Mary Randolph’s The Virginia Housewife may not be the first cookbook published in America, but many consider it the first truly regional American cookbook – with recipes that were forged out of necessity and using local ingredients.

During the colonial period, cookbooks were imported or brought with immigrants to the New World. Cookbooks printed in the colonies during this time were imprints of books published in other countries. One of the first cookbooks published in the newly formed United States was Amelia Simmons’ American Cookery (1796), which was one of the first to include recipes for cornmeal and other new foods. I’ve explored her work before when I tried her recipe for Pound Cake, which – true to its name – uses a pound each of flour, sugar, butter and eggs.

But Randolph went particularly local with the Virginia Housewife, setting the standard for what southern (and in particular, Virginian) cuisine would taste like. It includes recipes for Okra Soup and Barbecued Shote (a young hog). 175 years later, the book is still in print and is a frequent inspiration for chefs today.

In honor of the anniversary of Randolph’s birth on August 9, I thought it’d be the perfect time to try out one of her recipes. Tomatoes are in season right now through much of the country and so I followed her advice “To Scollop Tomatos.”

Tomatoes have a long and rich history in global food traditions. Scientists generally agree they come from South America originally. They were brought to Europe by the Spanish in the 16th century where, believing they were poisonous, they were cultivated as curiosities from the New World. They started appearing in recipes in Southern Europe (Spain, Italy, Southern France) during the 17th century.

According to Andrew Smith in his book The Tomato in America, the English herbalist William Salmon identified tomatoes growing in present-day South Carolina as early as 1687 – likely introduced to the area by Spanish settlers in Florida. By the time Randolph published her cookbook, tomatoes were being grown and consumed along the entire east coast at least as far north as Massachusetts.

To “scollop” or scallop, is a French culinary term to bake something with a creamy sauce and breadcrumbs. The recipe highlights the influence French cuisine already had on America – being our closest allies during the American Revolution. Third President Thomas Jefferson was an enormous fan of French cuisine and helped to popularize it this country during the early 19th century. Randolph would have been heavily influenced by this, as her brother married Jefferson’s daughter Martha.

TIPS AND TRICKS

Most store-bought tomatoes have been genetically engineered to be perfectly round and red. This process has also stripped tomatoes of almost all their flavor. Try to get some heirloom tomatoes for this dish if you want to taste anything other than the seasoning. Smell them before you buy them. If the tomato doesn’t smell like tomatoes, it won’t taste like them either. The amount you’ll need depends on the size of your dish, because you’ll want at least two layers. I had about 4 lbs which seemed just right.

If you’ve never skinned tomatoes, fear not. It couldn’t be easier. The best way to skin tomatoes is to cut a small x through the skin of the bottom of the tomato with a paring knife. Drop them in boiling water for about 5-10 seconds, or until you begin to see the skin peeling away from the cut you made. Lift it out immediate with a slotted spoon. You may want to speed this process by dropping them all in the boiling water at once, but even after you remove them, the heat will be retained in the tomato until you peel it, so unless you work awfully quickly, you’re going to end up peeling mushy tomatoes by the end.

To make your own bread crumbs, slice a loaf of bread in thick chunks, and bake them at a low temperature until they dry out – about 325F for 30-40 minutes depending on the kind of bread and the thickness you cut it. Use a hand grater or, if you’re feeling more modern, run it through a food processor.

Given that ovens didn’t have temperature gauges, recipes from the time might only refer to the oven as “quick” meaning very hot or something like it. This does not include any mention of temperature, as the cook was simply to know how to bake things and how to handle their fire or oven. In this case, I’d recommend 375F for about 30 minutes, keeping a watchful eye to prevent burning.

THE TAKE-AWAY

I admit, first and foremost, that this recipe reminded me very quickly that I really detest large hot pieces of tomato – a fact I’d completely forgotten. Which is unfortunate, because I really wanted to like it. Something about the texture and flavor reminds me of cooked watermelon. Tomato soup? Awesome. Tomato sauce? I’m a happy camper. Fresh cool tomatoes? Heaven. But this…

Perhaps some of the fault also lies with the butter. It certainly imparts the creaminess one would want in a ‘scalloped’ food, but it combines with the tomato juices and, well, really – lets just say it’s a bit heavy.

Now, all this being said, I would happily cook a variation of this recipe where the tomatoes would be chopped smaller, the breadcrumbs would be seasoned more, some chopped basil and garlic were tossed about, perhaps a light drizzle of olive oil substituted for the butter and some shaved parmesan scattered on top.

I realized this even while I was assembling the food and fought the urge to doctor the recipe, because I really do feel it’s important to try it the way it was meant to be prepared before I go making wild adjustments. Unless you’re a food history stickler like me, perhaps you will allow my sacrifice of some beautiful heirloom tomatoes so that you won’t have to.

Whether you change the recipe or not, the dish goes well as a side for beef or lamb roasts, or as a compliment to pasta. However, unless you change the recipe, it is a bit too heavy as a stand-alone dish.

From Mary Randolph’s The Virginia Housewife (Baltimore: Plaskitt, Fite, 1838)

There’s something so quintessentially 1950s about this recipe. This one recipe from the folks at Dole Pineapples captures so many of the characteristics of America’s food traditions at this time. 

First of all, pineapple was incredibly popular during the post-war period, owing much to the soldiers who served in the Pacific and the increased availability of canned and even fresh pineapple in supermarkets. The fruit had this exotic aura in people’s imagination – that it somehow captured far away, sunny locales in every bite. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see a whole pineapple set by itself as a table centerpiece at a dinner party.

Couple that with the popularity of gelatin products like Jell-o, and the cleverness and ease of using the can the pineapple came in and the recipe was a win-win. So much so that the Dole advertised the recipe in different variations and flavors for over a decade.

Now of course, I think Jell-o fruit suspensions remind people of school cafeteria lunches and they avoid it. But perhaps if you’re looking for a visually interesting and easy dish for summer picnics or pot-lucks, you’ll give this retro recipe a try!

TIPS AND TRICKS

After draining the juice from the can, center the pineapple slices in the middle of the can so that when the gelatin is poured in, it surrounds the rings completely.

You can use any flavor of gelatin that you desire. I chose lime simply because most of the Dole advertisements used this flavor.

I was slightly flummoxed by the directions to use half the water of the gelatin’s box recipe – as Jell-o gives three different ways to make it, each using different amounts of boiling and cold water. To complicate it more, I measured 3/4 cup juice from the can. So, knowing I could only get 3/4 cup of gelatin in the can, I boiled that much water to dissolve the Jell-o and it worked just fine.

Let it set in the fridge at least four hours just to be safe.

Dole has changed their cans since the 1950s. Now there is a key on them that you use to open the can without a can opener. This leaves a metal rim on the inside of the mouth of the can. Foolishly, I tried to press the mould through this, which ruined the mould’s smooth exterior. Instead, remove the can from the fridge, warm the sides under water as suggested in the recipe, open the bottom of the can with the can opener – and then take the bottom metal, and use it to push the mould from the top. This should make for a prettier presentation, and let’s face it – when it comes to this recipe, it’s mostly about the presentation.

THE TAKE-AWAY

Despite my difficulty in getting it out of the can, it turned out pretty well. Unlike most Jell-o moulds that are mostly Jell-o with bits of fruit, this recipe is primarily fruit with a bit of Jell-o. Personally, I like this balance a bit better.

As you would imagine, it is remarkably easy to make, and minimizes the amount of dishes you have to clean, and as such, the advertisement was marketed toward housewives in magazines like Ladies Home Journal and Women’s World. Today, of course, it would be more of a novelty – a fun project to do with kids, or a contribution to a Mad Men-themed dinner party.

But why limit it to that? Really, it’s so simple and light that it shouldn’t be relegated to whimsical nostalgia. And lest any of your friends should be so uncouth to criticize the vulgarity of a mould that includes can rings, remind them of the popularity of tinned jellied cranberry sauce so popular during the holidays.

This treat would have been served either as a side-dish with a meal (it wouldn’t be bad with ham, for example), or as a dessert with whipped cream or Cool Whip as a topping. If you’re feeling particularly retro, give it a good dollop of cottage cheese. Now, if you’re feeling ESPECIALLY retro, try the same thing with a drained can of green beans.

Just pour off liquid from a No. 2 can of Dole Sliced Pineapple. Replace with gelatin (made with half the water in package directions). Chill until set. Run a little hot water on can sides and bottom to loosen. Then cut bottom from can and use to push mold out. Cut between pineapple slices and serve.

Due to the late launch of this blog – a bit later than originally expected – I had not anticipated starting so closely to the holidays. Cooking alone requires quite a bit of forward-thinking. However, any food blogger can tell you that holiday blogging is usually planned a couple months in advance.

What to do?

“What about the history of the green bean casserole?” my friend and local author/food-blogger Bruce Bradley suggested. “I’d love to know where that came from.”

Well, Bruce. I can manage that. So please forgive the general lack of holiday-themed postings and accept this casserole with my apologies.

Few uniquely American dishes beyond the sweetened pumpkin pie conjure images of Thanksgiving than the green bean casserole. The creamy mushroom-covered green beans with that crunch of french-fried onions was a product of the Campbell’s Test Kitchen. The recipe was developed in 1955 by Dorcas Reilly, a staff member of the kitchen’s Home Economics department. In the numerous interviews she has given, she does not recall how she came up with the idea. The goal with the recipe, along with much of the recipes from the Campbell’s Test Kitchen, was to create simple, tasty dishes with ingredients commonly found in the kitchen – and which, of course, prominently feature Campbell’s products.

Each of the individual staff of the Test Kitchen would develop recipes in the big open room at the company’s headquarters in Camden, New Jersey. The kitchens were designed with standard appliances, attempting to mimic the conditions of the typical American kitchen. The women – many of whom held degrees in Home Economics – would cook their recipes, and offer them at regular meetings to the other members of the group. Then, the recipes would be individually scrutinized, with a rating number assigned on a card and written suggestions for improvements. Only after the cards were collected would the recipes be verbally discussed in an effort to prevent people from being swayed by others opinions. Very few recipes ever made it through this process without some sort of revision.

The french-fried onions, as many would agree today, are what make this recipe special. According to Reilly, there was an effort to “up-market” American cuisine in the 1950s. While today, this would often mean making it more rich, slapping on a fancy label, and charging more, at the time it was a matter of making the food taste and look better economically. The onions not only offered additional flavor and texture to the dish, the toasted yellow provided a much-desired contrast to an otherwise grayish-green dish.

Reilly was unaware of the popularity of her recipe for many years. It wasn’t until the 1960s when Reilly was informed by the Campbell’s recipe department that out of the hundreds of recipes they released to the public each year, the green bean casserole was the single most-requested recipe they had ever made. An estimated 20-30% of American households make the famous casserole for Thanksgiving, which roughly calculates to a conservative 17.6 million households. In a company study, the Campbell Soup Company estimates that 40% of the annual sales of their Cream of Mushroom soup are used specifically for this purpose.

Both Campbell’s and Mrs. Reilly have noted that the original recipe had only five common ingredients. However, the “Classic Green Bean Casserole” recipe featured on the cans and on the company website have six. This recipe includes soy sauce which was not a common kitchen ingredient in most households in the United States in 1955. French’s, the popular makers of mustard and canned french-fried onions have team with Campbell’s on presenting this recipe since 1995, when French’s bought the onion product from Durkee. French’s public recipe has only five ingredients – without the soy sauce – and is likely closer to the original recipe. The original recipe card written by Dorcas Reilly was donated to the National Inventor’s Hall of Fame in Akron, Ohio in 2002, along side Peter Durand’s invention of the tin can and Ezra Warner’s invention of the tin can opener.

While the recipe below is the classic, many families have a tradition of “doctoring-it-up” with ingredients like drained canned mushrooms, hot sauce, diced tomatoes and red peppers.

What do you put in your recipe?

1 (10 3/4 oz.) can Cream of Mushroom Soup
3/4 cup milk
1/8 tsp. black pepper
2 (9 oz. each) pkgs. frozen cut green beans, thawed*
(You may substitute 2 cans (14 1/2 oz. each) cut green beans, drained or 4 cups fresh, cooked cut green beans.)
1 1/3 cups French Fried Onions

Mix soup, milk and pepper in a 1 1/2 -qt. baking dish. Stir in beans and 2/3 cup of French Fried Onions. Bake at 350°F for 30 min. or until hot. Stir. Top with remaining 2/3 cup of onions. Bake 5 min. until onions on top are golden.

Former First Lady Elizabeth “Bess” Wallace Truman was known for her cooking, and many of her recipes today are not only preserved by the Truman Presidential Library, she offered them for publication in charity cookbooks to the many volunteer organizations she worked with.

The story goes that a young Harry Truman was visiting his relatives in Independence, Missouri when his aunt asked him to return a cake plate that Bess’ mother Madge had sent over.  Bess answered the door, and thus began their nine year courtship. The rest, as they say, is history.

The Trumans called Missouri home, and Bess Truman’s recipes reflect the Midwestern food culture of the time. Not for the faint of heart, her recipes are the kind that stick to your ribs and prepare you for a day of heavy labor. Even when the Trumans resided in the White House, the first lady often prepared these classic average-American meals for the family and close friends.

Of all of Bess Truman’s recipes, her Mac & Cheese recipe is most often reprinted – though a search around the internet will show that few actually make it. Understandably so. This is a heavy dish, particularly for those used to mac and cheese from the little blue box (you know the kind: add three tablespoons butter to ¼ cup of milk, and stir with powdered ‘cheese’ packet). Just take a look at the ingredients: for one cup of pasta, there are two cups of milk and two cups of cheddar. Add an egg and half a stick of margarine to top it off, and you’ve got a dish that’ll sit in your stomach like a brick.

In the absence of any seasonings (ground pepper, mustard, etc.), I was skeptical how this would turn out. It wasn’t at all bland, actually. The milk, egg and cheddar bind together around the pasta, and the flavor will largely depend on the quality and type of cheese you use. The margarine on top helps prevent the cheese from burning. You could use butter instead of margarine, or simply cover loosely with foil. On a side note, I believe this is the first time I’ve actually ever purchased margarine…

A few tips on this for those who want to brave it at home. Use a decent size casserole or loaf pan. When you start adding milk and cheese, you’ll see that this takes up more room than one might expect from reading the recipe. Also put a cookie sheet underneath it to catch drippings that will bubble out.

8 oz macaroni (1 cup)
½ pound grated cheddar cheese (roughly two cups, loosely packed)
2 cups of milk
1 egg
¼ cup oleo (margarine)

Cook macaroni according to the directions on the box. Drain and cool. Spread a layer of macaroni in a baking dish. Then add a layer of cheese. Repeat layers.

Combine the milk and egg separately. Pour over macaroni and cheese. Dot with oleo/butter.

As Truman notes in the recipe, you can make it up to this point and then refrigerate it a day in advance.

Unfortunately, the recipe stops here with no baking temperatures or times. You’ll want to bake it slowly so the cheese melts, but doesn’t burn. I went with 325 degrees in a pyrex loaf pan for about 45-50 minutes. Let it stand about ten minutes to solidify a bit before serving.