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

Hide-And-Seek

Guess what’s hidden inside this aspic sarcophagus?

Missing sock

Loose change

Lottery ticket

Engagement ring

Turkey breast

Parking ticket

A summons

Dead mouse

Live mouse

All your hopes and dreams

Pair of dentures

Car keys

Stapler

All of the above

All-Time Favorite Salad Recipes, Better Homes and Gardens, 1978

Jellied Salad

The word “congealed” today has a negative connotation when it comes to foodstuffs. We use this word when describing something that has sat out on the table too long and become inedible. A mayonnaise-based salad, for example, will take on an alarming transparent glazed look after several hours. This out to indicate to any casual observer that the salad must not, under any circumstances, be eaten, for it has become toxic.

But this is not what the word “congealed” means.

Congeal dates from the late 14^th century Old French congeler, meaning to freeze or thicken — which in turn comes from the Latin congelare, meaning to freeze together. Com means together; gelare means to freeze.

An ice cream or sorbet, then, is congealed. Ideas can become congealed in your mind if they cease to be fluid.

You never want someone to remark on your intellect as “a shimmering interplay between aspic and mousse,” for example.

 Salads, Time-Life Books, 1979

Also from this book: Eat Your Vegetables, Mind Your Tongue

Salmon In A Sauna

At Hotel Sven we welcome you to our facilities which cater to all of your needs all the time. You should want a sauna to taste the true flavor of Scandinavian hospitality and we have one for you. Please remove all clothes and bring a friend for you should not sauna alone it is very dangerous. If you have no friends one will be provided for you to enjoy. You will find wood in the sauna at Hotel Sven it is the finest wood available people come from miles around to appreciate it.

Here is a brochure for Hotel Sven revealing the magnificent food and the sauna. We provide all the traditional items encased in aspic in addition to banana. Work up your appetite in our sauna and then eat until you drop.

Every room at Hotel Sven is fully outfitted with the recommended comforts of home including bed and chair. Luxuries for the intrepid traveler can be purchased at shops only a few miles away the walking isn’t bad, mostly pavement all the way there and back. If a guest has a difficulty we try to accommodate it just call for Sven to help! Everyone at Hotel Sven is named Sven for your convenience and not ours.

Hotel Sven, where our motto remains: we treat you like your family does all sven days of the week!

Salad Cookbook, Family Circle, 1972

Also from this book: What We Talk About When We Talk About Gelatin, Chicken Indienne, Chicken Mousse In Aspic (A Cult Classic)

Chicken Mousse in Aspic (A Cult Classic)

The caption to this charming photograph reads:

"An all-season favorite, Chicken Mousse in Aspic features chicken, ham, whipped cream, liver pate, and mustard for a combination that is sure to please."

This comes from a chapter of Family Circle’s Salad Cookbook entitled “Molded Salad Riches” which was written by gullible people who have of their own free will joined a cult whose discipline is maintained by the forced consumption of massive quantities of LSD-spiked Jello. These are people who have lost touch with reality in a profound way. One can imagine their cult caretaker, himself drugged up to the eyeballs on Quaaludes, unlocking the padlock on the Family Circle fridge, seeing the paltry contents, and undergoing a slow-motion revelation about combining them as a perfect expression of a penance fit for testing the fortitude of the new recruits.

How else can this travesty be explained? What sane mind could possible come up with this introduction: 

"Heap up the goodness and fold or cover with gelatin and you have a molded salad. Lend them all the goodness of a full meal and you have a main-dish molded salad. In these pages you’ll chance upon many main-dish and side-dish molded salads."

It is not so much a culinary suggestion as it is a religious tract meant to invoke both awe and fear in those who recite it in hushed monotone in the “Family Circle” kitchens. Family Circle, my ass. The non-brainwashed mind sees the invitation to “chance upon” many molded salads as a threat, something to be ardently avoided and possibly reported to the authorities, not a promise for further means of devotion.

There is also a troubling amount of detailed instruction in this recipe, especially concerning the production of foil cones. This is a dead giveaway: once the acolytes are proficient at rolling foil cones, it’s just a teensy step away from the hillbilly crack pipe. Mark my words. 

Read the recipe at your own risk.

 Salad Cookbook, The Family Circle, Inc., 1972

Check out the militant-looking Family Circle logo in the corner (Dharma Initiative, anyone?).

Also from this book: What We Talk About When We Talk About Gelatin, Chicken Indienne, Salmon In A Sauna