the 1901-1910 period). But as far as I have been able to tell, Edwardian men's suits had collars (Cardin's inspiration was more generalized, I think). Unless Pierre Cardin knew about the Grand Pants company. And if that's the case, I think that Mr. Gretzer should get a lot more credit, don't you? Yeah yeah yeah.

Oh, and if you click the link under the Beatles, you can get your very own finely tailored reproduction Beatle suit. They are pretty expensive, though. Not exactly $1.75 a leg. And the seat is definitely not free.

*One of the best advertising slogans ever.

A Patent Leather Vampire

With Halloween coming up in a couple of weeks, it's really not surprising that even 1920s era vampires want to start thinking about hair care. They need something to keep their hair looking great while they are out flapping around, making threats in dramatic voices, and generally staying out all night wreaking psychological havoc. That can really mess up your hairdo.

So thank goodness for Comb-O, the Hair Cream Bargain. Yes, back in 1925 there was a Magic Hair Cream  for guys who wanted their hair to look "smooth and glassy" - just like it was made out of a pair of black patent leather* shoes. The guy in the picture seems to be Dracula after an Extreme Makeover.

He isn't entirely happy about the Magic Hair Cream, you can tell. But he should be. Because once he gets that new designer cape on (and some black patent leather shoes to match his Comb-O-ver) he will be the most stylish vampire in town.

*The patent leather process had been known since the 18th century. It involved coating high-grade leather with a lacquer made from linseed oil (now it's plastic-based). but it was popularized in the US by Seth Boyden of Newark, New Jersey in 1818. Patent leather can come in a variety of colors, but black is the most common one.

And many thanks to BrSpiritus at The Vintage Recipe Blog for the versatile Blogger Award!

Some 1950s Bakelite Poker Help

Jet, April 3, 1952

This is exactly the sort of thing you'd want if you were having a poker game back in the 1950s: the Chip-Co-Tray, a "Poker Player's Partner." This was a set of Bakelite trivets that held both a drink and your poker chips. It also had a built-in ashtray. And you also got poker chips in three different colors - red, white and blue.

You could really multi-task with something like this! And you need to concentrate on several things at once while you are playing - not just your drink and cigarette (if you smoke) but also the rules and regulations.

Another poker player's partner is Casino news online, which can tell you about online casino sites and also (I like this especially) reminds you of the basic rules of casino games. You can get all the latest news about casinos both on line and in real life, in the United States and in other countries such as the UK, all in one place - which is very handy. You can also find out about bonuses being offered on various sites. And you won't just learn about poker but many other games such as baccarat, blackjack and slots.

These are all good things. Because, as my family can tell you, I always forget the intricacies of poker. Although I'm sure that if I had retro Bakelite accessories, it would really help.

A Round of Woodbury Cocktails

Bigger version here at Ad Access

So it's Friday and that means Friday evening is almost upon us. And that means it is time for a delicious retro cocktail, right? Ooh, how about a Woodbury Cocktail? Ever hear of it?

There's a good reason why you haven't. Read on and see why:

So many relationship problems can be solved with one cake of soap! Do you believe that? No? Well, just take a look at this thrilling story from 1949 (the big version is at the link) - and if you don't want to click any more, I'll just fill you in a little. We've seen this before, after all. The soap and shampoo ads go for this plotline:

Here we see Dot whining to her friend about how Jack has been cutting a rug with Marcia all evening (dancing, in other words). How could he be so mean?

The friend knows why Jack has hit the road. Because Dot has dull horrible skin! They couldn't possibly have had any other problems. Nope! Dot is perfect, except for that stale-cupcake complexion of hers. And Jack, well, he's perfect too. Not - you know - shallow or anything! Dot definitely needs to get on this with a few cocktails.

Oh goody, you might think, now we're talking. (I did). But the friend does not mean cocktails as in delicious White Russians or Whiskey Sours. Today the letter W is brought to you by Woodbury Cocktails (you'll be sending it right back in a minute). The Woodbury is made by rubbing your face with soap suds and rinsing them off. Oh, Dot honey, that's not a cocktail - that's ordinary hygeine.

But it works out for Dot. Even though she didn't even know how to wash her face until recently. I mean, she gets Jack running back to her and everything. And they are probably getting married. She'll have a soap-themed wedding, of course. Woodbury Cocktails all around - and hotel-size soap appetizers. And what will she be carrying? A Cashmere Bouquet.

Extra Bonus Recipe! I have just learned that the Black Russian cocktail (vodka plus Kahlua) was invented in the same year that this Woodbury Soap ad came out - 1949! That's some kind of kismet. I don't know when people started pouring cream into Black Russians, but it was probably in the 1950s or 1960s.

And that's enough for me to post a White Russian recipe, anyway: combine 50 ml of vodka and 20 ml of Kahlua (or any other coffee liqueur you have lying around) and put them in a glass. An Old Fashioned glass is ideal (as in the picture, above). Then pour in 30 ml of cream and let it float on top. And if you get any cream on your upper lip trying to drink it, you've always got Woodbury's.

The Boy With A Shine

The boy with a shine wins.

Oh great, what does he win? A giant teddy bear? Some money? Or some learn-at-home Charleston lessons?

No, no. He just gets to come inside, that's all. Because Helen's mother always checks his shoes before she lets him inside. That's her excuse, anyway. She may have to think of some other reason not to let him in. Or just tell him Helen's gone to boarding school in Labrador (it's a very exclusive school so no one's heard of it yet). And then she can slip out the back door in time.

But Helen's strangely youthful-looking mother is probably going to let Shine Boy in this time. And that is because he has polished up his shoes with the 2 In 1 Shining Kit.

Of course he will also need to hand over the flowers and candy, pronto. And maybe answer a few questions about current events, and his job, and whether his sister is still dancing in the chorus line down at the Ziegfeld Theater downtown (Peppy Peggy, they call her).

And then maybe he can come in and see what Helen's been up to. When she's home from Labrador, that is. What she's really doing is practising for the Ziegfeld Dollies, the Beanville version of the Ziegfeld Follies. Just like her pal Peppy Peggy. And she'd like to borrow that shoe polish to shine up her dancing slippers, before she goes, thanks.

[Ad is from Boys' Life, July 1925.]

Deep In the Heart of Searsville

A cross-section of part of 'Searsville'

You've probably heard of Sears Roebuck and Co., the great department store based in Chicago, that is still going strong today. Its catalogue, first published in 1888, is famous too - for its size and for the enormous variety of goods on offer.

But have you ever heard of Searsville?

No, it wasn't a real town - not in the usual sense. The Sears mail order division home office in Chicago was the subject of a Popular Mechanics article in May 1943. It was the size of a small city, and they called it Searsville. Searsville had its own hospital, bank, its own newspaper and police and fire departments. It even got its water supply from its very own private well.

Not clapping to the music

There were 9,500 employees at Searsville and they moved hundreds of thousands of packaged orders (ordered from the 15 million catalogues Sears sent out in the 1940s) from Chicago every day. You can see some of those packages in the photo below. It's amazing to think that they kept them all straight - but they did.

My favorite part of the 1940s Searsville is this:  four times a day, band music was played through the loud speakers to cheer and energize everyone - don't you just love that? They did have to stop playing "Deep in the Heart of Texas," though, the shipping department manager explained, because "They all stopped to clap their hands."

Sears came to Canada in 1952 when the department store Simpson's joined with Sears to strengthen the Simpson's mail-order catalogue and help develop stores in parts of Canada which had neither a Simpson's nor, of course, a Sears. Buy the 1970s, Simpson-Sears stores were known just by the name of Sears - to avoid confusion. I know I would have been confused. I came to Canada in the 1980s and remember shopping occasionally at Simpson's - usually around Christmas time. And I'm sure the Sears association did strengthen the Simpson's catalogue sales - how could it not, with a home office like Searsville? Just as long as they played a little John Philip Sousa in the mail room - not "Deep in the Heart of Texas" - I'm sure that they were just fine.

Cooking With Jughead

Vintage Ad Browser

This 1970s Spam ad was inspired, no doubt, by Jughead. Also by Shaggy and Scooby Doo. All of whom are afficianados of enormous, comical sandwich towers with fillings so unsettling only a slightly weird cartoon character would attempt eating them.

So look. Look what you can do with one can of Spam. Yes, one thing you might like to do is to simply throw it away. Yes. But how could you, when you could make this enchanting tower of  - ingredients. Just add some bread and you'll have also cleaned out your entire refrigerator. Multi-tasking at its finest, that's what this is.

Do not even bother to chop up that whole green onion. Just stick it in between two slices of Wonder Bread. Let everyone wonder why you did it. Maybe you were making an artistic statement. Maybe you hate chopping things. Let them stew over that. Oh, speaking of which. Don't forget that stew from last week - there's some pumpernickel over there that looks a bit - unadorned.*

S is for Sandwich!

And those baked beans that have been looking lonely at the back of the fridge? Pour them out of their isolation-chamber Tupperware right onto a sliced roll. The slices of Spam will keep them company. Keep going until all your stale bread has been transformed into edible girders and joists, between which you have inserted indestructable slices of Spam.

When you're done, stack all the sandwiches of strangeness into one big Leaning Tower. Well, it'll be leaning soon, I don't trust that green onion and neither should you. Then go outside and wait for the Mystery Machine to show up. Let's hope they remembered to stop by the Chocklit Shoppe to pick up Jughead.

* Actually they did not suggest putting stew on the pumpernickel in this ad. But they veer dangerously close to that sort of thing.

Mother Finds the Mute Button

Life, November 12, 1951

Mother's got a hearing aid
So the old gal can listen
To morons tootling trumpet solos
On the television

Hurrah for Father kicking back
As he chews his pipe and sighs
And Sonny asks if Ma can't make
A few more apple pies.

But Mother isn't really deaf
As a can of processed peas
It's just that she never gets to choose
The shows the family sees.

And she's tired of making two-crust pies
In her Little Black Dress and heels;
And of perching perkily although
She's made a thousand meals.

So now that she's got this hearing aid
She'll turn it down to soft
And let the morons toot all night
Both on TV and off.

The Great Cookbook Swap

I started collecting cookbooks about 20 years ago. I inherited the first items in my collection from my mother, who'd been collecting cookbooks since I was little. She liked to bake at holidays, but mostly she preferred reading and imagining the recipes in her head. I am just the same way - I cook most days, and I don't mind it (unless I'm in the middle of writing something) and I love baking once in awhile. But show me a good cookbook - vintage if possible - and I will happily go off and read it.

One of my latest finds is this on you 1929 cookbook on your left, called Good Meals and How to Prepare Them. It was a giveaway for the readers of Good Housekeeping.  My copy was pretty well used - but I couldn't leave it in the thrift store. I'll tell you more about it in another post, because there are some incredible recipes in there. I also picked up a 1930s GE promotional cookbook called The New Art - the New Art being "Modern Cooking," which of course was expedited by GE appliances.

Now, there are some  modern cookbooks I have that I'm not that crazy about. I do have a lot, and some of them just didn't work out for me - you know how that is. But they'd be great for someone else. I'm thinking about trying an online book swap so that someone who likes - let's say - Spanish cuisine - can have my giant Spanish cookbook.

I was sorry to see that the book swap at Goodreads will be closing at the end of this month, but you'll still be able to exchange books with other readers at BooksfreeSwap. BooksfreeSwap.com is a community for book lovers in the U.S.  You can join for free and trade books (and audiobooks) with other readers - pass along the books you don't want anymore and get some new ones, that you do want, in return. After you sign up, you make a list of the books you want to swap and they'll let you know by email when someone would like one of your books. You send it, using a Postage Paid mailing label you can print out from the site - the recipient pays for the shipping and handling.

You'll want to make your own wish list, too. When someone else lists a book that you want, you'll get an email. Then you pay the shipping and handling, and the book or books will be sent to you, anywhere in the U.S. You can browse the available books before you sign up - I did, and they have a terrific, huge selection of books in just about any category you can imagine, from Alternative History and Action to True Crime and Travel. And of course I checked out Cooking - they have tons of modern cookbooks and books on culinary history and chef's memoirs and...well, a lot of good stuff. If you love books - and want to trade in some books you don't read or want anymore for some great new reads, do check out BooksfreeSwap.

The Canned Pea Carnival

You may not want to attend this particular carnival. I know I don't. But it seems to be going on right now and you ought to know. Just in case you happen to see a lot of festive canned peas around, playing games and  running food stalls downtown that feature exciting dishes like the ones in the pictures above.

There really was a Canned Pea Carnival from October 20 to November 15 in the early 1940s, sponsored by the Canned Pea Marketing Institute. According to a trade magazine called The Progressive Grocer* in 1940, the Institute wanted "to move 23,000,000 cases of canned peas." Just use a few trucks, folks. And make sure you move them far away from the rest of us. Because I don't know about you, but I hate canned peas.

If you did buy some of those 23,000,000 cans, you could recreate the canned carnival (can-ival) at home. Look at all the helpful suggestions! Just make round foods like tomato gelatin ring molds or tart shells. Get out some bowls, too. Then fill every empty circular space you see with you-know-what. Won't that be festive?

No, not really.

You can see the original ad here; it's from Life, October 28, 1940.

*It's at Google Books, but only in that pesky Snippet View, unfortunately.

EXTRA STUFF TO READ? Why, yes...I'm posting some odds and ends over at the Kitchen Retro Facebook page - it would be great to have you join the retro kitschiness over there. And sometimes I write HubPages about weird and wonderful history and trivia and ads. The widget is one the right hand sidebar, too.

Jaffa Cakes and a Victorian Kennel

Since we have family in England, we often go over in the summer - usually during the half term holidays and we like to use the internet to find just the right place to stay. Of course the hotels and guest houses we've stayed in have all been really nice - I especially liked the place across from a field full of softly baa-ing sheep, that was in a converted old house. We were right on the top floor and had a lovely dormer window. And the coffee and tea tray there was especially good, with everything you could possibly want to make a hot drink: just add Jaffa cakes (sponge-cake cookies with orange jelly and dark chocolate).

Ightham Mote

Because the UK school holidays and half term breaks don't always correspond to ours, we have tended to visit England in June or July. The weather is really nice then, which makes it a perfect time to visit some historic houses and castles. One of my favorite historic houses is Ightham Mote, in Kent. We've been there a few times; and I like it so much I would like to live there someday. But since is a National Trust site, that seems unlikely (among other reasons).

Kennel at Ightham Mote

Ightham Mote is one of the few medieval manor houses in England that has remained essentially unchanged since the Middle Ages. It is an inward-looking place, with 70 rooms surrounding a courtyard, a gate house, a chapel, and a moat with 3 bridges. The Mote in the name, though, was originally "Moot" or meeting place. The rooms are more Victorian in decor than medieval. But the furnishings are not overdone, and look wonderful comfortable as well as elegant.

But my favorite thing at Ightham Mote is the charming Victorian dog kennel in the courtyard, which is doubtless the only doghouse in Britain that is a Grade I listed structure. It was built for Dido, a St. Bernard dog - who was clearly a very lucky and sophisticated dog.

Visiting places like Ightham Mote and Battle Abbey are a great way to spend school holidays because it is one of the most enjoyable ways to learn a little history - while having a relaxing holiday at the same time.That is multi-tasking at its best, I think. And checking out travel sites is an easy way to plan a perfect school holiday in England. I am sure that Dido, that most stylish of creatures, would approve of this.

Dessert From Out of the Air

My friend Louise is having a Cookbook Party this month, over at her wonderful blog, Months of Edible Celebrations - and to participate, you pick a cookbook and a recipe from it that celebrates say, National Apple Month, or National Caramel Month - she lists a whole menu of them. I have chosen National Dessert Month and the pie recipe I'm featuring is from a vintage 1930s cookbook that is one of my favorites.

I've been saving this cookbook for a special occasion for a long time - and this Cookbook Party is it! So may I introduce to you a once-famous, now little-known singer called Vaughn De Leath, "the Original Radio Girl," and one of her favorite desserts - Lemon Cheese Tart.

I found Vaughn and her dessert recipe in a 1932 gem called Good Things To Eat From Out of the Air. Don't you just love that title? I keep imagining that if I use this booklet, I will be able to snap my fingers and have a delicious meal float down Out of the Air and onto the table. But of course, alas, no. It features radio celebrities who were on the air in 1932, and their favorite Good Things to Eat. All of which, by the way, contain Crisco, because the book was published by Proctor & Gamble. Who made you-know-what.

Vaughn De Leath (1894-1943) - real name Leonore Vonderlieth (her stage name was derived from her surname) - was a radio singer of the 1920s and 1930s. She specialized in 'crooning' songs (this was Bing Crosby's specialty, too). Crooning was a style used by (usually) male singers backed by a big band; and the term was not meant to be a compliment. Crooners were known for their overly sentimental, dramatic singing. She also played several instruments: ukelele, piano, banjo and guitar.

In the 1920s, De Leath was known as "The Original Radio Girl" and "The First Lady of Radio." You probably know one of her hit songs, by the way. It's called "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" - and Elvis Presley's remake was a huge hit for him in 1960, 33 years after Vaughn De Leath released the original (you can listen to her version at the end of this post). Her Lemon Cheese Tart is a sort of light cheesecake pie - just the sort of dessert to savor while playing poignant ballads:

LEMON CHEESE TART

1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 cup cottage cheese
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp nutmeg
2 Tb cream
1 tsp grated lemon peel
1/4 cup currants

Press cheese through fine sieve, add salt, cream and seasoning. Beat sugar with eggs. Combine the two mixtures. Add currants washed and dredged with flour. Pour into unbaked shells, filling each about 2/3 full. Put into hot oven (450 degrees F) for about 5 minutes. Reduce heat to 325 degrees F and bake 10 minutes more.

Note: I think you might want to put this into a prebaked pie shell if you only have to bake the filling for a total of 15 minutes. Most pies in unbaked shells need about 10 minutes at the higher temperature and then 20 minutes or more at a lower temp (this varies depending on the filling, of course, and the size/depth of the pie). Oh, and your pie crust had better be made with Crisco. Or else it will not be a Good Thing to Eat from Out of the Air.

More on Vaughn De Leath here at Dismuke's Hit of the Week and here at The Virtual Victrola.

The Amethyst Bead David Bowie Earrings

Ready to make into earrings

I had my ears pierced when I was sixteen, and the first things I wore in my ears were the fake-gold posts they used to pierce the ears with. Well, those weren't much fun, so as soon as I was all healed I went in search of some really great earrings.  And all through the late 70s and into the 80s I bought earrings - long earrings made mostly of beautiful colored and carved beads. The silver and blue owl bead earrings were from South Street in Philadelphia. The ones made of beads in different shades of lavender are from a block party in Manhattan. I can look at some of them - they hang on a wall now, little bits of art -  and remember exactly where I bought them, and how I was feeling. Just like songs bring back moments in your life, jewellery does too.

My earrings have beads that looked just like this.

My favorite 80s earrings were the long amethyst-colored, faceted bead drop earrings. The main amethyst bead in each is about the size of a square-ish robin's egg - if a robin's egg was faceted, translucent violet.  I found them in a tiny shop, below sidewalk level,  in Greenwich Village. I was with some friends, showing them a bit of New York City circa 1983. It was a November evening. The sky was a wintry, glowing pale purple-blue. The light was that strange twilight in which objects look extra clear. I think that the earrings appealed to me because the faceted beads reminded me of that particular evening sky.

Let's Dance. But first, Let's Buy Earrings.

The shop was narrow and the walls were lined with gorgeous necklaces and faceted beads, like the inside of a jewellery box. And David Bowie's "Modern Love"  - a brand new song - was playing. This was perfect because I'd just bought Let's Dance and played it all the time. That was back when you bought actual records, remember that? I always like a remembered moment with a soundtrack. And whenever I hear "Modern Love" I think about buying those earrings. Now that the 80s are considered vintage, how I would like to see what else was in that shop!

Anyway, those amethyst-colored earrings became my absolute favorites. A bit heavy - 80s earrings were, as a rule -  but so much fun to wear. I still have them, of course. And I think of that long-ago evening every time I see them hanging among the rows of earrings on the wall.

[All the images are from Wikipedia/Wikimedia Commons.]

Doughnuts at the Breakfast Bar

Life, Jan. 19, 1942

If you are lucky enough to have a 1940s-1970s era kitchen, you might be fortunate enough to have a vintage breakfast bar,too. Breakfast bars, as you probably know, are counter-like tables that serve as casual, convenient places to serve snacks and meals - close to or right in the kitchen, with bar stools to sit on. 

Breakfast bars were first added to kitchens in the 1940s, and became increasingly popular in the mid 20th century. As homemakers became increasingly interested in quick meals and easy cooking options, the breakfast bar became an important place not only for breakfast but also for quick meals of any kind. The breakfast bar at top right (which is from the early 1940s) even has a drawer in it, and a tabletop made of glass. 

Popular Mechanics, Dec. 1958

I have always wanted a kitchen with a breakfast bar - ever since the 1970s. That was when my family rented a summer cottage that had been remodelled in the 1960s, all in avocado green. It featured a breakfast bar where you could eat snacks and look straight into the main part of the kitchen and see what was happening in there. It looked just like the one on the left. I remember how much fun it was to sit on one of the breakfast bar stools with a cold drink and a sandwich, talking to my mother, whose tireless work at the far-off avocado sink-counter-and-stove I now appreciate considerably more. 

Popular Mechanics, June 1958

You can have any sort of meal you like at your breakfast bar but ideally you’ll want to be eating something quick and delicious. You might be having a sandwich like I did; or better still, since this is a breakfast bar -  some doughnuts. This particular recipe is from a 1962 woman’s club cookbook (Signature Recipes, Elm Grove Woman’s Club (Elm Grove, Wisconsin, 1962, p. 46; recipe slightly rewritten to simplify). I believe they’re called “French” because they slightly resemble beignets, the square doughnuts found at cafes in New Orleans and France  - and now perhaps also at retro breakfast bars: 

Baked French Breakfast Doughnuts 

Cream 5 tablespoons butter and ½ cup of sugar thoroughly. Add 1 beaten egg and mix well.

In a second bowl sift 1 ½ cups all-purpose flour, 2 ¼ teaspoons of baking powder, ¼ teaspoon of salt and ¼ teaspoon of nutmeg. Add the dry ingredients to the butter-sugar-egg mixture alternately with ½ cup of milk. Fill greased muffin tins half full and bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Take them out of the pan while still hot and roll in a dish of 6 tablespoons of melted butter, then in a dish of ½ cup sugar mixed with 1 teaspoon of cinnamon.

Entertaining the Baby

LiveJournal Vintage Ads

Is there a baby in the house? He needs these!

Well, yes, there does seem to be a baby in the house. But the baby is wearing a pink dress...and so, given that it is  probably the early 1960s from the look of Mom's little baby minding get-up - I think we can safely assume that that baby is a girl. Not a he. A she.

Why does the ad say he?  Why are they in a mint colored space with no wall/floor angles, so that the cabinet appears to be floating? Does that mother always dress to match the toys?

She seems to be dressed for a party. Is this a party? Is this baby going to be entertained with witty chatter and a little jazz on the hi fi in the background?

No. The baby is going to be entertained by going onto a flat padded surface surrounded by mesh walls.

So yes, mom, why not put the kid in that boring play pen. Or in one of the chairs. Then you won't get baby slobber (or worse) on that lovely coral sheath dress. Mind your pearls though. I do believe your baby is going to be wanting those to play with. See how she's looking away from them, pretending not to notice them? Even though she's got them in her fist. Good work, kid. You need these!

Far Out Refrigerators

Life, Feb. 26, 1965

I remember our kitchen back in 1965. We had a plain white fridge, like most people. A lot of bottles of No Cal soda in it. It was not a bit groovy.

But supposing my mother had wanted to have a Far Out Kitchen. Then she would have wanted one of these little beauties by Kelvinator - and for a doorway, an "ice igloo." I'm not sure that the landlord would have gone for it though.

Pop Art refrigerators: what a great idea, huh? Actually the Jack of Hearts one is kind of cool. But the one that looks like the side of a black and white cow - why is a penguin sitting on top of it? Does the penguin want a bottle of No Cal? Is it going to sit there and stare at you reproachfully every time you open the door to get a snack? The cow fridge and the card fridge are supposed to be for "a man's den."

And are those sea horses who have swallowed large curtain rings on the red fridge? No, they are Chinese dragons and they are "elegant enough for a living room." Please don't tell me that the in thing to do is to put the fridge in the living room.

I can guarantee that the penguin is not going to approve of that.

A Mystery On Both Sides of the Hudson

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Untitled Jersey City Project for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

Do you like mysteries that are both urban and urbane? Do you, as a reader/viewer, enjoy the sense of being a partial architect of your experience of an art form? If you do, you’ll probably enjoy what I want to share with you today.

Untitled Jersey City Project is a experimental entertainment. There are eight short-form episodes, that are fragments of an overall story which is open-ended; that is to say, story lines and mysteries are left unresolved. Jersey City is directly across from Manhattan, on the Hudson River. They are separated not only by water but by a multitude of differences. Manhattan is filled with shiny new buildings and glamor. Jersey City is grittier, unreconstructed.

On the Jersey side of the Hudson riverfront, modern shining developments are going up. And though the man made constructs are new, the men and women who are building them play games that are as old as the buildings they are replacing.

Episode 1 shows an architect, Frank, waking up to a missed call from his colleague Ray, who is at the building site. Frank, in Manhattan, speeds through the tunnel and over to Jersey City - only to find....well, go and have a look at the clip (it's below, after the post). And tell me what you think in the comments - I’d love to know your thoughts. Here are mine: I liked the visuals a lot. As a native New Yorker - whose great grandmother grew up, in part, in Jersey City in the 1870s -  I recognized some of them (the tunnel in particular). But I did find it mystifying: I had no clue why things were happening. And why was everyone so closed-off and stunned-looking? I’m still thinking about this. I need to know more.

I noticed that there are plenty of other clips from the project at YouTube. I’m going to check them out and if you like urban crime dramas, like I do, you should, too.