A Tale of Three Cookbooks
By: Eileen Cowen
Tags: Food, Family History, History, Domesticity, Cookbooks

The open secrets of society we keep on our kitchen shelves

Three cookbooks, different ages. photo by: Eileen Cowen

I have my mother’s cookbook. It is the 1968 version of the Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook, the one with the red and white checkered cover and binder clips to hold supplemental pages that you could get from the Better Homes magazine. The cover is stained and bent and many pages are torn and loose. In fact, I can only assume the edition is from ’68 because the first six pages are missing. Despite its well-used condition, there are just a few footnotes in that book: some are written in my mum’s formal script, some are written in my sister’s teenager bubble letters. The recipe for Perfect White Bread for instance, has the misspelled word “awsome!!” written in the margin with a star drawn beside it. My sister’s hand. The recipe for Yellow Cake on page 67 has doubled recipe measurements written in the margin in my mother’s more structured script, very British English. She was not the best cook, having escaped home and domesticity in favor of an exciting life abroad. Little did she know, six kids later, that cookbook would be one of the few documents she left behind for her children. Every yellow cake would have to be doubled to feed her family of eight. There were a lot of birthday cakes.

I also have my mother-in-law’s cookbook. It is the same Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook, but the 1953 version. My mother-in-law was about ten years older than my own mother and grew up in a very strict enclave of Catholic Seattlites. I assume her book was a gift for her high school graduation, a sort of send-off to adulthood. Her edition is well-kept with no margin notes. However, there is a large stack of newspaper clippings shoved in the back, holding mementos printed on yellowing newsprint from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer newspaper. Her father was an editor of the P-I in better years, and many of her family members were regular writers. The clippings are everything from recipes, funny jokes and cartoons, Dear Abby columns, and engagement announcements. Her cookbook is full of expectations: marriage, suburbia, advertisements for the American Dream of class mobility.

Some of the additions my mother-in-law stashed in her cookbook: a 1970 clipping for lemon pie. A 1964 engagement of a Miss Beverly Ann Brown, who would marry Robert Morris Shugert. Perhaps she was a classmate at Sacred Heart in Queen Anne, Seattle, class of 1954. An undated Holiday Cookie pamphlet, sponsored by Prudence Penny’s House of Values. What type of cookies did she make for that year’s Christmas party? A 1971 Erma Bombeck column about an unkempt home, followed by an announcement saying “Mrs. Sylvia Hay Becomes a Bride.” Did my mother-in-law clip that particular newspaper page for the Bombeck or Mrs. Hay?

A P-I clipping from 1960 about holiday candies. From my mother-in-law’s collection.

My version of the same cookbook is the Limited Edition 70th Anniversary publication from 2000. The pages in my book are stuck together with muffin batter, missing in the “Pies and Tarts” section, and the binder clips are misaligned. Besides the usual array of easily assembled cakes and casseroles, my cookbook includes a section at the back that explores favorite recipes of past editions. Did my mother or mother-in-law ever make 1953’s “Country Captain” or 1968’s “Irish Italian Spaghetti”? The cleanliness of those pages in their editions would suggest: no.

It is fascinating to see the American palate change over time. Take, for example, the aforementioned recipe for “Irish Italian Spaghetti.” The ingredients include something familiar to anyone who studies mid-century food: a can of Campbell’s Condensed Tomato Soup. This single ingredient signals why the recipe didn’t make the cut in later publications. As the 1970s health food crazes made their way onto the mainstream American dinner plate, people turned their noses against canned “shortcuts” in favor of a cleaner (and less branded) meal. The can of soup represented synthetic corporate influence in our homes and kitchens. That is not to say our current food situation is any less corporate: Americans regularly consume frozen meals and convenience foods while practicing brand loyalty, especially with our snacks. However, we don’t see the same brand loyalty to basic ingredients such as baking powder, flour, or sugar. During post-war decades, the major push for branded consumer goods would have all but assured that any cupboard would house Calumet Baking Powder, King Arthur Flour, and Domino Sugar alongside Campbell’s soup and rainbow-hued Jello boxes. The omission of “Irish Italian Spaghetti” in later Better Homes editions reflected changing consumption practices as well as a focus on cleaner ingredients. Soup can casseroles simply weren’t en vogue anymore.

My mother-in-law practiced fierce brand loyalty. Her pantry was full of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinner, her freezer full of Swanson’s, and her cupboard loaded with McCormick’s Spices. My mother was less loyal, but it was certainly based on budget. Her pantry was full of store brand mac and cheese, canned vegetables, and whatever ingredients would economically feed a family of eight. My own cupboard is full of grains and dried beans, my freezer full of store-brand vegetables, and my pantry overflowing with spices, vinegars, and oils from various sources. How does the physical condition of our respective cookbooks reflect the contents of our cupboards, and tell the casual observer about our cooking styles? And, I can’t help but wonder, will my own children stock their pantries and bookshelves like my mum, mother-in-law, or even me?

Cookbooks document domestic life in ways other publications cannot. They are living pages that give a glimpse into our kitchens and reflect how our society changes over decades. In fact, they are so important that even the unused pages tell a story. I love that the Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook is on nearly every kitchen shelf I encounter, and not just because I like reading the historical records of our kitchens. The book is ubiquitous because it is simple. It gives the consumer the impression that everyone can cook any recipe from that publication, regardless of skill level. Although there are technical details involved with cooking and baking, the Better Homes cookbook explains food in easy to follow terms. And, although “Irish Italian Spaghetti” no longer graces the stained pages, the book does still include recipes that use ready ingredients (I believe “Chicken Divan” has at least one incarnation in every edition.) Even if a cookbook is used as a place to deposit news clippings and recipes for Jello pudding poke cake, it still is a documentation of domesticity. We are all looking for ways to reconnect with our past: maybe Grandma’s old cookbooks hold the connections our hearts and taste buds crave.