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

Goodnight Asparagus

Goodnight board, goodnight knife

Goodnight cheese cut into a slice

Goodnight bread, and the cake of rice

Goodnight mayo, goodnight butter

Goodnight radish and goodnight lettuce

Goodnight cuke and goodnight pickle

Goodnight ham and goodnight Spam

Goodnight chips and goodnight lunch

Goodnight parsley; goodnight mush

And goodnight to the old lady whispering “hush”

Goodnight table, goodnight chair

Goodnight sandwiches everywhere

Cooking For Two, Better Homes and Gardens, 1968

Also from this book: Have A Coronary, Pizza Burger

Asparagus-Potato Mold

Some interesting facts about asparagus:

It used to be in the lily family, but now it’s in its own family. The berries of an asparagus plant are toxic to humans. Nevertheless, humans have been eating asparagus for at least 20,000 years. In the very first cookbook, De Re Coquinaria, Apicus advises drying the stalks before immersing in boiling water backwards. In England, it used to be known as “sparrow-grass.” Asparagus is extremely high in folic acid, which has been shown to retard Alzheimer’s Disease. It is also a diuretic, which makes you pee, and contains a lot of fiber, which makes you move your bowels. Washing your face with water in which asparagus has been boiled helps remove blemishes. Asparagus repels tomato nematodes, and tomato plants repel asparagus beetles. The German town of Schwetzingen crowns an “Asparagus Queen” during its annual festival. While most people produce odorous urine after eating asparagus, only 22% of people are genetically predisposed to be able to detect it. No-one on Earth likes Asparagus-Potato Mold, so don’t ever serve it.

Woman’s Day Encyclopedia of Cookery, Fawcett Publications, Inc., 1966

Anything To Declare?

— Excuse me Sir, you’re not allowed to bring those into the country.

— Why not?

— They’re contraband — not allowed. Against the law. Illegal.

— But they’re only cigars! Surely that’s OK.

— No they’re not — they are asparagus.

— Not at all; they’re panatelas. Look.

— Sir, you are brandishing a box of asparagus spears.

— Spears? What? I have no spears. I have cigars. You know, tobacco.

— It is not permitted to bring raw vegetables into the United States.

— What does that have to do with my cigars?

— Certain fruits and vegetables carry the risk of contamination via pests and bacteria.

— But the heat from the smoke would surely kill any pests in my cigars —

— The Mediterranean fruit fly outbreak of 1980 can be traced to just three male fruit flies.

— That’s awfully specific. I don’t know what that has to do with my cigars though, to be perfectly honest.

— Sir, they’re not cigars. You have been duped. You are the victim of a hoax.

— What!

— You have been marked as a rube and have fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

— Why, I —

— You have been sold a box of asparagus spears in lieu of your panatelas.

— How is that even possible?

— I see it all the time. You’re not alone. It’s a racket. But you have to hand them over, I’m afraid, because under the current customs guidelines, they are restricted. You can bring in as many cigars as you fancy, just not asparagus.

— But what are you going to do with them?

— I am duty bound to confiscate them, Sir.

— Well, I’ll be darned . . .

— I’m sorry, Sir; them’s the rules. Move along now; you’re holding up the line.

* * *

— Pssst — Jason!

— Yo, wassup?

— Get a load of these panatelas I just confiscated.

— Nice, brother! What d’you want for them?

— $50 should do it.

— I’ll give you $20.

— $30.

— Sold. That old asparagus line works every damn time.

Vegetables, The Knapp Press, 1983

Guestworthy

Back in 1958 when men were men and women slaved over large kettles of chickens stewing in broth and making angel food cake from packaged mix and men were inviting their buddies over for poker and women were dashing out to the store in the snow to buy precooked rice and men were sitting by the fire drinking whiskey and women were baking biscuits and mixing glaze and men were swapping notes on that hot young piece who’s dating Fred and women were baking a strawberry sponge cake because it is the middle of winter and men were lighting cigars and scratching their balls and women were breaking asparagus as far down as they could and men were playing poker and women were riffling through the cupboard to find the monosodium glutamate which is behind the jar of beans in which hides the gun and men were bluffing playfully in the den over who has two pair or even one pair and women were dismantling the cooked chicken and men were raising each other and seeing who was going to win Edgar’s watch and women were up to their elbows in chicken grease and draining asparagus and men were trying to remember how much their own watches were worth and women were putting biscuits in the oven and trying to remember where the bullets were kept and men cheered when Louis won Edgar’s watch that had been given to him by his father-in-law and secretly felt shame for Edgar and his father-in-law and themselves and women put the glazed angel food cake in the freezer for another time and men dealt another hand and women wiped the sweat away and took their aprons off and patted their hair and men poured another round and women undid another few buttons and picked up the tray and knocked and the man-of-the-house said here she is at long last I thought you’d never come and women thought he’s right, Goddamit, I never come.

Good Housekeeping’s Company Meals and Buffets, Consolidated Book Publishers, 1958

Seafood Garden

Q: What do small shrimp make?

A: Microwaves!

Once upon a time, the small shrimp which give this dish its tenuous connection to seafood, swam free in the vast ocean among their crustacean brethren enjoying a life free from stress and fear. They were ignorant of the non-aquatic life, and of the strange creatures who reside upon the land who rely on microwave ovens to cook their food.

In particular, they were completely unaware of what the folks at Ideals Publishing in Nashville, TN had in store for them. This is just as well, because they might have tried to escape the trawling net that inevitably captured them and the swift death that followed. Thankfully, while their souls were swept up (or down?) to fishy heaven, their bodies continued to play a valuable role in the food chain; once flash frozen and canned, and then shipped to a supermarket, they were purchased by Cyndee Kannenberg (or one of her associates) so she could demonstrate for us this recipe.

What remained of those dear, innocent shrimp were condemned to float among the congealed depths of a pool of cream of shrimp soup and cream cheese. Perhaps the asparagus reminds them of seaweed. 

Notice how this dish is presented with an offering of fresh flowers: are they a bribe for the diner or a reward? Or are they a bouquet some grief-stricken marine-lover has left upon their jellified grave?

Guide To Microwave Cooking, Ideals Publishing, Nashville TN, 1978