Sweetbreads, etc.

I love cook books; they are a source of endless fascination. While I prefer to peruse the ones with color images of perfectly styled food, I find the down and dirty, text-heavy versions more useful. More practical. Less fluff.

Earlier today I had a hankering for chicken salad so I decided to take a look at the Joy of Cooking's version to see if it sparked any new ideas. Mind you, I inherited my grandmother's copy, circa 1953. I should have known the recipe would be basic: chicken, celery, salted almonds (if you're feeling sassy!). The usual. There is an additional list of things you can use to spice the salad up a bit, including pimento (blech!) and parboiled oysters (double blech!), but nothing that really made me snap to attention.

That is, until I flipped to the previous page, where I found recipes for the following trio of delight:
—Salad of Sweetbreads, Cucumbers, and Mushrooms
—Pickled Lamb Tongue Salad
—Mock Ham Salad (made from bologna, which is apparently ham's bastard cousin)

Don't those sound awesome? Here's a hot tip: mix up a batch of each for your next party, and watch the bridge club go wild!

So I got a little curious and decided to visit the Meat section of the book. Because who knows what types of monsters might lurk within? What I found chilled me to the bone. There is an entire section (13 pages!) of recipes for Sweetbreads, Brains, Kidneys, Liver, Heart, Tongue, Oxtails, etc. What in holy hell does that "etc." mean?? The introduction is priceless. I have to transcribe it because it's almost too delicious (ha ha!) to be true. My comments in italics.

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The following is a hush-hush section ,"just between us girls."

Today's skeleton, shamelessly revealed, is apt to be the housekeeper's slenderized pocketbook. Faced with the responsibility of producing meals that are nutritionally sound, acceptable to the family and not noticeably economical (heaven forbid hubby suspect you're pinching pennies!) she may well feel "as broke as the ten commandments." Her marketing jaunts find her "just eyeballing around" (unintentional random body part pun?) as far as the luxuries are concerned, and the question foremost in her mind is how to vary her menus without increasing their cost. (as opposed to "I can't believe the car broke down again" or maybe "when is my condescending husband going to start respecting me?") She has little chance of emulating the French, who pity us for our limited range of gastronomic enjoyment, by using the less expensive variety meats like brains, kidneys, heart, tripe, tongue, etc., for serving these meats frequently means the reeducation of family taste. A suggestion on my part that they be tried usually meets with a vociferous and virtuous "Why, my husband wouldn't eat that stuff." Since "that stuff" is relished by countless thousands who have thrived on it, it seems reasonable to give it a trial. Charles Dickens said: (she's not really going to quote Dickens, is she? omg, she is!) "Her hair was false but it deceived no one." So don't try to coat the pill. Serve these delicacies and let the chips fall where they may.
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So instead of telling your family "We're having pasta again because the budget is tight," go out and buy some tripe and brains, dress them up, and "let the chips fall where they may."

Was it really that important to serve meat at every meal back in the 50's? I can't even comprehend such a thing. But I'll tell ya, this book is chock full of fun. I might have to make excerpts a regular feature on the blog. Next up: how to skin a squirrel. Not even kidding.