The Chocolate Cake Hussy

This is a story with everything: fast women, battling families, revenge – and, best of all, chocolate cake.

It’s 1938. Paula and her new husband Donnie (a Zeppoesque mummy’s boy, from the look of things) have just got off the train to go live in his hometown. And her new mother-in-law is right there, waiting to pounce, in a coat made of Kermit the Frog (who seems to have been the previous object of her disdain) and a Robin Hood hat. And she is glaring at Paula like she was pond scum. Uh oh.

You see, Mother Dear had already picked out a nice bride for Sonny: Nan Blaine from down the street. “She can cook,” Mother Dear muttered as Paula sashayed down the steps.

Anyway, it just so happened that the big church social was coming up. And there would be cakes on display there. The cakes were all-important. They would be judged. And the quality of those cakes had a direct moral correlation with the cake-makers’ kin. The Tell Tale Cupcake!

Mother Dear just knew that Paula was going to disgrace the family with some sort of hussified mess. Why, land sakes, she’d probably be daydreaming over a copy of Photoplay, and mix in a jar of mustard by mistake (or else because Hot Dan was her culinary advisor, in which case the mustard would be absolutely on purpose).

Well, what do you think happened?

This is an ad for Baker’s Chocolate, so we know things are going to end in a chocolate-induced haze of happiness. Yes, Paula’s cake was not a terrible mustard-laced culinary travesty, but was in fact the most magical thing the townsfolk had ever, ever tasted! Better even than Miss Perfect Nan Blaine’s cake! And after just one bite of that cake, Paula’s Kermit-slaying mother-in-law was slobbering over her like she was a delicious ice cream sundae. Paula just lowered her eyes and beamed modestly, the hapless Donnie at her side looking cluelessly happy – but you know that she won’t forget the way Mother Dear looked daggers at her. No, she won’t. Wait till the family tastes her next surprise dessert.

[From Life, February 7, 1938. You can see the big version here, which includes not only the mother-in-law's snappy first-person story, but also Paula's recipe for Golden Cream Chocolate Cake, which is pretty much a Boston Cream Pie made with chocolate cake layers.]

The Mysterious Cupcake

I cannot resist a good bit of over-the-top hyperbole – especially when it comes with a surprise filling. This ad takes the cake, as it were. It was written by a frustrated poetic genius. He was also suffering from a sugar high, not surprisingly.

These little cakes are paradoxical: on the one hand, they only cost a dime and you can scarf them down while you watch Howdy Doody or stuff them in your lunchbox with that tired bologna sandwich. And they come in a cellophane wrapper. Very pedestrian, really.

On the other hand, consider “The Famous Hostess Secret-Blend Flavor of Chocolate from the African Gold Coast and the Blue-Green Jungles of Brazil.” These Hostess people are serious gourmets, traveling the world to perfect their snack cakes. I guess you could almost believe this, as long as you hadn’t actually tasted them.

And the Twinkies? They taste like they were baked “in a heavenly oven.” You’d think they might want to put that sort of thing in a fancy box – not cellophane.

But then we come to the mystery of the filling, which Hostess likes to refer to as the “surprise inside.” Oh, what can that be, do tell? Why, it is something referred to as “creamed-filling.” Not cream. Creamed. Creamed something-or-other. Nobody is sure what it is. Aside from its being – surprising. Is it something the Hostess master chefs found in their culinary travels to the Blue-Green Jungles of Brazil? Whatever it is, they aren’t saying.

[From Life, June 11, 1956, big version right here.]

The Faculty of Fine Eggs

Here’s one more New Year’s resolution we all may want to consider. Everybody put on your best apron, raise your right arm high and repeat after the little lady at the left:

I’ll always make my cup custards with FINE EGGS!

They don’t have to be perfect eggs, just – fine. But how do you know if your eggs are fine? The answer that springs to mind is simply to ask them how they are. The polite egg will always say: oh, I’m fine, how are you? And that is how you know.

Also, make sure that you are fine as well, before attempting to make custard. And if everything and everyone is fine, then go ahead. Oh, it’s going to be a great year, 2010. It’ll be our year for getting things done! And what are we going to do? We will, of course, be making many, many cup custards.

Which brings to mind another resolution: buy custard cups, immediately. And we’ll all sing:

Should older eggs just be forgot
When dessert time comes to mind?
We’ll make a cup of custard yet
‘Cause I’m sure those eggs are fine.

This 1941 ad, from Woman’s Day, is from the wonderful TJS Labs (where you can see this in a larger size, and maybe take down the recipe).

A Talked-About Holiday Hostess

Oh, you’ll be talked about, all right. And you know what they’re going to be saying about you?

“Boy, Sally sure is obsessed with that Reddi-Wip! Can you keep her away from me for a minute? I really, really don’t want any on my Brussels sprouts.”

Sally is all tuckered out from Thanksgiving. I guess that’s her excuse. She’s been up since 6 am fighting with a turkey’s innards. She’s been chopping and slicing and dicing and baking. And now – now you’re all going to pay!

Reddi-Wip must go on everything. You have a piece of cake or pie? It’s going to get a blast from Sally’s magic can. And you folks over there, the slowpokes who are still chowing down on stuffing and mashed potatoes and turkey wings? Guess what you’ve got coming to you!

So talk all you want. Sally knows just what you need. And you’re lucky she isn’t doing any face painting with it. Yet.

Happy Thanksgiving! And watch out for Sally and her Dessert Sensations.

[From Life, November 22, 1943.]

And many thanks to my friend Heidi, who presides over the wonderful kitschenfeast, for the Kreativ Blogger award!

Most Beautiful Dessert

Stand aside, elaborate layer cakes, and cupcakes, fancy eclairs and Japanese confections in gorgeous shapes. And just about anything not made of Jell-O with grapes suspended in it, staring at you balefully.

The Most Beautiful Dessert happens to be – Libby’s Fruit Cocktail! In a Most Beautiful Can. And also in a nifty little glass dish with stumpy little glass legs (looking as if it was embarrassed by the hyperbole and wanted to run away).

According to the plate pretending to be a clock, it is twenty past pineapple (or almost peach-thirty, it is hard to tell) – so it must be time for canned fruit. Not for a cupcake with a cherry on top. Unfortunately.

And I suspect that there’s a box of Jell-O lurking in the canned-salmon-pink foreground, just out of camera range, waiting to improve upon the perfection that is little chunks of soggy fruit dredged up from a can.

The Libby’s ad is from a 1960 Better Homes and Gardens (not, you’ll notice, Better Desserts and Fruits), via Graphic Design TJS Labs – thanks, TJS Labs!

And the truly lovely cupcake is from Party Perfect – though it originated with the Williams Sonoma site.

And over here at Cowizm there are some pictures of really beautiful Japanese cakes. I don’t think the Libby’s can would stand much of a chance, really.

Pudding On the Ritz

When you’re blue and you
don’t know what to serve next
Why don’t you go and get this fix -
Pudding in a mix!

Or, of course, you could just put pudding on a Ritz – chocolate would probably go best with a Ritz cracker. Don’t laugh, Betty Crocker probably made these all the time after she got off work. She was too tired to cook anything fancy. Speaking of which….

Jell-O Pudding is the subject of this strange little commercial from the 50s. First let’s watch the commercial, and then let it inspire us to make fancy desserts very quickly!

http://www.youtube.com/v/UIBvSGTqYVA&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0×402061&color2=0x9461ca

Yes, we’ve probably all been on that particular treadmill, haven’t we? But I never had a baby levitate up to the ceiling, as far as I can remember.

All right, time for dessert. Jell-O Pudding mix had a fancy cousin back in the day called Whip-N-Chill (also made by the Jell-O people), and you could make many extraordinary things out of it. The Whip-N-Chill cookbook says so! These are magical, extraordinary desserts!

Take this Strawberry Sparkle, for example. The pudding bit is easy, just like that commercial says. Put powder in bowl, add milk, beat it for awhile. But then! Then you add the sparkle, because Strawberry is not magical enough on its own. It’s got to sparkle! This entails going off and making some strawberry Jell-O and then – get this – putting it through a ricer!

This must be the sort of thing that put the treadmill lady over the edge. When you find yourself ricing Jell-O, it really is time to take a break – even from instant pudding.

Let’s all chill out, and I’ll see you tomorrow!

As The Cake Stand Turns

When we last tuned in, the Ersatz Trifle had sneaked into the Wilsons’ kitchen in lovely Spork Falls, hoping to convince them that it was an elegant English dessert.

“Well, no one will know that I come from a cheap Betty Crocker mix. I’ve learned how to act. I can do the accent. I’m wearing whipped cream and whole strawberries, just like those fancy English desserts that think they’re so special.”

The Trifle remembered how the Victoria Sponge and the Chocolate Gateau had made fun of it, even though the Victoria Sponge was only two layers of plain cake separated by a bit of jam. “But I am English and therefore awfully refined,” Victoria had said. “Pardon me, but you wouldn’t know how to behave on a tea table in London. You’d probably spill on the floor and taste like – “

“Like a cardboard box,” sniffed the Chocolate Gateau (and that was no mean feat, as you can imagine). Ah, memories, thought the Trifle. Memories so poignant, so powerful! I don’t even think they’re real. Where’d I meet those snobby cakes, anyway? I’ve spent my whole life in a Betty Crocker box, and then I got baked. But I want more than that! I want fame, fortune – and most of all, to be English.

Just then young Bobby toddled over to the side table. But he did not look at the Trifle. He was looking at the Chocolate and Cream Thing in a Bowl which stood in front of the Trifle. It was a Trifle Wannabe – a flashy upstart that didn’t even pretend to be anything but an excuse to mix pudding, cake and fruit in a bowl and call three desserts One Big Mess.

“Look at me, me, me,” the Strawberry Trifle thought. “I’m the focus of this ad, not that floozy with the toasted almonds on her head!” But Bobby ignored the Trifle, for in the realm of small children, chocolate trumps strawberries pretty well all the time.

“Eat your tuna casserole first Bobby,” said his mother from across the room. “And then maybe if you’re good, you can have some cake. Now come sit down right now, it’s time for us all to stare at the condiments.” The rest of the family sat at the kitchen table, focusing their gazes upon the magical mustard and ketchup squeezy bottles.

“Trifle! I’m an English Trifle I tell you!” the Trifle tried to shout. But since it was an instant dessert in a glass bowl, no sound came out. “Trifle trifle trifle! Stop looking at that stupid mustard! Over here!”

The silence grew ever louder. And alas, the Ersatz Trifle was running out of witty rejoinders. Not that it had ever had any to begin with. Cake mixes seldom do.

Tune in next time to learn the answer to these thrilling questions:

-Will the Wilsons really believe that the Trifle came from London, enjoys a good cricket match and personally knows the Queen?

-Will Bobby ever go sit down at the table?

-And finally: what is the origin of the strange Spork Falls condiment-staring ritual which has the entire town in its hypnotic spell?

Pears On the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Who could resist this delectable Chocolate Pear Gateau?

Ah, but wouldn’t the Cadbury Cocoa people be surprised at the number of hands being raised right about now.

There’s something fascinating yet disturbing about the coloring of the pears – they have obviously been residing in a tin for some time, but after their liberation were subjected to some bizarre tinting ritual. It’s like makeup for fruit!

Blusher, and then concealer in the form of whipped cream piped all around them, as if to partially conceal them. All of which brings to mind – well, Winnie the Pooh’s behind stuck in Rabbit’s front door, times twelve, for one.

Also, the tinned pears look terrified. As if they are hiding in that whipped cream. What are they so frightened of?

Perhaps they fear the cook wielding the blusher and the Bournville Cocoa. Perhaps they are frightened of the oven. Or of the hungry throngs gathered round the tea table in the next room. Whatever it is, burying yourself in cream cakes never helps, little pears! Trust me on that one.

[Why the title, one might ask? Oh, one might indeed...You could call it a failure of imagination, or else an excess of it. It just came into my head in the midst of the usual Desperate Search For A Title. It was a good movie, too. Antonio Banderas is in it, it was one of his earliest films. And those pears - they started looking more and more anxious to me as I wrote this...]

Thanks so much to Mags L. Halliday for this delectable image! Mags also presides over the wonderful Moosifer Jones’ Grouch, which I highly recommend.

Some Like It Fake

Some like pie
Some like cake
And some like cherries
That are startlingly fake

They probably were real once
And hanging off a tree
But that was back before the war,
A distant memory.

They are sitting in a syrup
The consistency of glue
They’ve been soaking up that bright red dye
Since 1942

But here they come packed in a can
The model of convenience
A constant in each cake and pie
Despite the changing seasons.

So practical these cherries are,
That if your lights should blow
Your guests will locate their dessert
By its phosphorescent glow.

Image from Graphic Design Institute, link here (hope they don’t mind – please let me know if you do, Graphic Design Institute, I don’t see any contact info anywhere). The ad is originally from Ladies’ Home Journal, November 1950.

The Emperor Of Jell-O Ice Cream

Comedian Jack Benny wants to know if he likes ice cream. Well, Mary, does he? Of course he does!

And Mary, do you like that plaid jacket? Maybe not so much as Jell-O Freezing Mix, which is New and Amazing. Jack’s jacket, on the other hand, is Old and Appalling.

Jack Benny (1894-1974) was a famous comedian in vaudeville, radio, TV and films. At the time of this ad in the late 1930s, he and his wife, Mary Livingstone (a cousin of the Marx Brothers, and a comedienne in her own right), were starring in the very popular radio show, The Jack Benny Program. Jack was especially known for his violin playing and his comic timing. According to Wikipedia, one of his trademark phrases was (are you ready?) “Well!” I am disappointed that he is not saying that here. Because that is the perfect response to Jell-O mix that is whipped up with some cream and stuck in the freezer.”Well! Will you look at that…frozen stuff.”

That frozen stuff came in “six gorgeous flavors” with varying degrees of authenticity about them. The fruit is real, the walnuts in the stuff Mary’s whipping up, they’re real. Also the vanilla. But the maple flavor? Sorry, it is fake. But then, this is really not ice cream. It is Jell-O pretend ice cream:

Let Jack Benny’s jacket shout its loudest hello/ The only emperor is the emperor of Jell-O.

It’s still National Poetry Month, you know…but I promise I won’t do this every single day. This advertisement is from the Canadian newspaper Saturday Night, August 1939.