When I typed “celery” into the CC Search box to search a few museums’ public domain collections to illustrate my previous post on celery on restaurant menus, I was expecting one or two results, perhaps a still life. And so I was surprised when the search returned a bunch of objects called “celery vases” from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It turns out that “celery vases” were a thing. And some of them are attractive works in glass or ceramic.
Celery was a popular vegetable in the 1800s and early 1900s — often served as an appetizer with other raw or pickled vegetables. And so the artisans of the era created appropriate dishes to hold the crisp green stalks. (I wonder: are potters and glass makers working feverishly on the ideal plates for avocado toast or bowls for kale salad?)
As time went on, new collections of images appeared and I learned about existing collections, and started to use them as sources of the art for my blog. Eventually, however, my tastes changed slightly and I started being attracted to the ‘vintage’ material in the archives. I liked adding quirky or unusual images to my posts — instead of a picture of a finished dish that I was writing about, I’d include something from an old seed catalog or a fairy tale (as in my post about turnip pickles and turnip greens).
A “Man’s Pie,” it turns out, is a California raisin pie. Here’s some of the copy:
A Man’s Pie
Fresh — delicious. Buy it ready baked.
Just phone to your grocer or bake shop and say, “Send a California Raisin Pie.”
You’ll get the pie that men like best because of its flavor and nourishment.
It’s a man’s pie — and a woman’s, too, for it saves home baking.
I don’t recall ever eating a raisin pie, but it sounds promising — I can imagine some spices, macerating the raisins in brandy or rum, and intense flavor. I made a quick run-through of my baking cookbooks and found only one recipe for raisin pie (in Professional Baking by Wayne Gisslen). Surprisingly, the Pie and Pastry Bible by Rose Levy Beranbaum doesn’t have a raisin pie (but does have macerated raisins for another dessert).
I have been making yogurt at home for more than five years, avoiding countless plastic containers and saving a good bit of money. Over that time I have made some improvements to my process, such as switching from 1 quart canning jars to the Luminarc Working Glass (easier to use, easier to clean). To account for these upgrades, I updated my earlier post on yogurt making which you can find here: The Home-Made Yogurt Routine.
While browsing the amazing and often confounding Flickr Commons, I was entranced by a collection of late 19th century book covers from the British Library. The majority of the nearly 900 covers are “pulp novels,” but you’ll also find travel books, text books, and other miscellany. Last month I shared a batch of six vintage book covers, and this post has six more in the image gallery that have interesting art or a lurid title. (Click any one of the images to expand the image and navigate through the collection.)
I recently finished reading Gustavo Arellano’s Taco USA, an interesting combo platter of history, personal stories, and food culture. In his detailed overview of the history and evolution of Mexican food in the U.S.A., Arellano recounts many fascinating stories, like how the first English-language taco recipe got into print, the invention of the frozen margarita machine, and inventions for frying tortillas for tacos. In this post, I’m looking at that last topic, tortilla frying inventions.
In the late 1940s, tacos became a popular food in some parts of the United States. Most tacos back then were hard-shelled, so each day restaurants needed to fry lots of corn tortillas into the taco shape before filling and serving. It was a tedious and sometimes dangerous ordeal for kitchen staff, as Arellano writes in Taco USA:
But preparing the tacos was an arduous task. In the days before fast food, restaurateurs fried each taco shell to order, throwing them into hot oil in a U-shaped form held together by a toothpick. To properly fry them, cooks had to poke around the cooking oil with their fingers or clumsily use utensils to ensure that each side achieved an ideal crispiness, then take out the finished product without scalding themselves.
Naturally, restaurateurs, cooks and inventors tried to find a better way. And some even went through the lengthy process of filing for a patent on their invention.
In this post, a look at two distinctive fruit crate labels.
“Don’t Worry” Apples Fruit Crate Label
I doubt that “Don’t Worry” brand apples would be a successful brand today. It’s easy for me to come up with a bushel of worrisome questions when choosing your food. Organic? Local? What pesticides? Imported? In season? By buying the trendy Honeycrisp, am I dooming heirloom varieties? Do they still use alar? Or how about the use of arsenic and lead as pesticides (in the distant past)?
As a graduate of the University of California, Berkeley, I find this label exciting. Sure, the proportions of Sather Tower aren’t quite right, and the artist removed tower’s surroundings to put it in a pasture, but it’s advertising, not a documentary. Reading the label, however, brings slightly different feelings: “Below U.S. Standard…Not High Grade.” Perhaps whoever decided that Berkeley apricots would be “not high grade” was a Stanford graduate? (As far as I know, Berkeley never had commercial apricot orchards, or any other large scale agricultural endeavors. There were famous apricot orchards at the southern end of San Francisco Bay in Santa Clara County.)
“Buyer beware” should be watchwords for anyone who eats fish in a restaurant. For various reasons — including fraud, ignorance, and sloppy supply chains — there’s a good chance that some of the fish served don’t match what the menu says.
In a recently released study, a team of researchers — with help from undergraduate students — collected and DNA-analyzed 364 fish samples from 26 sushi restaurants in Los Angeles that had good ratings on two on-line rating services. The team focused on nine popular fish: albacore tuna, yellowfin tuna, bigeye tuna, bluefin tuna, red snapper, yellowtail, halibut, mackerel, and salmon. In addition, when the menu listed “tuna,” they sometimes ordered it. (The full reference and a list with Latin names for each fish is below.)
Forty-seven percent of the items were mislabeled, with some of the fish mislabeled 100% of the time.
A Focus on Three Fish
Let’s look at three of the fish in more detail: one which was mislabeled 100% of the time, and two which appear to have good labeling results (but a complex backstory).
Thackerayana has too many enchanting sketches to be limited to a single post of Thackeray sketches, so I’m highlighting ten more sketches (this time as a “slider,” instead of a tiled gallery). In the gallery you’ll find struggles with umbrellas, fencing vegetables, dancers, and more.
I want to highlight one of the sketches, which I call “big hair.” To accompany the drawing, Thackerayana has a long quote from a publication called the ‘World’ on May 3, 1753, which I assume held the big hair sketch in its margins. It’s a conversation between a father, mother and daughter about hair styling:
“But how do you like my pompon, papa?” continued my daughter; “Is it not a charming one? I think it is prettier than mamma’s.”
“It may, child, for anything that I know; because I do not know what part of all this frippery thy pompon is.” [said papa]
“It is this, papa,” replied the girl, putting up her hand to her head, and showing me in the middle of her hair a complication of shreds and rags of velvets, feathers, and ribands, stuck with false stones of a thousand colours, and placed awry.
“But what hast thou done to thy hair, child, and why is it blue? Is that painted, too, by the same eminent hand that coloured thy cheeks?”
“Indeed, papa,” answered the girl, “as I told you before, there is no painting in the case; but what gives my hair that bluish cast is the grey powder, which has always that effect on dark-coloured hair, and sets off the complexion wonderfully.”
“Grey powder, child!” said I, with some surprise; “grey hairs I knew were venerable; but till this moment I never knew they were genteel.”
“Extremely so, with some complexions,” said my wife; “but it does not suit with mine, and I never use it.”
Thackerayana: Notes and Anecdotes, illustrated by nearly six hundred sketches by William Makepeace Thackeray, depicting humorous incidents in his school life, and favourite scenes and characters in the books of his every-day reading, by Joseph Grego, published by Chatto and Windus, Piccadilly (London), 1875. Full text at Archive.org. No known copyright restrictions.