Metropolitan Cook Book sounds pretty modern and urbane, doesn't it? But the name doesn't have a direct connection to city life; it comes from the sponsor, Metropolitan Life Insurance Company.
One might expect a life insurance company to issue a cookbook if it was going to be filled entirely with healthy recipes to make sure you keep living and keep paying premiums as long as possible. But this is a basic home cookbook with a lot of recipes for the newbie family chef. I suppose the idea was to get into the home with an invaluable kitchen aid, and when you started to think about insurance -- say, when the Little Ones started to come along -- you'd know where to turn.
The year: 1964.
I was especially interested in the illustrations in this book. The food is all friendly, a nice, happy kind of drawing. And yet the gags don't make a lot of sense. Have a look at these:
I just don't know if these fruits count as what the Great Lileks calls quisling mascots, or even cannibal mascots. They seem to be eating pudding rather than fruit desserts, so maybe not. Looks like we have an orange, a pear, maybe a blueberry, and I don't know what the other one is. Obviously being in the dessert chapter has made them all fat.
Here it looks like the eggs who signed up for food service are mad at the chick that has had the nerve to hatch from an egg. Because why? Because hatching out of the egg killed it!?! But then what's inside the other eggs? The implications of this one are awful.
And this one is even worse. Here you have little fish in the fishbowl who look an awful lot like the children of the fish on the plate, who should be dead because he (she? MOM?!) is already on the plate, being served with a glass of Chablis and parsley and a lemon slice. They're happy to see her (except the little one on top who is mocking her) while zombie fish mom looks worried. "I'm afraid Harold is just never going to grow up to be dinner." What the hell is going on here?
After these disturbing cartoons, the straight-up quisling/cannibal pig hawking sausage is almost a relief. Notice that he can only appear in silhouette; the other pigs will destroy him if they find out who he is.
I usually look for the weirdest recipe in these ol' fogey cookbooks, but really, there was nothing scary to modern tastes. I saw no tomatoes in aspic, no deviled peaches and anchovies, no Velveeta toast, nothing to make the current reader say "Oh, how boring" or "Oh, how gross." It really is a good basic cookbook.
The one recipe I include is to demonstrate a word usage that's gone out of style. "Glorify" still means to bring or elevate to glory, but in the sense of mere improvement as here, it's only used in a sarcastic sense (Merriam-Webster gives this example: "the new position is just a glorified version of the old stockroom job"). But in the middle of the last century it was often seen in ads for cosmetic products, and even for homely hash:
It's a rare example of a word losing a colloquial exaggeration. "Awesome" is a more typical case. As comedian Bill Engvall likes to point out, awesome used to mean things that struck one with awe, not things that are just neato-keen.
Anyway, if you're interested in more recipes from the Metropolitan book, let me know; we'll see what else can be glorified. Meanwhile, here are links to the other old cookbooks I blogged about:
First entry (ugly fish!)
Coca-Cola cookbook (really!)
Swanson chicken 1 (meet Sue Swanson!)
Swanson chicken 2 (they fired Sue Swanson!)
Creamette pasta (they fired the babe on the box!)
Goya beans (human beans!)
Amaretto di Saronno (secrets revealed!)
Wesson Oil (for more about "glorify"!)
The Incredible Edible Egg (for better behaved eggs!)
Schaefer Beer (Beer-B-Q!)
Wok cooking (wok everything!)
Southern Comfort (booze!)
American Dairy Association (butter!)
Waring Blendor (family blending!)
Also, my tips for writing or editing cookbooks and the only healthy-eating book you'll ever want to read.
Bon appetit!
2 comments:
Before he worked at Con Edison, my Old Man spent a few years at Met Life in the early 60s doing ad copy. He also participated in developing promotional literature, including cookbooks like the one you featured today. It's very likely he worked on this one (these booklets rarely included individual credits). So here we are 55 years later and you, who helped me publish his Army journal, feature another piece he likely contributed to. Talk about your six degrees of separation! Thanks for the post and for all the links, Fred!
Wow, that's amazing, Mongo! When I read your message I got the booklet out; it's 64 pages, not including covers, and as is common for these kind of promotional items (especially 50+ years ago) no human beings are credited by name, as you note. The table of contents does contain an expression of appreciation for organizations that provided recipes, like the American Institute of Baking and the Pan American Coffee Bureau. Gee, it would be great if we could find out if Mongo Sr. was involved!
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