One memorable Thanksgiving, my aunt Betty decided we should have Lady Bird Johnson’s favorite dessert.
I have no idea why my aunt, a lifelong Republican, wanted to sample a dish from the kitchen of a Democratic First Lady. The only time I ever recall her mentioning a Democratic politician outside of campaign season was the time she dreamed that she was riding in a taxicab driven by John F. Kennedy, and, no she did not get this idea from reading The National Enquirer. I also have no idea if the recipe in question actually was Lady Bird Johnson’s favorite dessert; our copy of The First Ladies’ Cookbook featured her famous Pedernales Chili, lemon cake, and pecan pie. I suspect that Betty got the recipe from one of the happy housewife columns in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, even though she was about as far from a housewife as it’s possible to get.
Not that Betty’s home wasn’t immaculate; not only was she a fanatic for cleanliness, she’d insisted on a white silk brocade sofa in the living room despite its utter lack of practicality. Her brother Oscar, who actually owned the house, used to sit there reading the Sunday papers despite Betty’s belief that he would somehow get ink or fingerprints or something all over the pristine fabric. It was his way of reminding her that she may have chosen the furniture, carpet, paint, and curtains, but he paid the mortgage and the taxes, and if he wanted to sit on Betty’s uncomfortable pride and joy, well, he would.
Unfortunately for Oscar, Betty, and their brother Louis, the third member of the household, Betty’s household skills only extended to cleaning, decorating, and nagging. She didn’t like to cook and wasn’t very good at it, and when holidays came around she all but threw the roasting pan, pie plate, and side dishes at my mother with a cheery assurance that she’d set the table and do the dishes. That she rarely actually touched a dirty dish because she needed to wash and set her hair so she’d be presentable for work the next day was, of course, merely a coincidence.
So it was that my long suffering mother was the one who actually had to prepare Lady Bird Johnson’s favorite dessert. I’m not sure exactly what went into it, being but a child of tender years, but the final result was a giant sphere the color of diluted Pepto-Bismol that had started as a package of red Jell-O (flavor unknown), either sour cream or Cool Whip, raw cranberries, various sweet spices, and another type of small, firm, round fruit. I think cooking wine was involved, but since I flatly refused to have anything to do with it I’m not sure.
The rest of the meal had been the traditional mid-American turkey, stuffing, corn, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, and green vegetable, all prepared with Mum’s customary skill. It was tasty if not imaginative, and we were all well on our way to the traditional mid-American turkey coma when Mum decanted Lady Bird Johnson’s favorite dessert from the mixing bowl she’d used in lieu of a Jell-O mold, made sure the quivering mass didn’t break, and carefully set it down in the middle of the table.
Oscar, mild-mannered as ever, merely asked what it was. Louis, who worked in a steel mill, glared at it and asked Betty what the hell she was thinking. I think I said “yuck!” which got me a quick and quelling Look from Mum. My father frowned a bit, and Betty told Louis that this was the First Lady’s favorite dessert so it had to be good.
And so Mum took the dessert, which was somewhat lumpy from the cranberries, back to the counter and carefully dished out portions on Betty’s best china. I don’t exactly recall what my uncles said, but I do know that Oscar ate surprisingly little. Louis may have used words of vulgar language. Betty simply sniffed and lifted her spoon. Mum waited. I may have giggled, or perhaps I just said “yuck” again.
The first person who spoke was my father. He took a bite, chewed, took another bite, and repeated the process. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned to Mum.
“Martha,” he said, in a voice of utter calm and certitude, “Don't bother making this again.”
I’m not sure precisely what happened next, but I do know that Lady Bird Johnson’s favorite dessert took up nearly as much of the refrigerator as the leftover turkey. Unfortunately it seemed to need a bit more cooling than the turkey to stay edible, since Mum and Betty both got sick from eating the leftovers the next day.
Needless to say, Mum took Dad’s advice, and future holiday desserts reverted to family favorites like apple pie, cookies, fruitcake, and Lady Borden French Vanilla ice cream. The recipe itself disappeared, as I found to my great disappointment when I went through Betty’s cookbooks after her death five years ago. I did find an Ann Landers column about a divorced bride who’d sung “The Second Time Around” as she walked up the aisle toward her new husband, but I’m pretty sure Mum was responsible for that.
Although I’ve yet to find the source of Lady Bird Johnson’s favorite dessert, it’s not for lack of trying. Used bookstores are crammed with unfashionable cookbooks featuring inedible recipes, many of them compiled by church congregations and charitable organizations. Gelatin-based desserts of various types are a favorite, from the legendary Perfection Salad of shredded cabbage and other vegetables to deranged concoctions involving gummi candies arranged to look like the bottom of an aquarium. Even more remarkable are the divers types of casseroles, pickled salads, relishes, and main dishes that well meaning American homemakers have attempted to foist on their families in the name of good nutrition.
It’s little wonder that so very many cookbooks feature Recipes So Bad They’re Good.
This week, in honor of the Great American Food Orgy known as Thanksgiving, I bring two, er, unusual cookbooks. I have not actually cooked any of the proposed meals, so anyone who decides to chuck the Butterball hotline and the food-stained recipe from The Joy of Cooking in favor of a culinary delight from either of these volumes does so at their own risk:
Manifold Destiny: The One! The Only! Guide to Cooking on Your Car Engine!, by Chris Maynard and Bill Scheller. I once had a fellow student tell me that the best way to prepare moist, delicious, perfectly cooked fish was to season a nice piece of flounder, wrap it well in a packet of aluminum foil, and run it through the dishwasher. Of course one had to make sure that there was no soap in the reservoir, and of course one had to careful to pinch the foil in just the right way to prevent the filet from becoming flounder soup, but Tony swore that the results were worth it.
I've never had the nerve to try this unusual method, but a quick Google search showed that Tony is far from alone in his approach to cookery. Not only are there multiple recipes for steamed fish a la Maytag, truckers have reportedly been heating canned goods on the engine manifold for decades, particularly if their route doesn't take them near an all-night diner or truckstop.
And for those wishing something more sophisticated than Can-Can Casserole Mr. Mack Truck, there's Manifold Destiny.
This little book, written by two rally drivers who wished to use all that lovely heat generated by driving several hundred miles to prepare their victory meal, features recipes for everything from simple sandwiches to venison cutlets to stuffed crabs. All the hungry traveler needs to do is triple wrap the food securely in aluminum foil, secure it to one's exhaust manifold with baling wire, and drive for the requisite number of miles (all distances approximate and based on an average speed of 55 mph).
Just imagine the possibilities! Imagine driving home from a hard day at Engulf & Devour, popping the hood of one's Civic, and finding this yummy treat, piping hot and ready to eat:
Good and Simple Cajun Shrimp
Distance: 35 miles
-6 small green hot peppers
-1 medium onion
-2 cloves garlic
-1 pound shrimp, in their shells (can substitute crayfish)
-Butter for greasing foil
At home or on the road, remove the seeds from the peppers (a good reason to keep rubber gloves in your car) and mince finely, along with the onion and garlic.
Spread the shrimp or crayfish on heavily buttered foil and cover with the vegetables. Triple wrap in foil, and secure on manifold.
Cook about 40 minutes, until the shellfish are nice and pink.
Wouldn't that be delicious? And what a great way to strike up a conversation at the tollbooth when the attendant asks why your car smells like fresh shrimp! Think of all the new friends you'll make!
Just imagine the possibilities...Cutlass Cod Supreme...Cruise-Control Pork Tenderloin...Nifty NAFTA Nachos...and that all time favorite, Donner Pass Red Flannel Hash. Even better, if your engine is big enough and Grandmother's house is far enough away, you can cook Cornish game hens while driving over the river and through the woods! What could be a better way to avoid all the muss and fuss of cooking a turkey?
Gourmet Style Roadkill Cooking and Other Fine Recipes, by Jeff Eberbaugh. One might assume from the cover of this book that Jeff Eberbaugh is a sophisticated urban humorist, a hipster who's simultaneously honoring and mocking the old urban legend about rednecks back in the woods supplementing their diet of chicken fried steak, steak fried chicken, collard greens, and hominy with the occasional flattened squirrel, crushed opossum, or truck-squashed deer.
One would be wrong.
Not only is Jeff Eberbaugh, author of Gourmet Style Roadkill Cooking and Other Find Recipes, a proud resident of Palestine, West Virginia (home town of wounded soldier Jessica Lynch), he's an unrepentant, red blooded, 100% American patriot who would probably bust a blood vessel if he found out that his culinary classic is being mocked honored on a liberal web site. He's about as red as red can be, and if one suspects that the cover art of Mr. Eberbaugh's book has been somewhat exaggerated to sell copies, well, isn't capitalism as American as the rubber meeting the rabbit and grinding it into the road?
Among the yummy treats to be found in this book are squirrel pot pie, groundhog hoagies, and the intriguingly named yet vaguely horrifying creamed coon casserole. I have been unable to find any of Mr. Eberbaugh's gourmet style recipes, but he's far from alone in advocating the consumption of animals unfortunate enough to lose a battle with a Cadillac Escalade; over 800 roadkilled moose were butchered and the meat donated to food pantries in Alaska, while members of the Wildroots Earthskills Homestead in North Carolina eat roadkill because:
Picking up roadkill is a good way to get fresh, wild, totally free-range and organic meat for absolutely free. When you find the roadkill you should try to determine if it is edible or not. If you saw the animal get hit then it's obviously fit to eat (although you may have to put it out of its misery). If the critter is flattened into a pancake in the middle of the highway then it's probably best to leave it. Most of the time (not always), good ones will be sitting off the road or in a median where [they aren't] constantly being pulverized.
Best of all, roadkill is arguably fine for vegans since it requires no factory farming, no deliberate animal slaughter, and no domestication. And if the Wildroots folk prefer to roast their roadkill over an open fire while the hide brain-tans in the sun instead of adding a can of Campbell's Cream of Preservatives, what's the harm in that? The point is not wasting perfectly good meat, and if that isn't something that both the Right and the Left can agree on, I don't know what is.
%%%%%
So, my friends - what unorthodox cookbook shares space with The Joy of Cooking? Do you have a collection of Jell-O recipes that would put Lady Bird Johnson's favorite dessert to shame? An old family secret for roasting chicken with fava beans and a good Chianti? A hand written card with directions on marinating your turkey in Coca-Cola prior to deep frying it? Let's create our own movable Thanksgiving feast as the cold November night bears down...
&&&&&&
And oh, for the curious, herewith an actual dessert enjoyed by the Johnson family. Note the lack of cranberries, sour cream, or Jell-O:
Lady Bird Johnson's Lemon Squares
* 2 cups all-purpose flour
* 1/4 cup sugar
* 1 cup butter
Mix the flour, sugar and butter as for a pie crust. Pat evenly into a 9x18-inch (or equivalent) jelly roll pan. Bake in preheated 350°F degree oven until very light brown, about 15 minutes.
* 2 cups sugar
* 1 teaspoon baking powder
* 4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
* 3 beaten eggs
* juice and finely grated zest of 2 lemons
* confectioners' sugar
Mix ingredients, except for the confectioners' sugar, in the order given and pour over the baked crust. Bake at 350°F for 15 to 20 minutes, or until set. Sprinkle with confectioners' sugar.
Bon appetit!
%%%%%
Readers & Book Lovers Series Schedule
DAY |
TIME (EST/EDT) |
Series Name |
Editor(s) |
SUN |
3:00 PM (intermittent) |
The Magic Theater |
ArkDem14 |
SUN |
6:00 PM |
Young Reader's Pavilion |
The Book Bear |
SUN |
9:30 PM |
SciFi/Fantasy Book Club |
quarkstomper |
MON |
7:00 PM |
Monday Murder Mystery |
Susan from 29 |
TUE |
8:00 PM |
Readers & Book Lovers Newsletter |
Limelite |
WED |
7:30 AM |
WAYR? |
plf515 |
WED |
8:00 PM |
Bookflurries: Bookchat |
cfk |
THU |
2:00 PM (bi-weekly) |
eReaders & Book Lovers Club |
Limelite |
THU |
8:00 PM |
Write On! |
SensibleShoes |
FRI |
9:00 AM |
Books That Changed My Life |
etbnc, aravir |
FRI |
10:00 PM (first of month) |
Monthly Bookposts |
AdmiralNaismith |
SAT |
9:00 PM |
Books So Bad They're Good |
Ellid |