There’s just something about vintage cookbooks. It’s not the recipes,
although they certainly can be gems. It’s the history; it’s the
handwritten notations in the margin, and it’s the coffee stains and the
dog-eared pages and the hyper-saturated photographs.
Just imagine a world wherein your day starts off with a bowl of
cereal. But not just any bowl of cereal — this one is a Winken Blinken
and Nod bowl of cereal, with “three maraschino cherries sitting on half a
banana, an apple slice for a sail, atop Trix” (Betty Crocker’s
Cookbook for Boys and Girls, 1957). Lunch is a thoughtfully packed
combination of soup and a sandwich, in Thermos and waxed paper
respectively, accompanied by a healthy amount of fruits, cookies, and
other nibbles. Supper was a family affair — a sit-down meal with
appetizers, soup, salad, vegetables boiled to oblivion, meats slathered
in gravies and sauces, and then a hearty dessert. And then there were
the bedtime snacks. All home-cooked, with love, by your very own Donna
Reed.
Each cookbook, no matter the era, tells a story of a history that
never was. The idea of a nuclear family with house-guests and theme
parties and holiday celebrations is inescapable, and frankly, quite
refreshing, albeit a little creepy. There’s a certain innocence that
comes with cherry-frosted cakes adorned with paper dolls and gumdrops
(the “Cake of the Dancing Dolls” from 1963's Better Homes and Gardens Birthdays
and Family Celebrations).
The illustrations have a pure, eerie beauty as well. Where else can
you find impish elves frolicking with snowflake sugar cookies, bananas
riding unicycles, and chickens sharing a milkshake? Everyone is
smiling, even the inanimate objects. When books have color plates, the
colors are incredibly saturated while also alluringly high-pastel, and
sometimes you can find amazing delights –– a 1960s Amy Vanderbilt
cookbook, found at a Goodwill for 99 cents, is full of line drawings by
one Andrew Warhol.
There is real history in these old books, too. The Silent Hostess
Treasure Book (1932) was put out by GE to help housewives understand
how to use their newfangled electric refrigerators and offers great
insights into not only the dining habits of the times, but also how
people shopped and entertained. Oh, and there are recipes, too – Jellied
Mushroom Soup, Molded Chicken Salad, and Tomato Aspic showed the
newfound ease in using gelatin while Frozen Pineapple Cheese and Burnt
Almond Ice Cream take advantage of an in-home freezer compartment.
A party-themed book, The Good Housekeeping Appetizer Book (1958),
sets the scene for a social, festive atmosphere – gatherings, while less
formal than in earlier decades, are still events, and themes remain the
order of the day. Peanut Butter Toasties, Spicy Dunk Sauce, Nibbler
Lorraine are all recipes indicative of the times — rock and roll was
new, the beatniks were poeting all over the place, and suburban
households were loosening up and experimenting with new ideas and
flavors. A handwritten scribble in the margin notes that “Henry likes
this one” and suggests some personal modifications.
Another thrift store find, Add Spice to Your Life (1965) — part of
the Amy Vanderbilt Success Program for Women — contains cut-out magazine
clippings about how to use your new trash compactor, an ad for Sunshine
Fabrics in Nantucket, and some slightly more formal recipes – Salmon
Steaks in Herb Sauce, South African Chicken Pie, and Jamaican Pepperpot
Soup are examples of an expanding world view, and the more refined
tastes that accompany it.
If you are looking for a social history, some nostalgia for a time
that never was, or just a few aspic-laden meal ideas to help curb your
appetite, you can find it all — and more — sandwiched between the covers
of a few old cookbooks.
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