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

When Pigs Fly

When Pigs Fly

When pigs fly it is said that one ought not to touch

one’s wife’s elbow. One must refrain from

smelling apples and thinking of opera. When pigs fly,

blue is registered by the eye as yellow, etc.

Do not lick postage stamps when pigs fly.

Do not lace your shoes. It is forbidden to be nostalgic

for the days when you were small enough to sit upon

your grandfather’s lap and sniff his beard.

When pigs fly the stars do not align, and drawers

which have never moved will suddenly become

unstuck. Forks must not be used when pigs fly.

Neither agree or disagree with arguments made by children.

If one swears an oath when the pigs fly, it will never

come true. Turn all paintings towards the wall

when pigs fly. Do not look at the sky.

I repeat: do not look at the sky.

When pigs fly, you are temporarily released

from all obligations made to childhood friends

when standing in water. When pigs fly you must

refer to them as “pork birds,” for this is the term

they prefer. The birds will refer to themselves as “fish”

and the fish shall call themselves “Enrico.”

Those named Enrico will refrain from whispering

for the duration of the pig’s flight. When pigs fly

you will forget everything you remembered

about calculus, and if you know nothing of calculus,

you’ll be none the wiser. When pigs fly you will understand

wonder, and peaches, and motorcycles, and snow.

McCall's Book of Marvellous Meats, The McCall Corporation, 1965

The Case of the Missing Swine

If you're thinking this is an odd chapter to have in a Kosher cookbook, you're right.

When you turn the page you find yourself immediately upon the next chapter: Meat.

The Chinese-Kosher Cookbook, Ruth and Bob Grossman, 1963

Also from this book: Are We Done?, How Very Schmaltzy, Crazy Bananas

Sweet-Sour Pork

It was Harriet’s day off, and because she was feeling particularly adventurous, Mrs. Bridge decided she was going to make supper. She provided Harriet with a shopping list and instructed her not to prepare anything to cover her absence, as she usually did. Mr. Bridge had casually remarked earlier in the week that there was a new restaurant downtown — The Lotus Blossom — and that some of the men from the office had eaten there for lunch. “Oh!” she had exclaimed, but he offered no more detail, and went back to reading the paper.

Mrs. Bridge could not imagine what the Chinese were doing in downtown Kansas City, or why they thought Missourians were inclined to dine with them. Mabel Ong raised the subject at that week’s Auxiliary meeting, and appeared quite keen on trying it out. An outing was proposed and voted on, and even though Mrs. Bridge was quite frightened by the prospect of having to eat fried chicken feet and strange vegetables, she found herself raising her hand with the rest.

“I’ve heard they serve cats and dogs, you know,” warned Lois Montgomery, “all smothered in a bright red sauce made of roosters.” Mrs. Bridge turned pale and thought that surely the food licensing board wouldn’t allow that sort of thing, and that perhaps someone ought to inform them. The Auxiliary, if necessary. They could start a letter writing campaign. Nevertheless, she felt mildly excited by the thought of seeing where her husband ate his lunch. Lois proposed that since this would be venturing into unfamiliar territory, they all ought to learn a bit about the Chinese so they would know what to order, and everyone heartily agreed. “Thank goodness,” she whispered, and made a note to keep the pets locked indoors from now on.

Not knowing where to turn, and certain that the library wouldn’t be much help, Mrs. Bridge consulted one of the books Carolyn had given her for Christmas, which had in it a section on foreign foods. Sure enough, there were some recipes for Chinese meals one could prepare from ingredients that sounded reassuringly American. It didn’t look nearly as terrifying as it sounded. It had been years since she donned an apron, but surely it wasn’t as hard as it looked.

 When Mrs. Bridge announced that she would be cooking a special dinner that night, Carolyn cried out in anguish. “Oh Mother, must you?” she groaned, shrugging off her coat. “What happened to Harriet?”

“I thought you’d be happy,” replied Mrs. Bridge. “After all, I’m using the cookbook you gave me.”

“That was meant to be a gag gift,” said Carolyn. “It was Doug’s idea.”

Mrs. Bridge was taken aback. “It’s not polite to give gifts in jest. Now do your homework.” Carolyn ran upstairs in a huff, without her school satchel. Minutes later, Mrs. Bridge could hear the phone click open.

When she placed the steaming bowls of Sweet-Sour Pork on the table, Douglas screwed up his face. “Now, now,” his mother said, “we’re going to be open to new cuisines. Who wants to eat the same old thing every night?” She glanced at Mr. Bridge for support, but he looked equally stricken, so she carried on, depositing a sticky clump of rice in the center of each plate before ladling the chunks of meat and pineapple on top. Everyone had been given a pair of chopsticks along with their knives and forks. Mr. Bridge gamely speared a piece of glistening pork and put it in his mouth. Everyone watched as he chewed. At first, Mrs. Bridge held hope that he would declare her meal equally as fine as the one served at The Lotus Blossom. 

But as he continued chewing, the thin reed of her dreams folded in on itself like an origami swan, so that by the time he finally swallowed, it was a crisp knot. Mr. Bridge put down his knife and fork and gave a small cough. He smoothed the tablecloth on either side of his plate with his hands. None of the children moved. The swan inside Mrs. Bridge opened up and flew away, the sound of its enormous wings filling her ears as they beat the late fall air.

Meals With A Foreign Flair, Better Homes and Gardens, 1963


Also from this book: Vive La Cuisine Franglais!, Bohemian Rhapsody

Scrapple

Some recipes have too much information; some, too little.

This one switches between the two. It’s full of adverbs where you need them — you must clean the head “thoroughly,” simmer it “gently,” stir it “constantly,” cool it “slowly” and watch it “carefully” — and rubbish when you really need them.

How should you “separate” the head into halves? With a saw? A cleaver? A machete? Vigorously? Responsibly? Angrily? And how does one take out the eyes and brains? With your fingers? A spoon? A pick? Tongs? Greedily? Delicately? Matter-of-factly?

In a related matter, Scrabble is the most perfect board game yet devised by man. It requires something of beauty to be made from the scraps of alphabet. It should be played mercilessly, competitively, joyously, and often.

Berks County Cook Book, (date unknown)

Suckling Pig

This particular suckling pig was procured from the little-publicized Livestock Foodstuffs Agency which provides toothsome-looking models for culinary photography. For some animals, whose only other avenue in life is a factory farm, it can be an appealing career choice, though it does come tinged with the occupational hazard of actually being cooked and eaten in the course of doing your job. For this reason, insurance rates run high, a cost passed on to the consumer. 

Not every hopeful beast is chosen, of course; a high priority is placed on a blemish-free and succulent appearance. Job training differs species to species — suckling pigs practice the apple-in-the-mouth pose under strict tutelage so that they may remain still, often balanced on a spit or serving platter for hours at a time. Many find the experience of being slathered in barbecue sauce quite relaxing, especially when it is rubbed in by a sympathetic food stylist. 

Despite the potential rewards that attend this profession it remains unregulated, though unionization has improved conditions in recent years with a set fee schedule and the provision of regular bathroom breaks and worker’s compensation packages for those nicked and burned in the line of duty. Sadly even this is sometimes not enough to forestall ruthless food editors from abusing their employees as one can plainly see from this example. Fortunately, the mandatory Livestock Foodstuffs Agency Life Insurance policy will provide for his porcine wife and piglets for a period of three years or until any exercise their right to sacrifice themselves for bacon.

The Art of Carving, House and Garden, 1959