It is Mother’s Day and my biggest concern is whether or not I should write under the influence of Flexeril. Such is my carefree lifestyle. The second Sunday in May is usually my favorite day of the year, but this one I am observing horizontally after pulling my back in a frenzied toddler wrangle. I am sure that the back issue will have little bearing on my enjoyment of today; the bliss of a demand-free afternoon is hard to defeat.
I have had my eye on the Salon Kitchen Challenge all week: bring us your Mother’s Day recipes in honor of what your mother made for you. My mom hails from 1950’s California, a product of that state’s agricultural heartland. At eighteen, she wed a son of Indiana and they are happily married to this day. The basic cuisine in my formative years was what one would expect from a 1980’s household such as ours. Shake ‘n Bake chicken, Shake ‘n Bake pork chops, meat loaf, and tuna noodle casserole. We never did have Shake ‘n Bake meat loaf, which would have been very exciting and possibly more American than Apple Pie.
If we were feeling adventurous, we would crack open a can of La Choy Chow Mein resplendent with the little crunchy noodles that I have never seen outside of my mom’s kitchen. Mom has since broadened her gustatory horizons, in case you wonder. In these days of Food Network, Kitchen Stadium, and Kitchen Challenges, we all have. Back then, she balanced two kids with a full time job and still managed hot home cooked meals every night.
My husband’s mother ventured farther afield, into the culinary alps of Northern California. There she lived amongst Sasquatch and crotchety miners in the hamlet of Sawyers Bar. She shopped large and infrequently in a far away town, trading amongst Sawyers Bar locals and the Native American reservation for fresh produce. She even traded her childcare services for goat milk, a substance for which my husband still has an affinity.
It is that same woman, my mother-in-law, who recently gave me an antique piece of her culinary repertoire: a nearly century old Department of Agriculture cookbook from her mother’s side of the family. I have the crumbled shedding of this book lying across my chest as I write from the comfort of my chaise. Part cookbook, part history book, part family bible, the old pages are an enticing way to spend a Sunday afternoon whilst stove up in an office.
The first recipe that jumped out at me was on a page entitled “Preparations for the Sick.” Okay, I am not sick, but I am flat on my back so maybe that qualifies. At the top of the page, there it sat: Toast Water. Place several pieces of stale toasted bread in a cup, cover with ice water, and serve to your patient. If you do not get well soon this is what we will be giving you to eat all the time. Bon Appetite. As proof that it did not say "Preparations to Make you Sick," I give you the page, photographed below.
Here is another recipe, this one labeled as good for invalids. Since I am a bit of an invalid today, why not? Frumenty: Rinse a quart of wheat (fresh from the thresher I presume) and put in a tin vessel with a gallon of water. Set this in a larger vessel of water and boil for eight hours. It will keep in a cool corner for a week. Eat cold with sugar and cream, or reheat if you are worried about food poisoning. I added that food poisoning disclaimer myself; the recipe name is not far from fermenty.
When I first saw the title of this next preparation, I pictured a cow served with a side of her own iced cream: Beef a la Mode. Boil a roast until half done then bake in the oven until tender. Make a paste of 1.5 cup sour cream, ½ tsp soda, and 2 egg yelks (yes, yelks) and spread it over and around the beef, bake until browned. Lay the beef in a serving dish and cover with the following sauce: 1 ounce of butter cooked with 1 tbsp flour, add 1 cup each stock and cream and boil with minced onion then stir in two more yelks and a tbsp catsup. I think this sounds great, but Beef Stroganoff is one of my favorites. My guess is that salt and pepper have been assumed here, Kate F. Beanland of Clinton, Missouri must have left those out.
As I fondle this federal culinary masterpiece, random papers of the past keep falling out. The latest scrap to fall says COMMON SPEECH ERRORS across the top. On the list are: “My brother, he killed a rabbit.” “This is a boughten dress.” “I’ll learn you to do it.” MS Word seems a bit upset with these errors as well so I guess I need not keep grammar tips in my cookbook.
Something a cookbook should have, however, are Pie Recipes. In the pie category, I give you two. Hard Times Pie: Rub ½ cup flour and ¾ cup sugar into a heaping tbsp of butter until no lumps remain. Add a cupful of water and bake with but one crust. Mrs. Clara Everts of Griffith, Indiana assures us that it is “quite palatable.” I will have to take her word for it, back or no back, times are not hard enough for me to make that. So how about Cheap Vinegar Pie? This one comes on the heels of Vinegar Pie and Another Vinegar Pie and just prior to plain old Cheap Pie. Makes three pies, hope you are hungry. Take 1 quart of water and 4 tbsp of strong vinegar and mix with a cup of sugar and 3 tbsp butter. Boil. While boiling, add a cupful of flour wet in cold water and boil 2 minutes more. Let cool. Once cool, if you do not have a solid mass of glue, pour into three pans lined with paste (don’t ask me) and bake in a quick oven. I presume the oven must be quick lest it becomes aware of what it participates in.
The smell of moldering paper must be going to me head. Or is it the Flexeril? Okay, one more, this one from the cover (or page 51, as readers of the intact book may have found). Here it is, for your belated Mother’s Day breakfast, I give you Fried Mush: Slice cold mush ½ inch thick. Dip pieces in beaten egg and then in rolled crackers. Fry same as doughnuts. This is very nice for breakfast, Hattie Cary of La Plata, Missouri advises.
Better yet, lie around and wait for someone to bring breakfast to you. Earlier, a crafty 12 year old and sweet 3 year old brought me a Pac-Man lap tray of second breakfast. Like a good hobbit, I ate it right down to the fun size Butterfinger. Mmmm, that tasted good. Perfectly seasoned eggs. The juxtaposition of Pac Man and ancient cookbook crumbles is not lost on me. Happy Mother’s Day to all the mamas, and thank you, papas and children, for keeping us hassle free on this blessed occasion.
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