The Miracle of Birth

 

Many is the poor husband who, while dutifully supporting his wife’s labor, commits the terrible mistake of taking a quick peek. Perhaps his delirious partner, in her extreme condition, demands to know how much of the baby is out. Perhaps the birth attendant, both used to and enthralled by the relentless exposure to the business end of life invites him to take a look he’ll never forget. Nowadays, the paternal responsibility of cutting the cord pressures the new father into witnessing the carnage of his beloved’s forest glade a few months before its seductive form has been regained. In any case, such scenes can elicit an impolite response: loss of consciousness, immediate regurgitation, an avowal to his god of lifelong celibacy, or the utterance of deeply regrettable profanity. Let’s face it: the sight of a mammal emerging from another mammal’s nether regions is not for the faint of heart. 

 

And it’s not just something one may stumble across in the odd intimacy of one’s birthing suite; footage of animals giving birth, both wild and domestic, is everywhere on the internet for all to see: one minute you’re scrolling past memes, and the next a sheep / goat / horse / cow / elephant / wildebeest  is being pushed wetly, hoof-first, from its mother shamelessly on camera for all the world to see. It’s not the facts of life; it’s a fact of life. Like the Scouts say, be prepared. 

 

And it’s not just an assault from the animal kingdom one has to be prepared to view: the vegetable world has joined the fray too. Witness here the trials of the lowly, yet noble onion, as she delivers a slick new version of herself onto the dinner table. Note the gentle, yet firm encouragement provided by the chef/doula’s gloved hands, while her sister onion patiently awaits her turn on the plate. 

 

Do not turn away from the miracle of life, dear reader: do not avert your gaze, for it is a tale as old as time. One onion begets another, and so it goes on, layer after glistening layer. 

 

Vegetables Roasted in Coals

The Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library 1971 

Head and Shoulders Above The Competition

You might think that this post is going to be about the utter redundancy of candles on a table that is clearly being lit with a photographic light with a mega wattage resembling that of the sun. The vegetables are practically cowering from it as their shadows attempt to escape.

“What we need here to complete this picture are several candles,” someone thought as they adjusted their shades. “They will set just the right tone by providing a warm and cozy glow to offset the harsh reality of being served an entirely raw vegetable platter.” Perhaps the cook imagined that the camera lights would flash-cook them when the photo was taken.

There was a time, in the late 1970s, when food stylists reflexively added candles to every shot, as if candles suggested class and comfort. But every type of candle has clearly been lit only seconds from the shutter clicking, so that no wax be allowed to spoil the elegance. The candle, perhaps is also meant to suggest the hearth, the cooking flame from whence the food has so recently been removed.

But you’re wrong.

This isn’t about that at all.

It’s about using untoasted sesame seeds for a garnish. Dandruff, anyone?

Gourmet Christmas Cookbook, Ideals Publishing Corp., 1978

Also from this book: Ho Ho Ho Hum

Victory Garden

May 19, 1940

London

Churchill’s first address to the nation as Prime Minister

I speak to you for the first time as Prime Minister in a solemn hour for the life of our country, of our empire, of our allies, and, above all, of the cause of Freedom. A tremendous battle is raging in France and Flanders. The Germans, by a remarkable combination of pressure cooking and heavy braising, have broken through the French defenses north of the Haricot Line, and strong columns of their mobile canteens are ravaging the open country, which for the first day or two was without defenders. They have penetrated deeply and spread alarm and confusion in their track. The Germans, armed with cabbage and asparagus, are threatening the very fabric of our common cuisine.

We must not allow ourselves to be intimidated by the presence of these snack carts in unexpected places behind our lines. They are behind us at every turn. Both sides are therefore in an extremely dangerous position. And if the French Army, and our own Army, are well prepared, as I believe they will be; if the French retain that genius for sautéing and puréeing for which they have so long been famous; and if the British Army shows the dogged adherence to boiling and roasting of which there have been so many examples in the past — then a sudden transformation of the scene might spring into being.

It would be foolish, however, to disguise the gravity of the hour. It would be still more foolish to lose heart and courage or to suppose that well-trained, well-equipped chefs numbering three or four million be overcome in the space of a few weeks, or even months, by a ladle, or onslaught of skillets, however formidable.

If the battle is to be won, we must provide our men with ever-increasing quantities of the fruits and vegetables they need. We must have, and have quickly, more carrots, more spinach, more beans, more peas. There is imperious need for this vital nutrition. These vegetables increase our strength against the powerfully armed enemy.

They replace the wastage of the cooking pot; and the knowledge that stock will speedily be replaced enables us to draw more readily upon our root reserves and throw them in now that everything counts so much. Do not allow our brave men to fight on empty stomachs! No not let them suffer the empty soup tureen!

We have differed and quarreled in the past (mostly over apple pie); but now one bond unites us all — to wage war until victory is won, and never to surrender ourselves to Sauerkraut and Pickle, whatever the cost and the agony may be.

This is one of the most awe-striking periods in the long history of France and Britain. It is also beyond doubt the most sublime. Side by side, unaided except by their kith and kin in the great Dominions and by the wide empires which rest beneath their shield — side by side, the British and French peoples have advanced to rescue not only Europe but mankind from the foulest and most soul-destroying cuisine which has ever darkened and stained the pages of history.

Behind them — behind us — behind the Armies and Fleets of Britain and France — gather a group of shattered restaurants and bludgeoned diners: the Czechs, the Poles, the Norwegians, the Danes, the Dutch, the Belgians — upon all of whom the long night of Braunschwiger will descend, unbroken even by a star of hope, unless we conquer, as conquer we must; as conquer we shall.

Centuries ago words were written to be a call and a spur to the faithful servants of Haute and Cuisine: "Arm yourselves, and be ye men of valour, and be in readiness for the conflict; for it is better for us to perish in hunger than to look upon the outrage of our kitchens and our tables. As the Will of God is in Heaven, even so let it be."

Stretching Meat, General Mills., Inc. WWII


Also form this book: A Hobo Party

You Say Carat; I Say Carrot (Let's Call The Whole Thing Off)

How About A 24-Carrot Necklace?

Don’t do it, dude. Girlfriend is going to be pissed as hell if you try to slip a root vegetable ring on her finger after you propose. Things are going to get nasty if you get down on one knee, pop the question, trick her into saying “Yes!” then pull out this rubbish. Trust me, she will be able to tell the difference between a ring made from a “trifaceted chunk of avocado seed, sanded and lacquered, on a circlet of sweet potato” and an actual diamond solitaire engagement ring. Made out of metal and precious stones. That comes in a velvet-lined ring box. Preferably pale blue in color. With “Tiffany & Co.” embossed on it.

 No matter how nice your fiancée is (or was), she will not accept your excuse about being broke-ass broke and having to “be creative.” She might even play along to humor you, but watch your back.

This can go two ways: either she'll tell everyone you ever knew or ever hope to meet (after she drops your cheap sorry ass like a hot potato) what a douche you are so that you become the laughing stock of your worst nightmares, or she will actually marry you and you’ll be stuck with a woman whose standards are so low she won’t get up off her lazy ass to take the trash out of the trailer. She will cease giving a toss about her appearance, put on 200lbs, and continue to wear dried vegetable “jewelry” in public, rendering it impossible for you to leave the house. Either way, you will end up a lonely, frustrated recluse with no hope of ever having sex again.

If you doubt this, just look at the model’s expression. That’s not a smile; that’s a grimace. If you look into her eyes you can see her taking mental note to fire her agent, like, yesterday.

Note how the text plays fast and loose with archeological processes that take millions of years to accomplish: “You cut the vegetables, then let them dry into fascinating semiprecious stones.” If it were that easy, the Petrified Forest National Park wouldn’t have to keep posting signs warning visitors not to steal the gravel. That used to be wood, y’all!

What is saddest of all is that in 1972, Women’s Day thought this was a good use of their readership’s time and energy. According to one of the many cigarette ads in its pages is the perfect back-handed response to this drivel: “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

Woman’s Day, September 1972

More Yuckylicious ads: The Big Squeez, Behold The Versatronic, Gold Medal Memories, What A Douchebag, The Seven Year Itch, Mad Men, It’s The Real Thing (What Is, Exactly?), Putting the Special in Special K

Terrible Terrine

Ever eaten a Patagonian Toothfish? It’s an ugly beast, you’d remember it. Don’t think so?

You’re wrong. You’ve had it. You’ve had it so much it’s now on the endangered species list, impaled on the hook of its own popularity when its unfortunately offputting name was changed by marketing whizzes to Chilean Sea Bass.

When something is unappetizing it’s easier to change its name than to change it: hence we have the lovely Dried Plums from the unlovely Prunes. We have Bob Veal instead of Newborn Calves. We have Jell-O instead of Gelatin.

Speaking of which, we have Terrine of Garden Vegetables rather than Leftovers. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? How can you tell if a food’s moniker has been doctored? Look for obvious redundancies in its title. What vegetables don’t come from a garden, for instance? A terrine is a nice way of saying pot; the word tureen (something you serve soup in) comes from it. Terror, on the other hand, comes from the Latin terrere, meaning to frighten. Put the two together and Voila!

This one has been concocted from leftover crudités and gelatin. They suggest serving it with horseradish and a “lusty” wine. We suggest serving it with a blindfold.

Appetizers, The Knapp Press, 1982

Eggs

 This is not, as one would assume, a page illustrating something delicious to serve your guests should you hold a patio party. It is a cautionary tale demonstrating the dangers of putting your pickled vegetables out on the table a tad too early.

Sometimes a busy hostess has other things to do like drinking cocktails, so in the interests of preparedness, she clips the checkered tablecloth to the table, sets out her best glassware, and hurries back to the liquor cabinet.

Over the next couple of days, rainwater fills the bowls, and insects engage in the magnificent cycle of life that has allowed them to flourish for millennia. Here, you can clearly see the eggs that have been laid among the beans and carrots. Worms have infiltrated the jar of mushrooms and and can be spied curled around them.

By the time the guests arrive, the larva will have grown to enormous proportions and demolished the cherry tomatoes. Never fear; a bowl of dipping sauce can be utilized to make them more palatable.

Hors d’oeuvres, Lane Publishing Co., 1976

Also from this book: Cheesy Nuts, A Sticky Situation