In the 1940s and 1950s there was one gift a bride was sure to receive as a wedding present. This ubiquitous gift was a burgundy, three-ring binder with the word "Recipes" along with the image of a chafing dish with steam escaping embossed on the cover. Often this notebook was a gift to the bride at a bridal shower with recipes written into the book by the hostesses.
Well-known office supply company Wilson-Jones produced the book. In the back cover of one I found the stock number 372-09R. In the interest of learning more about these notebooks I telephoned the Wilson-Jones Company.
The charming, but very young, lady who answered the telephone was baffled by my request to speak to someone who could perhaps tell me more about these notebooks. After several fruitless “on-hold” episodes the young lady reported that no one in the company knew anything about these notebooks from another era. Oh well, I know they existed because I have four of these notebooks filled with the culinary history of my family.
The original owners of the books I have were my mother, my grandmother and two great-aunts. The information in these books varies widely according to the owner.
My mother, who was a great eater but not a great cook, had some recipes, lots of lists, such as weeks of menus, none of which I remember eating; doodles, phone numbers and odd notes.
My grandmother, who was a terrific cook but seldom used a written recipe, had fewer than a dozen recipes written in her book. My great-aunts, each of whom was very organized and worked in the secretarial field, had typed recipes, most often attributed to the person who had supplied the recipe. The problem with one of these aunts is deciphering the notes in the margins written in her version of shorthand. These were very personal books.
In the early years of my life, the early 1950s, ladies often gathered together in the morning or afternoon for “coffee.” “Come for coffee” was understood to mean that the hostess would supply limitless coffee, something delicious to eat, and that the star of the menu would be the discussion of the latest happenings in town.
I have so many memories of sitting on the floor in my grandmother's kitchen or den playing with a doll or other toy and listening to the ladies visit. Often the ladies forgot I was even there. These were not ladies who participated in vicious gossip;
They spent more time talking about what someone wore to church or a wedding. I remember feeling incredibly safe being in their presence.
So many of the recipes recorded in these priceless books are not fashionable today. One aunt had dozens of recipes for Jell-o salads - beet, perfection, carrot, grapefruit and Bing cherry, lime and cottage cheese and many more not very appetizing combinations.
The other aunt had so many recipes for canning foods from tomatoes to pickled peaches. The notes written in the margins are a treasure trove of advice, when I can figure out what the shorthand means.
The names attributed to the recipes are a who's who of members of the ladies of the Methodist Church and the Pleiades Club, along with ladies who worked with my aunts. So many of these ladies have been dead for 50 or more years, but I can still see them clearly in my mind's eye.
At one time these cookbook notebooks would show up at estate sales or flea markets. I would pick them up and read them, wondering why a member of their family didn't want the book. The books were almost sacred to me because of the personalities and family information contained in them. I couldn't imagine letting them go. From time to time I would buy one. Strangely, as I read them, I felt like a voyeur reading about another family's special times and recipes.
For an aspiring cook in our 21st century world, these recipes are a bit difficult to follow. The ladies of the last century assumed, and rightly so, that the readers of the recipes would share in the common knowledge gained in a lifetime of cooking. In writing contemporary recipes the writer assumes the reader of the recipe knows nothing.
In the recipe below, I will write it exactly as it is in the handwritten version with my notes in parentheses. By the way, this is in each of my family recipe notebooks. We must have really loved them.
Pickled Peaches
Syrup:
(Yield: about 10 qt. jars)
l 8 cups of white sugar
l 2 cups vinegar (Apple Cider vinegar)
l 2 cups boiling water
l 2 Tablespoons whole cloves
l 1 stick whole cinnamon
Let boil until syrup is made. (Place the sugar, vinegar and boiling water into a large heavy saucepan. Stir briefly to combine the ingredients, then bring the mixture to a boil until a light syrup is formed.)
Drop peaches into boiling syrup. Cook until tender, not mushy. (Choose peaches of about the same size, ripe, but not over-ripe. Peel peaches and halve them, removing the pit. I am estimating about 5 peaches per jar with enough syrup to produce 10 quart jars. Sterilize the canning jars in the dishwasher. Place enough peach halves into a jar to fill the jar without forcing. Pour enough hot syrup into the jar to completely encase the peaches. All of the peaches need to be covered.
Wipe the edges of the glass jars with a cloth dipped in scalding water. Follow the instructions on the container of lids for glass canning jars to apply the lids. Wait until the lids have formed a vacuum seal. Add the rings to the jars. Store in a cool dark place.
PS. My grandmother used whole peeled peaches. It is my decision to halve the peaches. In trying to cut a whole pickled peach on my plate I often sent my peach air-borne onto either the beautifully starched and ironed table cloth or onto someone else's plate. Major embarrassment for a pre-teen! Halved peaches don't move.
Fran Ginn is former chef/owner of The Back Door Café, who retired after 31 years in the food industry to be a grandmother. She can be contacted at fran@franginn.com.
