Pizza Potatoes — For When You Simply Don’t Give A F*ck

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library series from 1971 is a plastic time capsule of grotesque food photography.

Their food stylists and photographers never met a dish they didn’t shoot on a table set with a dizzying array of additional food accompaniments or props. A heavy emphasis was placed on hardware: the serving dishes, drinking vessels and various pouring devices which crowded their place settings. The food was never enough to speak for itself, always requiring the elaborate costume such clutter provides to suggest an appeal.

The dishes are always shot from an angle which places the card reader at the table — from a diner’s eye-level. The scenes are brightly, but artificially lit and appear to feature real food with a minimum of styling, which on occasion is sorely missed, such as when an element melts, creating an unappetizing look.

Although each and every card is a brightly colored catastrophe, one recipe distinguishes itself as a close-up which should not have been. In Pizza Potatoes, all we see is a gooey mess in a white bowl, with a curve of red tablecloth beyond it, chosen, clearly, to accent the pepperoni swamped by cheese. The interior of the dish is crusted at the edges and gives the impression of a difficult clean-up.

This is not a dish which lends itself to beauty or detail. With our faces just inches from the rim of the bowl, it feels as if we’re leaning in for a sniff. A swampy morass of melted cheese looks like a greasy heart attack, and there’s no hint of a salad to provide any relief. This is a recipe for pizza toppings on top of potato, after all — all of which come from packages supplied by General Mills.

Budget Casseroles Card #25 Pizza Potatoes, Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library, 1971

A Child Model Speaks

Yes, I was a child model. I did all sorts — clothing catalogues, TV spots, book covers. My Mom took me to all the shoots and they saved the money I earned for a college education. Well, that was the idea; that’s what I was always told. As it turns out, when I turned 18, there wasn’t anything left. My Dad had used it all to pay bills. I think my Mom wanted to be a model herself. You know; same old story. I loved it, actually, because it meant getting out of school. It was my “job.” I thought it was pretty cool. It was easy work, let’s face it.

Ah yes — the Fast Fixin’ Kids’ Recipes, that one was memorable. I did a bunch of stuff for Better Homes and Gardens. They wanted to be “multi-cultural” and all that, so they hired kids who all looked real different. This kid on the cover with me was a sweetheart. He just giggled and smiled. Honestly, I think he was on something — cold medicine or something, Some Moms did that to keep their kids obedient — pliable, you know. Would just smile and smile and do whatever they were asked then fall asleep.

The photographer for this book got some terrible shots. Real clunkers — kids with their eyes closed, weird facial expressions, etc. In one picture a boy dressed up as a cowboy was literally crying when the shot was taken — and they used it! He looked just miserable, my God.

They had this enormous cookie made in the shape of a bear, covered with frosting. This one girl had to pretend to eat it. She was a trooper. She threw up constantly. Her Mom said it was nerves, but it was because she nibbled the entire time.

I’ve got this gape-mouthed, wide-eyed look going. I’m staring at a burger, or was supposed to. In fact, they took this picture when I was looking at the hand puppet the photographer was waving. They do that, in kid’s shoots, to produce the kind of expressions they want. Well, you don’t want to know what he was doing with that puppet.

Seriously, look at that cover. Why would anyone look like that over a burger? Was it made of gold? No. Mostly it was made of glue and lacquer and all the shit they put on the food to make it look fresh. The food never smelled like food, you know — it smelled like fumes; chemical fumes. You never wanted to lean in too close.

Fast Fixin’ Kids’ Recipes, Better Homes and Gardens, 1988

One Page Fits All

Reading materials have always come with illustrations. At first, the pictures were made with woodblock prints inserted into black spaces left by the printer. When books were assembled, whole pages were devoted to carefully painted illustrations, and oversize letters within the text were extravagantly decorated. Once the Victorians invented leisure time, childhood, compulsory education, and spending money, young people enjoyed books made especially for them which included beautiful color illustrations interspersed throughout the story, as well as lively pen and ink prints that often showed a dramatic scene which was then happening in the text.

Cookery and household management books lagged far behind, only getting small, poor-quality black and white photographs of dishes every now and then. The purpose of such images seems not to be for instruction but to break up the acres of densely-packed print.

The idea that you could separate out the pictures from the text, or that you could or should use pictures to demonstrate technique or showcase a dish has been late in coming to fruition. Back in 1979, for example, book designers still used photographs sparingly, without much thought to the composition of the image.

Here, three non-complementary desserts are grouped together in matching glass serving bowls simply because all three recipes appear on the opposite page. They would never be served together in real life, and none makes any of the others look as appetizing as they would be if shot alone. One cannot, for example, imagine the apricot-based dish’s flavor when faced with the strident green of the Grasshopper parfaits which loom above. The small dish to the side is made from cheese and nuts.

The idea that you should aim to push as many dishes onto the table so they can appear in one shot dates a cookbook as much as any other element. Today’s food stylists and photographers would cringe at the thought of assembling and lighting such a mis-matched ensemble of colors and textures. Here, the photographer has opted for a one-size-fits-all approach with a warm filter and overhead lamp that does none of these dishes justice.

Fix It Fast Cookbook, Better Homes and Gardens, 1979