Evening star., 1942-04-10

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the mystery is about to be solved Of
Just what is inside Of the cans Of
food that line the shelves Of various
stores.
Take, for example, the olive.
Breathes there the man so astute as
to have the vaguest idea Of what
may emerge from a tin can marked,
"Olives?" There is always a pretty
picture on the label, of course-a
sun-drenched California olive grove.
And. also, a picture of an olive.
which could just as well be plum.
The size is marked on the can. Olive
sizes, as far as I can gather, start
at Large" which must be the
smallest olive packed. 1t is. roughly,
about as big as baby Oregon pea.
From there the sizes scale through
Gigantic, Colossal, Super colossal,
Gargantuan and Jumbo. When you
get to Jumbo you're beginning to
get somewhere near the size that
you'd like to have. But, even If you
are forewarned with all of this
knowledge, you can never be quite
sure of what the olives you have
bought are going to look like until
you have opened the can-and then
If you don't like them, it is too late.
Apricots. You always want those
fine, large, deep orange -colored
ones, solid, firm and peeled. But
there are lot of cans on the shelf,
all with the same capacity, all with
beautiful pictures Of beautiful apri-
cots accompanied with blurbs that
lie worse than Doc Goebbels. Being
man who wants to save a few pen
nies on the rare occasions when he
does the Shopping-just to show the
Little Woman-you are apt to take
chance on the medium priced can,
hopeful that 1t will be just as good
as the hfgh-priced ones. Damital.
If you could only see inside Of the
can, behind the deceptive picture
and blurbs, you'd be a better shop
per than the shrewdest woman bar
gamer. So what happens? You
can't see what you're buying, SO it
eventually turns out that, after all
OF your careful study, you tret
home with can of the worlds
smallest, lemon-colored apricots.
AS for canned corn, I have it on
pretty good authority that there
have been more suicides in the
canned-corn section of grocery stores
than there have been on all the
combined bridges Of this country.
Almost all of us, at some time or
another, come across a can of corn
that is exactly right-the texture,
the f1avor-nothing is left to be
desired. The can is tossed out be-
fore you eat the corn and then
comes the great brain racking. Was
1t creamed style Golden Bantam
that so pleased your palate, or was
it non-creamed Country Gentle
man? Or something quite different?
The chances are that you will live
long and unfulflled life and never
hit upon the exact brand and kind
Of corn that once made you 50
happy. =
And, so it goes. Maybe, If you
are married male, you have never
done the family shopping How
ever, I'm laying odds that if you
are a married male. you have done
the family shopping-and more
than once. So, you can immediate
ly realize that this release from the
struggle of attempting to interpret
the labels on tin cans is a great
boon to bafled mankind. Just
think-with this nice little tin
shortage we are enjoying, we are
going to be able to look right
through the glass jar and see the
size, shape and color of everything
we are buying.
No doubt, am stepping on the
toes Of many a tin-can tycoon by
expressing these opinions, but
think of what chums I may be max.
ing among the glass jar bigwigs.
Oh, well, it's just one mans
opinion, but I think that I'm going
to be lot happier not having to
pretend that I like everything to
eat that I bought, just because I
bought it without seeing it.
distributed by McNaught Syndicate Inc =