The Way Things Were a.k.a. Holy Fuck, 1965

If you know this blog, you know I loves me some vintage living. But what I like to explore - however ridiculously at times - is how a chapter in history was reflected in its media (and, in turn, the ideals and values that were impressed upon the culture). Well, that, and disgusting retro recipes. This is not, however, entirely reflective of reality. If you were to go purely by the 1950s women's magazines I own, you'd think, "race relations? What race relations? Shouldn't we be busying ourselves with a Jell-O mold right now?"

But come 1963-ish, magazine cover stories became less about "Soups Men Love!" and more about stuff like this (you'll know it when you see it):

"When A Negro Family Moves Next Door", written by Suzanne Hart Straight for Parents' magazine, January 1965. Oh, cringe.

I debated posting this entry because, well, it's totally horrible. That, and I'm a giant pussy whose intellect is more on the level with topics of Marshmallow Fluff than racism. But seeing as Martin Luther King Jr.'s life is celebrated today, it seems appropriate to remind people (and in some cases, educate people for the very first time) what he and those who fought for civil rights and dignity were up against.

Despite the unfortunate opinions expressed by some of the people interviewed in this article, I'm quite thankful for it, as it provides a look into what people really were thinking and feeling at the time without a PC-filter. It shows how far we've come, but it can also, perhaps, allow us to connect a few dots between those attitudes and how we view other groups and minorities in society today.

Isn't it weird to see those words in a magazine? It startles me that an article like this was relevant just 47 years ago and during my parents' lifetime (Barrack Obama would have been four years old, and my mom - whose birthday is today! Happy Birthday, mom, sorry to hijack it with this hate crime! - would have been eight.). It is downright strange to read what "normal" people once (?) were concerned about when it came to black people and all kinds of horrifying to read the vile things less-than-normal people were proud to express to a nationally-read magazine.

What's more, as I was reading, I had to keep reminding myself that this discussion wasn't about some weirdo town in the South that we all figure was full-on batshit racist, but was instead a middle-class neighbourhood in New Jersey. Yeah, buddy.

Let's not kid ourselves, there are still plenty of shitty things going on out there, said and done by people who weirdly claim it's not hateful (it's free speech! It's my religious belief! It's a genuine threat! It's hilarious! It's against my vision of America! The founding fathers wouldn't like it! Their hair products cloudy up my pool!). Give me a fucking break, you fucking fuckstains.

The author of  "When A Negro Family Moves Next Door" does what I clearly can't do (as I just demonstrated); she responds to some really heinous opinions calmly, with facts and without a lot of judgement, possibly because she knew that you win more flies with honey and that, at the time, Parents' probably had a fair share of readers who related to what was being said by these neighbours.

But that shouldn't stop you or I for letting a "holy fuck!" or a "oh, hell no!" fly out of our mouths while reading this, particularly when you get to the part where "Mr. Heath's" shithead opinion is shared. I mean, just look at what this asshole has to say:

Ugh. Yes, please leave, Mr. Heath.

But the article isn't just a bunch of awful quotes. It shows a turning of a tide, people who were clearly rational and thoughtful and no doubt helped to shape the attitudes of their own neighbours. And - as a lesson for me, they did it without calling anyone a "fucking fuckstain":

So, without further ado, here's the article in its entirety, followed by a "Group Discussion Article" - some questions and information for people to use when discussing this article with friends, family, co-workers, or neighbours (I love that! Gold star, Parents'!). You should be able to open these images into a separate tab where you can expand them to a legible size:

Discussion Prompts:

So, thoughts? Anything surprise you? Can you share any memories (or perhaps stories from your parents) from this time? Does any of it feel familiar when thinking of other groups that are currently marginalized in our society?

And finally, how are you spending Martin Luther King Jr. Day?

Read more...

A Whole New World

(Scroll down for the Update!)

When I was in Europe this Christmas, I was surrounded by coffee fanatics. I don't necessarily mean Europeans (although they certainly enjoy their Nespressos) - but the members of my family whom I was holidaying with: The day did not begin until everyone had coffee. I've generally been a take-it-leave-it kind of person when it came to a cup of morning Joe; I've never really been that big on Starbucks and generally I hadn't been bothered to make it, except for maybe on the weekend. But seeing as coffee was being made every morning, I'd help myself to some each day - and since I've been back in Canada, I've been drinking it somewhat regularly. Just a cup in the morning, made with the french press. I've been learning how to make a better brew, by letting the grounds "bloom" first - and it's been weirdly interesting to discover that there really is an art to everything.

But as we all know, art is highly subjective - as demonstrated in Redbook's November 1965 magazine article, "How To Perk Up Your Day With Coffee."

As you can see from the cover stories,
it's just one of MANY great finds in this issue.

The article starts out sane, explaining what roasting the beans does, how long one should allow coffee to percolate and so on ...

... but it's when the magazine goes into the specifics on how one can add touches that make coffee "a bit different" and what "foreign flavours" can bring an "elegant note" to the evening that things take a turn for the worse:

"... coffee with any or all of these: cinnamon sticks, allspice berries, whole cloves, orange peel, lemon peel or sliced oranges."

Hwwwhhahhgh.

Ok, so perhaps I just happen to be someone who really hates when orange flavours are put where nature never intended them - I'm talking to you, Terry's Chocolate Orange - but sliced oranges in coffee? Really?

"It's delightful! You should try it!" says some random crazy person on the Internet.

No, no. I'm going to try another of the magazine's suggested flavour combinations. Prepare to get your elegance on with a dessert that blends coffee with gelatine, peanut butter and - I shit you not - Marshmallow Fluff:

Fuck yeah.

You know when certain religious conservatives get all hysterical about "gay marriage" and start talking about a bizarro world where people can marry dogs and children can marry toasters? They really need not worry about it because the most brutal of combinations has already happened in the above recipe, and God hasn't smited (smitten? Smut? Yes! Smut!) us yet.

I'd like to thank the above recipe for giving me the excuse to do something I have ever done in my life, and that's buy / have Marshmallow Fluff.

I know somewhere in America there's a person connected to an air tank who cannot believe that someone's gone 33 years without Fluff, but it's a fact. I wasn't even sure if the grocery store carried it, but there it was among the ice cream condiments and cones. I'm almost scared to ask where in the store it's found in the US. Please don't say dairy aisle.

In buying this strange little product, I was also introduced to something totally new that I had never heard of; a Fluffernutter:

Fluffernutter: Product of USA.

Oh, we already figured that one out, Fluffernutter.

If I hadn't seen the picture, I would have thought it was something else, but thanks to the label, I take it that a Fluffernutter is marshmallow fluff and peanut butter, in bread. And this is what people eat? For lunch? At school? Why hasn't Michelle Obama mentioned this in, like, every single one of her speeches?

But what's truly sad is that Coffee Gelatine With Peanut Sauce is actually worse than a Fluffernutter, nutritionally (and, probably, spiritually). In each serving of a CGWPS is 1/2 cup of coffee, gelatine, 1.5 tablespoons of sugar, 1.5 tablespoons of peanut butter, 1.5 tablespoons of marshmallow creme, 1.5 tablespoons of milk, half a tablespoon of molasses, and a sprinkling of salt.

Hwwwhhahhgh.


And with that dry heave, let the cooking begin.

Oh Jesus Christ.

The coffee gelatin was easy enough to make. I don't have sorbet glasses, so these highball glasses will do.

In the meantime, I got the topping to look deceptively normal:

I've popped it all in the fridge to chill. I'll update this post with the final product once my Guinea Byck husband is home to try it out. Stay tuned!

UPDATE!

The dessert is complete and the Guinea Byck is standing by!

If you didn't know what was in it, I wouldn't call it a repulsive looking dish:

Since we're talking about an elegant dessert, it should no doubt be accompanied by candlelight, cloth napkin, and an eager gourmet!

Ok, maybe not so eager.

"What's in this, again?" the poor dear asked.

"Coffee. Gelatin. Peanut butter. Marshmallow. Sugar." I said.

"I like all those things," replied the sweet GB optimistically.

I steadied my camera to capture his first reaction.

"Wait. There isn't shrimp in this, is there?" he-with-the-shellfish-allergy asked.

Sigh.

"When has there ever been a dessert that had shrimp in it?" I yelped.

Iron Chef, replied the voice in my head. The voice in my head watches a lot of TV.

"You didn't answer my question," my husband said suspiciously.

"No. I promise, there is no shrimp in that," I sighed.

I held the camera again, ready to take a picture.

"So, do I just eat this, or start with the top or ...?"

"Whatever you want, dear," I said, realizing how rather stupid blogging is.

He put his spoon in and skimmed some of the topping and sniffed it. And then he put some in his mouth.

And then he had another bite. And another.

"Thoughts?" I asked.

"It's good," he said. I just don't get him sometimes.

"I can't finish it all right now, but I'll have the rest later! Don't throw it out!" said the strange man I married. He got up and kissed me on the cheek and I quickly learned of an immediate side effect of eating this dessert: seriously disastrous breath.

Poor GB.

But then I couldn't help it. I decided to become Guinea Byck #2 and give it a try.

I wish I could tell you the taste was a surprise that really did warrant a thumbs-up. It wasn't. It's like having cold, jellied coffee with a fuck-tonne of sweetened peanut butter.

It makes ... no sense.

None.

The topping and the gelatine don't compliment each other, they don't blend together - they are simply two awful things that just happen to coexist in the same container, like as if Josef Stalin and Naomi Campbell shared a limo.

You puzzle me, Redbook. You puzzle me.

Read more...

A Holiday Suggestion for the Hysterical

If you're one of those people who believes there is a war on Christmas going on (to which my usual reply is either tackling a Christmas tree or waterboarding anyone with a manger on their yard), I found an ad in my December 1969 Woman's Day magazine that should help you out.

All you need to do is emerge from the kitchen with this flaming turkey in your hands on Christmas Day, and I assure you, you will hear shouts of "Jesus!" and "Oh, Christ!" and perhaps even "Call a priest!":

Brought to you by everyone's favourite gourmet, Wrigley's Spearment Gum.

Hallelujah!

I'll understand if you want to skip the suggestion of singing "Happy Turkey" to the tune of "Happy Birthday" as suggested in the ad; but I'll also respect your beliefs if The Flaming Turkey Song quickly becomes a cherished family tradition as well. The bird, after all, did die for us.

Read more...

Old-ish Songs That Should Enter More Earholes

You know how you sometimes have to play a tune a couple times before it will snag onto you? I feel like each of these are love at first listen. How is it these songs weren't hugely popular? They're so hit-worthy it hurts!

So let's correct that, shall we?

I'm a bit biased on this one as I pretty much love everything Buddy Holly ever did. For some weirdo reason, "Heartbeat" only reached #82 in the charts in 1958:


I've been crapping my pants about this song since I heard it four years ago, telling pretty much everyone I meet that they should listen to it. It was recorded in 1968 and never made it on the charts. A little while ago I heard it in that weird Seth Rogen mall cop movie and felt like I should have gotten credit for it somehow. The song, not the movie. Totally not the movie:


This song did alright - reaching #5 in 1968 - but seems to have been rather forgotten unless you're already a Donovan fan. My poor old roommate Will would barf if he found out I still listen to this one as I used to put this song on every.single.day when we lived together. And speaking of crazy, is it just me or does young Donovan kind of remind you of Kristen Stewart?:


I love Terry Callier's voice. It's kind of Hendrix-y, no? This track didn't make a blip on the charts when it was released in 1973. Pity.


I think this is one of the best We're-Probably-Going-To-Break-Up songs ever. It reached #9 in 1985, which is great, but it was dwarfed by The Boss's other better-known hits:


Share your favourite underappreciated songs!

Read more...

American Thanksgiving: 1940s, 1950s & 1960s Editions

We've already had Thanksgiving here in Canada, on account of us having thought of it first our earlier harvest, but since most of this blog's readers are American, I figured I'd share some Thanksgiving menu ideas from my vintage magazines. Maybe it will give you ideas of what you'd like to serve this holiday should you be in the mood to mix things up. While it's true that Thanksgiving dinners haven't really changed all that much in the years, it's still fun to find those little nuances in meal planning and the treatment of Thanksgiving from decades past.

For example, in my November 1942 Ladies' Home Journal, writer Ann Batchelder says:

This year is slipping out of its green binding and getting a new edition ready in brown covers with silver tooling. It's a great comfort to know that no matter how things are in this hectic and confused world, we still have a Day. Let other days come and go and do as they will. We have this Day - with a capital D - a Day set aside from a long time ago for being thankful. Thankful for what? Why, for more than the harvest home, more than the corn in the cribs and the hay in the lofts, for the pumpkin pies and turkeys, for the crocks of pickles and bins of apples and barrels of cider. We have a heritage to give thanks for. We have America. Let's be thankful!

Swoon.

Compare this to what I imagine is the modern ode to Thanksgiving:

BACON-WRAPPED TURKEY! OM-NOM-NOM!

 Yep. The classy generation, we are not.

So, on with the show!

The first is from the magazine I mentioned above, circa November 1942. Isn't the cover just positively dreamy?

And here's the spread:

And the menu:

And a recipe page:

So ... you know how I just said that Thanksgiving dinner hasn't changed that much over the years? Maybe I was wrong. What the hell is this stuff? Grapefruit-Apricot Salad (all from a can)? Hard-Sauce Balls? Deviled Crackers? But the menu does get a big ooh-la-la for the Oyster Cocktail. I'm also quite charmed by the Victory Cranberry Sauce - it's a nice attempt to lift the moral of a condiment when sugar wasn't as available due to wartime rationing. Victory is a tad tart, it seems.

Let's jump ahead to the 1950s. I found two Thanksgiving spreads. The first is from the November 1952 issue of Today's Woman (you can actually see the cover in my pic from the 50s Housewife Experiment - it's the red magazine):

And there's two menus, based on your kitchen size (how thoughtful!):

I'm feeling lazy and haven't taken pics of the recipes (eight pages of them ... so much clicking) - so unless someone out there is really, really dying to know how to make Molded Mincemeat Salad (and if you are such a disturbed individual, let me know in the comments), you'll just have to use your imagination with these.

Next, the November 1956 issue of Woman's Day, which has this unfortunate cover:

Ugh.

Anyway ... here's dinner! Doesn't this couple look dapper? And I love the colour of their hutch in the background!

Here's a close-up of the meal. Much of it seems normal to me ... except for the pineapple (surely harvested from America's heartland) and the heaping plate of carrot and celery sticks ...

Here's the menu and recipes for this 1950s Thanksgiving meal:

On the whole, nothing too crazy, no?

So - onto 1961. Here's Woman's Day November 1961 cover:

Nice.

And the Thanksgiving spread:

Whatever they have around the turkey looks pretty repulsive. What is that? From this close-up and from the process of elimination of the menu, it appears to be Onion-stuffed Onions. Jean-Claude Van Damme that is awful:

And the recipes, should you lose your mind and want to make these:

So what can we say about Thanksgiving in the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s compared to now?

• There was more mincemeat on the menu then.
• There was no aversion to using the word "giblet" (my spellcheck doesn't even identify it).
• I'm pretty sure none of those grapes got eaten.
• Food stylists really do make a difference.
• ETA thanks to BloggerBride's comment!: Check out the size of the 1942 turkey to the 1961 turkey! Roids or Factory Farming Gone Wild?
• How cool is the name "Preble Bailey" (from the 1956 spread)? Do you think it's pronounced PREB-lee or PREH-bull? Or something else? I think Bambi Jesus and Nutella HotDog Byck officially have a challenger!

What are you making (or made) for Thanksgiving? Any passed-down family recipes?

Read more...

Guarantees: Because There's Nothing Worse Than Coming Home From School and Finding a Dead Monkey in a Dress at Your Door

Today's random retro find is compliments of the classifieds section of the July 1962 edition of Redbook:

A human-like pet to caress and play with, this golden-haired SQUIRREL MONKEY makes a cherished gift for both adults and children. Brings fun and companionship into your life with its heart-shaped face and very lovable eyes. Easy to train and care for, eats what you eat, needs only understanding and affection. Comes to you 6 months old, grows 12 inches tall. It's an education just owning one. Free cage and instructions with each monkey. Guaranteed Live Delivery.

One day we should compile a list of all the things that fall under the category of "It's an education just owning one." It would be phenomenal.

Read more...

The Wedding Gift: A Sneak Peek

Sorry that I haven't blogged in a little bit. I got an e-mail from someone asking if I was "dead in a ditch" - which was actually nicer than the e-mail I got from the person who was upset that I posted that 1960s  "Cheerless Chubbies" article.

According to the lady on the other end of the e-mail, "the overweight and the obese are the last group of people that are apparently 'Ok' to bully, discriminate against, and make fun of." - which means that I shouldn't have giggled at a doctor referring to an overweight kid as a "little fatty". Now that I've been schooled, I've added "the overweight and obese" to a chart I created of The Last Group of People That Are Apparently OK To Bully. Anytime anyone claims to "be the last group", I update my list. In any given day, it could be Muslims, smokers, atheists, Christians, stay-at-home moms, people without children, the mentally ill, lady politicians, skinny people, celebrities, people who say "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays", liberals, conservatives, the homeless, The Obamas, women with huge strollers, Southerners, high fructose corn syrup lovers, poor white people, poor black people, rich white people, little people, anyone who says the word 'retard', organic farmers, soldiers, and McDonalds patrons .... Boy - there sure are a lot of groups out there that think they're the only ones being treated unfairly by someone! But today, it's only overweight people until somebody tells me otherwise.

So, as you can see, I'm not dead in a ditch. Well, not yet anyway. I've been working, working, working and that's kept me mostly away from the Internets. Part of why I had so much work to do was because I'm about to depart for a very special wedding and needed to finish my projects ahead of time.  

Depart for a wedding? You don't mean ...

OH, YES, A VERY IMPORTANT WEDDING!

Really!?!

The bride will be wearing a fascinator!

WHAT?!? HOW?!! But you're so ...

You guessed it - I'm about to take a royally long plane ride to ....

OH! MY! HOW EXCITING! THAT MUST BE ...

Calgary.

Oh.  (Please click - it will be worth it.)

Save your disappointment and get happy - this trip is to attend and take part as a bloated bridesmaid in MY SISTER'S wedding. Her first! (And I'm told to mention, probably her last.)

In honour of that, I went about finding wedding gifts that they'd like. First, I wrote a cheque, because, frankly, that's the only thing people are really guaranteed to enjoy. Then I found the sort of things that I'd like: vintage magazines from the month they're getting married - just to see how times have changed.

For my future brother-in-law, I gave him a sense of what it was like NOW vs. THEN ... as told by Esquire's April 2011 and April 1961 issues:

It's Matthew McConaughey vs. a polo-playing centaur. Which will take its shirt off first? My money's on McConaughey.

The modern Esquire seems to be much more health and fitness oriented while the Esquire from 50 years before is far more geared toward worldliness, swilling drinks and smoking cigarettes. It's funny how many ads feature a man smoking, even if the product has nothing to do with tobacco:

If you love Mad Men, you really must get your hands on a 1960s Esquire. It is oh-so Don fucking Draper. I didn't flip too heavily through the vintage magazine as it's a present after all, but here's one more snippet from it; a look at the new car prototypes coming out of Italy. There were a few models that did actually make it to consumers - but the one that really caught my eye sadly didn't - the Ghia Selene II:

A car with a bar and television in the backseat. The quantity and the intensity of the fatalities that would occur if that car had ever made it to the road would truly be epic. Epic.

For my sister, I took this theme to an extra level (c'mon - sister!). Here's today's Ladies' Home Journal - a magazine you can be sure that she's probably never read based on those clearly-not-her-demographic cover stories:

And then here's the issue from April 1986, 25 years ago:

I found her the same April magazine from 50 years ago:

And another from 75 years ago:

And finally the Ladies' Home Journal from 100 years ago - the April 1911 copy:

It's Mariska Hargitay vs. the Huxtables vs. Jackie Kennedy vs. an uptight looking woman vs. some seagulls! Which cover interests you more? Me too - totally the seagulls.

The sad news is that two of these magazines decided to take their sweet, sweet time in the post - so I haven't received them yet! Wah! This means I still haven't found out what the women of 1986 want! I do, however, have the 1961 and the 1911 versions - and man, are they fun.

I've actually already shared part of the contents from the 50-year old magazine - that's where the recently mentioned story about overweight children came from. But since my sister is getting married, I figured I'd share a bit of the 1911 magazine, as it deals quite a bit about weddings and married life - and holy eff, have we ever thankfully changed.

I can take the corsets. I can take the gelatin molds (yes, they were even sickeningly into them back then). But I cannot take the snotty, stuffy, judgey morality-policing that seemed to be in such vogue then. I can't help but read these aloud in a voice that rolls the 'r', jumps octaves in a single sentence and has a certain Julia Child-ness to it, if Julia Child was a humourless hosebag. Please feel free to do the same. And, yes, your roommate / spouse / children / dog will think you're crazy.

Ah, yes, we've all read about those horrible tragedies that occurred due to such silly rice and confetti throwing at weddings. How dreadful. And worse - how tactless. Sweet Smurf only knows how discouraged the easily-offended writer of that article would be if she knew my husband and I blasphemously participated in such horse-play as high-fiving each at the altar. Shmaaaaawh.

While I haven't discussed it with her, I do hope my sister plans to have children right away. Because to not do so is not just immoral, it's "vulgar":

Shmaaaaawh.

And while I personally find worth in learning and exploring the "domestic arts" - I'm really not into telling other people how to go about their own marriage and careers. My sentiments are in direct contrast to this high-horsed writer who considers anything that takes away from domestic duties - like stupid things like reading and art - will set you up to have an unhappy marriage:

Shmaaaaawh.


Also, my sister musn't forget that she's basically about to become property. AS LONG AS THE WORLD STANDS:

Shmaaaaawh.


And the grossest part? Those were all written by women. Way to betray your sex, ladies. The magazine is clearly evil, which is confirmed when we learn about The Girls' Club and its chosen insignia:

One member coos over her "diamond swastika pin over which the girls are wild". That's nice - but I have a feeling the girls became less enchanted with at piece of jewelery thirty years later. Fashion can be so fickle!

There's way more ... which I'll share sometime later, but for now, I'll leave you with this last comforting piece of advice - it's always your fault:

Shmaaaaawh.

Read more...