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Saturday, July 19, 2014

Why We Can’t Cook



Cooking: what is it, and how can I get involved?

Cooking is a long-lost ancient skill our ancestors used to prepare food to eat. Long ago, in order to eat, people had to “grow” “raise” “hunt” and “cultivate” edible things that they would then “cook” to turn into food. It took all day.

Today, cooking has become popular among a select group of hip individuals who wish to recreate this long-abandoned art in their own homes. People who do cooking are known as “cooks.”

What sorts of things do “cooks” make?

Take pizza for example. A cook will make a pizza using a “recipe” and techniques learned from “books.” They will actually make the “dough” (the stuff the base is made from) themselves using their hands, and the tomato part and the cheese part (although many cooks still buy the cheese). * Then they will heat it in an oven. This is also called “cooking” it, which may be confusing.

But why would someone go to all this trouble?

No-one really knows. You can buy a pizza at any supermarket.

What does homemade pizza taste like?

Again, this is unclear. Cooks rarely allow non-cooks to share their “food.” By the time you show up, it’s usually all been eaten. It is thought they do this to hide the evidence of their habit. The only way to know is to become a cook yourself.

Cooking sounds like a religious cult. Is it dangerous?

As with all new things, caution should be taken before attempting. Before trying to cook, you should document your whereabouts and alert your family, should things go wrong. It is a known fact that people who have taken up cooking have disappeared into kitchens, and are never heard from again. It can take years to track a cook down, and it has proven to be very difficult to re-integrate them back into society. Cooks have also been known to recruit their own family and friends into the habit: it’s a discussion you should have before you become hooked.


*Not the cheese you may be used to: this cheese is made from milk and enzymes which are mixed together and left to “age.”


Fast Meals Cookbook, Rockville House Publishers, 1972

Also from this book: Revenge Salad

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Peppered Chicken



Stick man hungry. Stick man want chicken. Stick man not sure how to procure chicken. Stick man think. Stick man put on thinking pants. Stick man getting thinner by the minute. Stick man put on belt to prevent pants from falling down. Stick man spies shotgun, has brain-wave. Stick man hunts chicken. Stick man sees chicken dressed in best crown minding chicken’s own business. Stick man don’t care. Stick man hungry. Stick man takes aim, shoots own-business-minding chicken in face. Stick man happy with himself. Stick man plucks, guts, and cuts up chicken. Stick man invites five stick friends over for dinner. Meanwhile, chicken community hold meeting, plot revenge. Chickens wait until sun goes down, pour gasoline around stick man’s house. Next day, nothing left but stick man’s belt.


Recipes from the East, Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1955

Also from this book: Boobies

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Boobies



Bare boobies have usually only appeared in select publications: medical texts, National Geographic, porn, and cookbooks. These are from 1955, that glorious period in American history in which there were absolutely no barriers placed on the availability of nude pictures for the whole family to enjoy.




Recipes from the East, Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1955

Also from this book: Peppered Chicken

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Kitchen Nightmares



A local restaurant was advertising their summer special on the radio the other day. The special was a shrimp, avocado and strawberry salad. Good luck with that.

Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant makeover show, Kitchen Nightmares used to be a good show when it was filmed in Britain. Well-meaning people did badly because they just didn’t have a clue. Then he did a version in America, but it featured a smarmy narrator with pop-in quickie comments by Ramsey, and mostly him throwing fits, which is what Americans like to see. They don’t care about sincerity; they just want reality show drama. So they picked insane eateries run by insane people. Thus it is that Ramsey’s reputation in America is one of being a bully and a coarse-mouthed thug in a white jacket. It has nothing to do with cooking.

What had happened was that the American show was a TV version of the very thing he was trying to “fix”: it was a rubbish show, with a terrible “menu” of content and no amount of shouting could rescue it from oblivion.

Whenever I see food pairings of obvious folly, I am reminded of Ramsey’s original show. In it, he often had to explain to hapless chefs why strawberries don’t go with fish or some such incompatibility of nature.

There is no need to put pineapple on top of your barbecued ribs. Don’t do it, people.

Meat Cook Book, Better Homes and Gardens, 1969

 Also from this book: Common Cored


Sunday, May 11, 2014

Mother’s Day



For years, I worked at the bakery. Most of the time I was behind the counter, slicing loaves and putting √©clairs in boxes, and keeping an eye out for the mice — there’s always mice in bakeries, as you can imagine. Once day Doris was out sick and an order came in for a decorated cake — Happy Anniversary Mum and Dad, with flowers piped around the edges. Well, Doris did all of that; she was quite territorial about it. And the cake was a rush order, so the boss said “Marjorie, give it a go,” and I did. I found where Doris kept the icing and piping bag and got to work.

I think I did a decent job, and really enjoyed it too. In fact, the people who put in the order liked it so much they told the boss, and from then on in, Doris and I had to share the decorating duties. She’d get one, and I’d get the next one.

Doris didn’t like this arrangement, and kept trying to sabotage me by hiding the equipment or botching the order by spelling out the wrong names. One time she was closing up and left my cake out on the counter, with a trail of breadcrumbs leading to it. Well, you can imagine what the mice did with that.

The last straw came when Doris’s own son, Carl, passed his driver’s test and his Dad called in an order for a celebratory cake. Only it was my turn, not hers. This is the cake. I was very proud of it, I must say. And I’m glad we got this picture, because not long afterwards, Doris “accidentally” sat on it right before it was due to be picked up. You’d think she’d be upset at having ruined her son’s cake, but she wasn’t.

After that, she went on to work at the chicken plant, bagging giblets. I stayed on at the bakery until I retired. Every now and then I’ll get the piping kit out for old time’s sake, but my arthritis keeps me from doing too much. Carl’s got kids of his own now. My kids all upped and moved away. Charlie, the youngest, always remembers me on Mother’s Day.


Creative Cake Decorating, Better Homes and Gardens, 1983

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Common Cored






The Common Core Standards Initiative, adopted in many states in the last decade, has been criticized for turning formerly simple and well-known approaches to math that have been employed for centuries into Kafkaesque problems whose very existence causes mental anguish among not just the poor students subject to mastering them, but to their hapless parents as well.

Instead of performing a simple arithmetic task — subtraction, say — by subtracting the smaller number from the larger one, students now have to break the numbers up into chunks and draw squares and put them all back together again to produce the answer. It takes far longer, defies logic, and is more likely to result in a wrong answer.

14? Right?

I can speak from personal experience; my fifth-grader, who has a natural affinity for math, can often be found in tears when confronted by the need to do his homework the way the teacher insists, rather than just getting the right answers. I cannot explain to him why he needs to do this. I shrug and we do the problems the old-school way.

In the spirit of the Common Core, I would like to illustrate this with a Glazed Ham Ring from 1969.

Imagine the math problem as a pig. A delicious pig. Think of all the lovely ways you could eat this pig: pork chops; ham; bacon; barbecued ribs; slow roasted shoulder; pulled pork sandwich; sausages; crackling. All are relatively simple in that the pig is broken down into various parts and cooked, and then served. The parts still look like they came from an animal on the serving platter, and indeed, on your plate.

Now imagine taking some of this wonderful pig and grinding some of it into a pink mush. Mix the mush with bread, eggs, and onion. Take this mush and form it into a ring mold. Invert the oiled mold onto a baking tray and bake. Afterwards, cover it in a bright red glaze, and fill the hole in the middle with a mixture of half-peeled potatoes, peas, and cream. Serve with red apples and a generous helping of parsley.

Write a word problem for this pig that takes into account having turned all the ingredients for this dish into spheres. Then, solve the problem, showing your work. Use a #2 pencil.


Congratulations: according to the Common Core, you are now ready to apply your knowledge in the workplace.

Meat Cook Book, Better Homes and Gardens, 1969

Also from this book: Kitchen Nightmares

Sunday, March 2, 2014

SOS!



 


The asparagus spears stared at us intently from their jelly cocoon as we made small talk and sipped aperitifs. I tried to pay attention to the man sitting next to me, who was relating an anecdote about his misbegotten youth — likely the same anecdote he’d been using on unsuspecting dinner table partners for years — perhaps since his youth, which was, it was obvious, at some time in the distant past of the last century.

The asparagus seemed to want to make telepathic contact, to transmit an SOS directly to my brain. Help, they cried piteously. Been boiled. I think my friend is ill. Stuck in aspic. Can’t move.

Something something…Ration books and the War. Something something…Well, you’ll never guess what happened next…Three shillings ha’ppenny.

Save us, they silently screamed. I felt the same way.

I attempted to return their desperate communiqué. Dilemma noted, I thought. Will attempt rescue soon.

The more I stole glances their way, the less they looked like asparagus, and more like the disembodied tentacles of some awful sea creature, or else the severed penises of some exotic South American mammal.

Our hostess clinked her glass, bringing me out of my reverie, and temporarily releasing me from the verbal assault of my gentleman admirer. It was time to begin. I sat, fork poised over the perfectly smooth, glistening surface of my appetizer, aware that every second delayed the heroic rescue I was about to perform.

What if, once freed, the asparagus leaped up from their gelatinous prison, gasping for air and hell-bent on exacting revenge? They stared at me, and I stared back. It was the moment of truth.

“Go on,” I said to my ancient paramour. “I believe we were rudely interrupted.”

Salad Book, Lane Books, 1966

Monday, February 17, 2014

When Pigs Fly



When Pigs Fly

When pigs fly it is said that one ought not to touch
one’s wife’s elbow. One must refrain from
smelling apples and thinking of opera. When pigs fly,
blue is registered by the eye as yellow, etc.

Do not lick postage stamps when pigs fly.
Do not lace your shoes. It is forbidden to be nostalgic
for the days when you were small enough to sit upon
your grandfather’s lap and sniff his beard.

When pigs fly the stars do not align, and drawers
which have never moved will suddenly become
unstuck. Forks must not be used when pigs fly.
Neither agree or disagree with arguments made by children.

If one swears an oath when the pigs fly, it will never
come true. Turn all paintings towards the wall
when pigs fly. Do not look at the sky.
I repeat: do not look at the sky.

When pigs fly, you are temporarily released
from all obligations made to childhood friends
when standing in water. When pigs fly you must
refer to them as “pork birds,” for this is the term

they prefer. The birds will refer to themselves as “fish”
and the fish shall call themselves “Enrico.”
Those named Enrico will refrain from whispering
for the duration of the pig’s flight. When pigs fly

you will forget everything you remembered
about calculus, and if you know nothing of calculus,
you’ll be none the wiser. When pigs fly you will understand
wonder, and peaches, and motorcycles, and snow.


McCall's Book of Marvellous Meats, The McCall Corporation, 1965

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Revenge Salad




Now might I do it pat — while he is chatting;
And now I’ll do it. And so he messes up his pants;
And so I am revenged. That would be just:
I, his virtuous wife, do this cheating villain send
To the laundry.
O, this is silliness, not revenge.
He violated his vows grossly, deliberately;
With deceit on his lips, flushed all May;
And he thought I wouldn’t find him out?
But he bought me jewelry, so it seems
He knows he messed up. Am I then revenged,
To embarrass him at this cookout,
When all our friends will think me mad?
No!
Up, platter, and wait for a crueler time:
When he is drunk asleep, or lost in sports,
Or in the adulterous pleasure of her bed;
Gambling, cussing, or about some act
He shouldn’t be doing;
Then trip him, that his ass may land in salad,
And wreck his mood, as dark and black
As our marriage. My mother-in-law arrives:
This dilly-dallying but prolongs my plans.

(Mrs. Hamlet)

Fast Meals Cookbook, Rockville House Publishers, 1972

Also from this book: Why We Can’t Cook

Saturday, January 11, 2014

When The Wheels Fall Off




Sell the horse, she says. Sell the horse! You want to keep fit, sell the horse. So I sell the horse. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Horses are expensive, she says, rubbing her fingers together. Horses eat, need the vet, need shoes. I need shoes, she says, lifting one foot onto the table. Horses are old-fashioned, she says, and goes back to her magazine. So I sell the horse.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

And then she said burn the cart. Burn the cart! After all, she reasoned — without a horse, how can you pull a cart? You want to keep warm, burn the cart. There is plenty of firewood in a cart. It was the middle of winter, and snow lay thick on the ground. It seemed like a good idea. So I burn the cart.

Of course, in the winter you can use the sled. The sled is designed to go easy on snow.

In the summer, not so much.

Still, I’m fit. It’s one foot in front of the other all day long pulling this sled across the pasture while the cows look on. I know what they’re thinking: they’re thinking here I am wearing a fine brass bell doing nothing but sunning myself all day and there he goes, wearing a funny hat, dragging cheese back to his fat wife.

The Cooking of Germany, Time-Life Books, 1969

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