Pizza Potatoes

The point of food styling is to make the food look good — more than good: inviting, delicious, evocative. It should tickle the senses, make your stomach rumble and your mouth water. It should evoke memory, inspire delight, and maybe even hint at what the ingredients are, or how best to serve it. 

 

Pizza Potatoes does none of these things. It is the epitome of anti-styling. It is a snapshot of something that presumably matches the recipe on the back of the card. It is unappetizing to the point of revulsion. It is the runt of the litter, its name a desperate attempt to describe its utility. 

 

The housewife who reaches for this recipe has just come home from work on the subway. Her latchkey kids have left the house a mess and demand her attention to mediate a fight as they whine relentlessly about being hungry. She pours herself a drink, lights a cigarette, and throws a packet each of frozen potatoes, pepperoni, and shredded cheese into a dish, along with a can of tomato soup and some water, and bungs it in the oven. While it bakes, she glances at the bills and tosses them, unopened, onto a pile. 

 

The kids want real pizza, and so does she. 

 

Pizza Potatoes

Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

 

Tinfoil Hat

 

Notes From the Betty Crocker Recipe Card Editorial Meeting

 

Spencer: I think we need a section for housewives on a budget. 

 

Frank: Good call. The Betty Crocker cook loves shortcuts and savings. 

 

Arthur: So what we’re looking at here are recipes that go easy on the garnishes, yes?

 

Spencer: More than that. It’s not that she can’t afford the basic ingredients — the meat, say, or the onions —

 

Arthur: Or the can of condensed cream of mushroom soup!

 

Spencer: — right. That’s not the kind of poverty we’re talking about. I mean she’s cost-conscious, but doing it in a socially aware, stylish way that wouldn’t make her husband feel like he’s not providing. 

 

Frank: I like it. Keep going. 

 

Spencer: She’s putting a complete meal on the table every night, as always, but maybe she’s reserving a little something each week from the housekeeping in a jam jar for a family holiday, you know? 

 

Arthur: Or to buy herself a new dress. 

 

Frank: Or to surprise her husband with some new golf clubs! 

 

Spencer: Anyway, it’s nothing her family would notice. It’s subtle. These are the recipes she relies upon for inspiration. 

 

Frank: Let’s put “budget” in the title. It suggests responsibility, good house husbandry. 

 

Arthur: Maybe she’s on a diet, she’s got her mind on reducing, the way so many women are today. She’s popping laxatives like they’re candy, smoking a pack a day, but the weight still isn’t coming off. So she’s cutting back on the food, but in a way she can keep to herself. 

 

Spencer: But not like she’s sacrificing good nutrition. It’s still decent food; that’s important. This is a recipe collection, after all. 

 

Frank: I’ve got it. She’s fun, right? She’s predictably unpredictable! She’s got a keen imagination. She budgets by — get this — tossing out her plates! Just think of the money she’ll save on dish soap! 

 

Spencer: So what does she serve the meal on, Frank?

 

Frank: On the thing she cooks it in! Tinfoil! 

 

Arthur: Genius. 

 

Foil-Wrapped Dinners

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

 

Just Desserts

 

There are many ways to administer medicine to a cat. Sadly, cats have kept this information to themselves. Seeking only to provide care to their beloved pets, humans have suffered long-lasting trauma and the occasional nasty scratch by attempting to force a pill down the reluctant feline’s gullet. By the time success is achieved, the cat is beyond the help that modern medicine can provide, and will die laughing at their bereft owner’s ineptitude.

 

Likewise, it is fiendishly tricky to get a human child to swallow anything they don’t want to. What human children don’t want to eat is exhaustive and fickle, and mostly includes what’s good for them: namely nutritious food. Dinner, for example. Parents the world over, have since the beginning of time approached this dilemma by employing the subterfuge of disguise.

 

What does all of this have to do with the Hamburger Pie, you may ask….

 

Hamburger Pie

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

 

Salad Daze

 

Child’s Play

Shakespeare’s contributions to the English language are legion; one of these is Cleopatra’s comment upon her romance with Julius Caesar, which she describes as “My salad days, / when I was green in judgment, cold in blood….” Note the repetition of the idea of “green,” meaning raw and innocent, as are nature’s new shoots. She regrets her affair as the naivite of youth, before she knew better. The term “salad days” has come to refer to the carefree time when one could just have an affair with the Emperor, or simply be young and stupid. 

 

This Creamy Fruit Salad is merely stupid. Instructions include tinting the whipped cream pink with food coloring. Why? I can hear the grapes whining in that particularly weary teenagers use when they are embarrassed by their parents, as they attempt an escape over the side of the bowl. They’d like the strawberries to join their rebellion, but the strawberries, still under Mom’s sway, remain posed with a sickly sweet smile, only faintly aware of their complicity in this tragic enactment of the end of culture as we know it. 

 

 

Creamy Fruit Salad, The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

Wheel of Fortune

 

Welcome to Wheel of Fortune! 

 

Pat: Today we have Sandra, who’s from Milwaukee. How are you, Sandra?

Sandra: I’m just dandy, Pat!

Pat: You look like you know your food, Sandra, am I right? 

Sandra: Been eating it all my life, Pat! 

Pat: Sandra, are you ready to play? 

Sandra: I was born ready, Pat! 

Pat: Now, as you know, this special version of the game means you have to correctly name this dish to win the prize, based solely on a picture of the dish. 

Sandra: Gotcha!

Pat: Excellent! OK, Vanna, show us the picture, please. It’s a Hurry Up Main Dish, Sandra! 

Sandra: Oh! I think I know! 

Pat: Already! Wow! I’m impressed!

Sandra: I have four kids and a hungry man, Pat. 

Pat: Say no more! Vanna, will you show us the number of letters in the dish?

 

_{— — — —     — — — —     — — — —}   

 

Sandra: (Spins wheel) I see eggs there, Pat. Is one of the words EGGS?

Pat: Oooh, it’s not! Nice try, Sandra. Spin again!  

Sandra: (Spins wheel) Hmm. So there’s also bacon, and onions, and what looks like chopped peanuts. How about NUTS? 

Pat: Nope! No nuts! 

Sandra: (Spins wheel) There are different textures. One looks like jelly. Oh! I bet one of the words is BOWL!

Pat: Are you sure? That’s a very good guess, wouldn’t you say, Vanna? She’s nodding! But no! It’s not BOWL. Sorry.

Sandra: Well, now I’m stumped, Pat! I’m sure I’ve served this before! I’ll have to buy a clue! 

Pat: The middle word is WITH.

Sandra: Oh. That doesn’t help much. What’s that object in the middle? A kumquat? 

Pat: Why, yes, it’s a kumquat. You sure do know your citrus fruits, Sandra!

Sandra: I’m going to take a wild guess here, Pat. I’m going out on a limb. 

Pat: Any why not? Might as well! 

Sandra: I bet it’s something you need a variety of, like toppings. They look like toppings to me. 

Pat: I think you’re on to something, Sandra!

Sandra: Toppings you’d put on a cracker? That’s a “Hurry up dish!” 

Pat: I see where you’re going with this…. But remember, once you take a guess at the whole name, you have no more chances. Are you sure you want to go for it? 

Sandra: Yes! I’m sure! Is it BITS WITH RITZ?

Pat: …I’m afraid not. I like your style. You were soooo close, wasn’t she, Vanna? 

Vanna: She sure was, Pat.

Pat: Let’s reveal the name for this “Hurry Up Main Dish” Vanna! 

Vanna: (turns letters)

 

TUNA WITH RICE

 

Sandra: What?

Pat: And that concludes today’s game. Thanks for playing, Sandra, you’ve been a great sport. Join us tomorrow, folks, for another game of Wheel of Fortune! 

Tuna With Rice

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

Portraiture

 

 

In the past, the coolest way to name-check yourself was to subtly paint your reflection in a random object in a portrait. Glass, metal, even pearls — all were glossy enough to serve as mirrors for the artist. Van Eyck and Velázquez were both cheeky lads in this regard, peeking out at the viewer from within complex scenes. But were they inventive enough to use a black olive to accomplish this snappy trick? I think not! 

 

Fast-forward to 1971, and the heyday of food styling fashion that demanded garnishes take center stage, as if the food being portrayed required bling to make it sing. The humble olive took a star turn as a jaunty bauble, its green and red and black globular presence crowning many an otherwise plain Jane dish. Here, they do yeoman’s work of providing compositional scaffolding to create a classic triangle out of a gloopy pink arrangement, much like a tiara on a drunken prom queen. The broccoli bouquet lays at her feet, confused as to its status as chaperone. But it is the black olive, the jewel in the crown, that winks back at us with the photographer’s light reflector, fairly screaming “we’re professionals here!” like the back of the artist’s easel. Meanwhile, the subject, having sat for hours, begins to sag under the lights. “Just a few more shots!” the photographer cries, but the olives stick their tongues out in protest, and the biscuits emit a whispered sigh.

 

Crusty Salmon Shortcakes

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

The Miracle of Birth

 

Many is the poor husband who, while dutifully supporting his wife’s labor, commits the terrible mistake of taking a quick peek. Perhaps his delirious partner, in her extreme condition, demands to know how much of the baby is out. Perhaps the birth attendant, both used to and enthralled by the relentless exposure to the business end of life invites him to take a look he’ll never forget. Nowadays, the paternal responsibility of cutting the cord pressures the new father into witnessing the carnage of his beloved’s forest glade a few months before its seductive form has been regained. In any case, such scenes can elicit an impolite response: loss of consciousness, immediate regurgitation, an avowal to his god of lifelong celibacy, or the utterance of deeply regrettable profanity. Let’s face it: the sight of a mammal emerging from another mammal’s nether regions is not for the faint of heart. 

 

And it’s not just something one may stumble across in the odd intimacy of one’s birthing suite; footage of animals giving birth, both wild and domestic, is everywhere on the internet for all to see: one minute you’re scrolling past memes, and the next a sheep / goat / horse / cow / elephant / wildebeest  is being pushed wetly, hoof-first, from its mother shamelessly on camera for all the world to see. It’s not the facts of life; it’s a fact of life. Like the Scouts say, be prepared. 

 

And it’s not just an assault from the animal kingdom one has to be prepared to view: the vegetable world has joined the fray too. Witness here the trials of the lowly, yet noble onion, as she delivers a slick new version of herself onto the dinner table. Note the gentle, yet firm encouragement provided by the chef/doula’s gloved hands, while her sister onion patiently awaits her turn on the plate. 

 

Do not turn away from the miracle of life, dear reader: do not avert your gaze, for it is a tale as old as time. One onion begets another, and so it goes on, layer after glistening layer. 

 

Vegetables Roasted in Coals

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library 1971 

Marzipan and Sexism

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, men were married to their jobs, and women were married to their homes — hence the term “housewife.” A housewife’s job was to manage the running of the household, while a man’s job was to care for his all aspects of his employment. While the woman’s title reflected very directly her place in the larger scheme of things (the wife of the house), her husband (for they, too, were married, but in a different sense) was simply called a “man,” denoting his gender. This was because men did men’s things, like working outside the home, while women were defined by their marital status — which included both marriage to a man and marriage to a home. 

Within the home, a housewife was hoped to be extremely competent at a number of tasks — money management (called, confusingly, “husbandry”), decorating, gardening, cleaning, washing, child-rearing, and cooking. In her home, the housewife was a “cook”; she cooked things. If, however, a man engaged in the same tasks outside the home — at work, say — he was known as a “chef,” which means “chief.” He might also be known by any number of professional titles pertaining to the type of “cooking” he did: baker, butcher, etc.

But if a man attempted to “cook” inside the home, it ceased to be “cooking”; his work with foodstuffs became a “hobby.” The one exception to this was the assumption that the man handled any cooking of meat accomplished outdoors, in which case, he “manned the grill.”

In this 1955 Pathé film featuring a baker named Paul demonstrating how to make the ugliest and least-appetizing cake decorations that humankind has ever been subjected to, we find these distinctions taking pride of place in the narrator’s account, for this activity is for “the housewife, or the man who finds it an intriguing hobby.”

Enjoy!

This Little Piggy…

They say that human flesh tastes like pork.

This is the sort of in-the-field research you always want to farm out to an intern; it is enough to tell them that they are making an important contribution to your work, and that this honor is enough to compensate them for such dreary complaints as long hours, lack of pay, and unpalatable drudgery. This is, after all, what internships were created for. There’s really no need for them to know ALL the details of their duties. Poke that, light this, taste that — it’s all in a day’s work to them.

Think of it this way: you’re feeding them. They should be grateful! Sell the task as a free lunch. Interns jump at that. Label the samples “Mystery Meat” and laugh about how terribly droll you are. Tell them it’s fresh.

Cooking With Kids, Caroline Ackerman, A Gryphon House Book, 1981

How To Please Your Man

An old joke says that if you think the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you’re aiming too high.

If you get this joke, all it really means is that you’ve replaced one horribly sexist mindset for another: the idea that a man’s love can be won by either feeding or fucking him.

In 1962, recipe books and pamphlets still assumed that a woman was doing the cooking, and that her position within the home was secured by her doing so. Maple Leaf Mills, makers of Monarch brand flour, certainly thought so. Their booklet is full of cartoons such as these which leave no doubt about where the woman’s place is.

The Soft Way to Your Husband’s Heart, Maple Leaf Mills, 1962