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

Also from this book: Sauerkraut Stuffed Pineapple, Potato Pancakes, A Fate Worse Than Death, Ludwig Boltzmann's Steak Tartar

Yogo-Cheese

As many of you canny readers will already be aware, the end-times are coming, and folks have to prepare or perish. We all know the scenario: a strange meteor will signal higher taxes; plagues of locusts will eat all of our crops; the government will confiscate our guns, women and liquor; rivers will run red; and the Ruskies will nuke us to oblivion in a pinko-commie plot to take over the world.

If you’re going to survive the apocalypse, you need to stock your bunker with hand-crank radios, cans of Spam, toilet paper, and plenty of Sudokus. What you’ll miss is good old-fashioned home cooking, because you’ll be eating out of cans and drinking your own urine for a very long time.

So why not learn some kitchen skills you can use to serve your family a proper meal and stave off the boredom that experts warn could result in a bloodbath? If a nice helping of Yogo-cheese won’t cut the tension in your concrete shelter, nothing will.

It’s easy: all you’ll need is fresh yogurt and a working refrigerator, some Ritz crackers and a sense of whimsy. And salt. You don’t have to call it “Yogo-Cheese” if you don’t want to be too literal. You can call it anything you want. We just called it that to get your attention because we know that your friends and neighbors — the ones who will be eaten, evaporated or shot when disaster strikes — will overlook it.

Be warned: these are the same people who will be pounding on the metal doors trying to get in to save themselves once the going gets tough on the outside, but don’t give in. Did they help you stockpile that case of Ketchup in the corner? No.

Case closed. 

Yogurt Cookery, Sophie Kay, 1978

Also from this book: Burned At The Stake

Also from this book: Ingenious Disingenousness

Cheesy Fish

The next time you have some herrings and cheese laying about, you might want to try this recipe for mostly cooked cheesy fish.

Or you might not; your call.

Someone, somewhere, once decided a nice bit of fish could only be improved with the addition of cheese. This person was a clown with too much time on his or her hands, and certainly too much cheese. Perhaps this individual had just broken up with someone and had lost all respect for life and just didn’t give a fuck anymore. You know how that is: one minute you’re happy, the next you’re a lonely loser obsessively listening to songs that remind you of better days with no appetite and yet the inexplicable need to continue eating. The meals you concoct are designed to give a giant culinary middle finger to the universe and the ex, and ought to simply be left to anonymous regret.

But no: this fool, in his or her despair, decided it would be good to share.

If you think you might want to eat fish in the future — buy it fresh, in the future, and cook it then. Your freezer will thank you.

Margeurite Patten’s All-Colour Book of Freezing, 1975

Also from this book: Darwinian

A Sticky Situation

— Audrey, what on earth…

— What’s the matter, Hugh?

— This sauce — it’s — it’s got a funny texture.

— That’s how it’s supposed to be.

— Surely not, though, darling.

— I followed the recipe to the letter.

— What’s in it?

— A quarter pound of mozzarella and one and a quarter pounds of Elmers.

— Elmers?

— Yes. Elmers. You know, the school glue. The white stuff that dries transparent.

— Well, that explains it! But Audrey, glue? Really?

— It says it’s non-toxic on the bottle.

— That’s hardly the point.

— Are you sure that’s what the recipe said? I find it very hard to believe.

— I had Cindy read it out to me while I was cooking. I had so much to do.

— But Cindy’s only six. And she has a lisp. Perhaps you ought to go fetch the book so we can see.

* * * * * * * 

— Oh dear. I’m terribly afraid you’re right! It says “teleme,” not “Elmers.” I’ve never heard of teleme, have you?

— No.

— At least we caught it before the guests arrived. I say, Audrey?

— Yes, Hugh?

— If we leave these clams open won’t birds swoop down to grab them?

— I shouldn’t think so. Besides — they were open when I bought them. The man said it would save me a lot of hassle trying to do it later. They were dead cheap too! A real bargain.

Hors d’Oeuvres, Lane Publishing Co., 1976

Also from this book: Eggs, Cheesy Nuts

The Big Squeez

Here at Kraft we dislike the letter C. Normally, the word “craft” is spelled with C, but we spell it with a K instead. We hate C’s so much we dropped it from the word “snak.” There is no logic to our spelling. We just think certain letters are superfluous, that’s all. Take the word “squeeze.” It does not need that final E. Some of you might argue that the word “snak” could be mistaken for “snake,” but that would be plain wrong. We are advertising something that is long and wiggly. OK, that sounds a lot like a snake. We do not recommend you squeeze snakes. That’s dangerous. We’d prefer you squeeze some of our delicious Squeez-A-Snak onto a cracker. Or an egg. Or anything you have lying around. You can squeeze it straight into your mouth if you like, though that might be uncouth. No matter; we don’t judge. What you do in the privacy of your own home is your business. Squeeze all the snakes you like. Go crazy. After all, our motto is “A good time is only as good as its food.” That’s not really true, but it sounds good. Actually, it sounds awful. It makes no sense whatsoever. We had a contest in the office to see who could come up with a motto that used as many O’s as you could squeeze in. This is what won. That should tell you something about the caliber of people we have in the office. Don’t apply for a job here. No-one can spell, there are absurd rules about not using the letter C and they feed you this stuff all day long. I saw a guy squeeze some out onto his pencil and lick it off. I think he was preparing to stab himself with it just to get out of a meeting. He might have been the guy who came up with that motto. Clearly he needs help. Psychological help. Only someone about to fall into the abyss of despair could think that a good time is only as good as its food. What if the food sucks? You could be on a hot date with a pretty woman and eat shitty food, but it would still be a hot date. No-one cares about the food. You could go home and squeeze snakes. Also, why is it called “process cheese spread”? The cheese has been processed. Past tense. There is no such thing as process cheese, at least in grammar. Besides, it’s not real cheese, if you want to know the truth. It’s nothing like cheese. But they have to call it something. It’s more accurate to call it cheez, which you’d think they’d be all over, but no. They let that one slip through. Maybe the pencil guy was off that day. Maybe he was on a mental health break. This whole thing is depressing. No-one needs a chart to figure out what to do with this stuff. It’s in a tube; you cut a hole in one end and squeeze. It’s not difficult to figure out. It’s the thing you buy at the 7-11 when you’re drunk at 4am on your way home to balance the beer. Or maybe after your date, when you’re still starving because the food was so bad. Come to think of it, maybe pencil guy was on to something. He was just telling it like it is. If the ad is anything to go by, you’ll have a really bad time eating this food. You’ll stand there holding a tube of it in your hand in your empty kitchen with your box of crackers and no wife, no kids, no money for a pizza, no hope of ever scoring a hot date, and you’ll think to yourself: I’m a complete failure, I might as well off myself. You’ll think: my career consists of designing charts to show people what they can do with a tube of Squeez-A-Snak because we assume they are so profoundly stupid they can’t figure it out for themselves. You will use goo squeezed out onto a cracker four times on the same page and hope no-one notices that this isn’t four separate ideas just because you use a different shape cracker each time. Your own mother will tear out this ad from the magazine and show all her friends what her son does for a living. They will ask her why he can’t spell, given his expensive college education, and she will say maybe no-one will notice. Someone will point out the thing about the letter C. Next time she calls you she will relay this information and ask if you’ve been on any dates because she’d like grandchildren to spoil before she dies. You consider stabbing yourself in the neck with a pencil. But I digress. What was it you were saying?

Family Circle, 1973

More Yuckylicious ads: Behold The Versatronic, Gold Medal Memories, What A Douchebag, The Seven Year Itch, You Say Carat; I Say Carrot (Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off), Mad Men, It’s The Real Thing (What Is, Exactly?), Putting the Special in Special K

Complètement De Fromage

This pretty charmer is not, as it may be supposed, wielding a machete in the manner of someone about to stab an unlucky suitor to death because he has stolen her cheese. Instead, she is operating the lever on a machine that forces long nails into said cheese so that it may be perforated to receive the spores that will riddle its insides with the mold that will make it a Roquefort cheese.

Behold the glee with which this happy peasant performs her thankless task in the dank and rank cave where the cheese is made. Note her dark hair glistening with a feminine pomade, used, in most likelihood to keep stray hairs from falling into the vats of curds and whey. Today, such shiny tresses are kept at bay underneath the ubiquitous and gender non-specific plastic hairnet of the food service industry.

This saucy wench spends her days driving nails into great wheels of rotting cheese, but look — she’s wearing a wedding band on her dainty finger, so tonight she will go home to an appreciative husband and perhaps even children, to bestow upon them one of her beatific smiles as pictured here.

Maman, they will cry, trembling with excitement in a dusty corner, clutching each other for dear life, tell us once again of the years of hardship and misery your apprenticeship as a cheese-nailer entailed, for it fills our hearts with joy to be born of a woman such as you, whose very loins could crush bullets as they lay snug in the chambers of a gun, like bee larvae in their comb.

Regarde, she will tell them, her voice as shrill as the metal upon metal of her nailing machine, Learn to speak French you little bastards, like normal people, because I can’t understand a word you’re saying.

Completely Cheese, Anita May Pearl, 1979

Parsley Merkin

Do not scoff at the idea of a pubic wig, the venerable merkin.

While used rarely today due to the ascendency of the bikini wax, they once provided an invaluable service to humble women suffering from the scourge of the middle ages, pubic lice. The only way to avoid the beasties was to give them no place to hide. In order to protect her modesty, she resorted to a bit of crotch fluff, a bit like a sporran worn inside her skirt.

Crabs were the least of a prostitute’s problems, however. The average medieval john left her with more than coin in her purse, so she employed a merkin to hide a litany of pustules, open sores, genital warts, and every kind of venereal disease you can imagine lest she be forced to retire from the world’s oldest profession through lack of customers. Add to her misery, the treatment for syphilis — mercury — caused hair loss, which meant she couldn’t use her natural assets to cover up.

Merkins are offered today to actors who may find themselves excessively depilated for a role set during a hairier time, or to guard against revealing too much flesh and earning a higher MPAA rating.

Food stylists use parsley for pretty much the same reasons: to add allure with frothy vividly colored curls, or to disguise a bare plate or deflect from a problematic area which has been rendered unappetizing.

Any likeness between a medieval prostitute and the caption offered alongside this Ten-in-one Sandwich Loaf is purely accidental and should not be interpreted as an unfortunate instance of sexual innuendo. In order not to be offended, do not look up the word “spunky” in a dictionary of British slang. You have been warned. Have a nice day.

Cooking With Cheese, Better Homes and Gardens, 1966

Also from this book: Fondue? Fondon't

Cheefe

Next time you enjoy a bit of cheese, consider whence it came, and what it took to get here. That innocuous rectangle of plastic-wrapped, odorless, evenly textured industrially-produced cheddar is one of those modern foods that is easy to eat because we do not see it being made.

Today, it involves lots of metal in a factory and workers in masks and latex gloves, but in 1742, it was made at home by ladies with strong stomachs. Actually, they made it with newborn calf’s stomachs, as you can see (they call it a “bag”).

Stinging nettles are used to wrap the cheese because they contain a rennet-like coagulant which helps the cheese to form. Rennet is the enzyme that allows milk to become cheese, as opposed to simply rot. Today, cheese is made using the by-products of the veal industry for cow's milk cheese, though lamb's stomachs are used for making sheep's milk cheeses, goat's stomachs for goat's cheeses, and so on. 

Vegetarians and those keeping Kosher need not despair however; a number of vegetable-based rennets are available. They are made from mold. On the other hand, some of the bacteria, fungi and yeast that comprise this mold have typically been modified with cow genes. Up to 90% of the cheese on your supermarket shelf is made with Chymax, a synthetic rennet made by the pharmaceutical company Pfizer. 

It's important that the calf be slaughtered before it has been weaned so that its stomach has not been introduced to elements that change the type of rennet it produces. 

Cottage cheese is so-called because it was a relatively quick variety of cheese to make at home, requiring far less stroking and curing than the solid cheeses. Cheese, like people, tend to sweat when not refrigerated. 

The Compleat Housewife, Eliza Smith, 1742

Also from this book: Poxy Lady, A Cure For Cancer, Praise The Laud!, Fertilizer, Cock Ale, Chanel No. 2, Very Game

An Eye For An Eye

Jean Anthelm Brillat-Savarin, in his foundational treatise on the aesthetics and science of gastronomy, The Physiology of Taste, offers this essential aphorism:

A dessert without cheese is like a beautiful woman who has lost an eye.

How true that is.

Perhaps this is how the missing eye sees this Apple Pie — deeply red. Look! There’s the cheese imprisoned in a glass cage behind the pie lest it escapes.

Crisco’s Favorite Family Foods Cookbook, The Procter and Gamble Company, 1973

Also from this book: Sausage Breakfast Bake With Crisco, They Serve Coke At Parties, Don't They? 

Banana-Cheese Dressing

There are some flavors that have become part of the culinary canon because they are so complementary it seems as if the Lord in His wisdom made them for one another. Tomatoes and oregano. Lamb and rosemary. Chocolate and salt. Brie and figs. Fish and lemon.

Bananas and cheese is not one of them.

The person who snuck a spoonful appears to agree since they unfortunately regurgitated it onto the apples entombed in orange Jello rather than the green glass plate put there for the express purpose of catching unwanted bits.

Salad Book, Better Homes and Gardens, 1969

Also from this book: Salmon Avocado Mold, Ham Cabbage Mold, Wash Your Mouth Out With Soap

Cheesy Nuts

 If you attend a party this hostess is throwing, and have an allergy to nuts, you’re shit out of luck.

Nothing says “Spread the germs I care” more than food that has required much handling. If you’re too busy to make this yourself, perhaps you could rope the children in to do it for you: just give each toddler a lump of cheese and a box of nuts and tell them to cram as much in as possible. You could even offer prizes as an incentive: Best Porcupine or Best Tree, for example. Or Most Likely to Succeed.

Hors d’Oeuvre’s, Lane Publishing Co., 1976

Also from this book: Eggs, A Sticky Situation

Fondue? Fondon't.

Oh Dear. This is very sad. These people have run out of food and have had to rely on serving a bowl of vomit and pieces of something they’re dipping into it on skewers. Perhaps their guests won’t notice because there’s clearly flirting going on. Look at how those fingers are suggestively curled around the metal….The recipe instructions say “Oops! The first one to drop his bread in the pot gives a kiss to the friend of his choice.”

(Why is it assumed to be the man who will drop his bread? And isn’t there a pretty high potential for abusing the fondue rule in order to kiss everyone? Or maybe just the one person. And what if she doesn’t want to be kissed? This could lead to violence in a jiffy — and they’re all armed with pointy sticks. So much for the Swiss being pacifists. What a crock of sh*t. Which incidentally brings us back to the photo.)

I wonder how long those apple slices wedged onto the mugs will stay there? Every tried to jam an apple slice onto a hard object? Let’s give special props to the food stylist who so carefully carved the notches out without breaking the apple. And for the all-red theme. Bravo.

On the next page are these lovely recipes for “Rabbit.” Not to be confused with the traditional “Welsh Rarebit.”

Cooking with Cheese, Better Homes and Gardens, 1971

Also from this book: Parsley Merkin