Punch Request: Fruit Punch Delight

I got a request for some non-alcoholic punches that didn't include fruit juice concentrates. Here's one from the Milwaukee Ward Relief Society Cookbook:

Fruit Punch Delight

2 c. strawberries
2 bananas
1 c. sugar
1 (20 oz.) can crushed pineapple (drained liquid reserved)
3/4 c. pineapple juice from crushed pineapple
1 qt. orange juice
1 1/2 c. water

Combine strawberries, bananas, pineapple and sugar in blender. Blend until well mixed. Combine with remaining ingredients and stir well. Chill and serve. Makes 3 quarts.

--Gertie Weilder, Pat Leake

Good golly, it's a fruit punch that uses actual fruit! 3 quarts isn't a whole bunch, though--I like to think of punch in terms of gallons.

Cooking the Books: Dom's Mom's Meatballs

It's day two of a four day weekend for me, and I've a clean kitchen and a non-over-stuffed fridge. This means...

Time to cook.

I wanted to chop, and I wanted to mix, and I wanted an excuse to eat pasta. So, I hopped on over to the grocer's and bought all the fixings for Dom's Mom's Meatballs, the quintessential meatballs from Dom DeLuise (and his mother).

Of course, there are in-the-moment variations: I upped the amount of parsley, because I couldn't bear the thought of using just a bit of a bunch, knowing I'd not use the rest of it before it went bad. I bought pre-seasoned breadcrumbs, feeling in part like I was a poseur, but also admitting that, damn it, really good seasoned Italian breadcrumbs are, in fact, really good. I grated my cheese (parmesan -- Mr. DeLuise doesn't specify, but, c'mon, ya know his mom's using parmigiano) because the stuff in a shaker jar just isn't good enough for a loving batch of meatballs. I didn't measure the cheese -- it was closer to 4 oz by weight than by volume. I used 1.5 pounds of ground beef, and 1 pound ground pork, mostly because I couldn't buy a smaller portion of pork, and so I thought my option was "double the recipe" or "just switch proportions." There's only two of us -- well, three if you count Puck the Corgi -- and we've a small little freezer, so making 40 massive meatballs seemed foolish at best.

The meat mixture is resting right now. Didn't take any photos during the assembly & mixing process, because my hands were busy, and dirty. Perhaps I'll ask Nick the Chefly Husband to take some pictures as the shaping process happens. If so, I'll post 'em here. If not, well... They're meatballs. I assume they'll be brown and lovely, and eventually covered in red sauce and served with penne.

And a lovely glass of almost-undoubtably-red wine.

Bonus Post: Ceviche Costa Rica Style

My hands smell like limes, and I don't have a cocktail in front of me. Astute observers might conclude that I've been making something else with lime juice. And, it's true. I've been making ceviche, but if you're used to having ceviche at your local tex-mex place, you might be a little cautious when you see mine.

Ceviche, Costa Rica Style
1 lb bay scallops (sea scallops work, too, but are more expensive, and
need to be cut into bite-sized bits)
4 limes
1/2 bunch cilantro
1/2 red onion (or, you know, any other onion you have around)
1-2 glugs olive oil
salt
saltine crackers
mayo
ketchup

Place scallops in a clean, non-reactive bowl or jar. Cover with the juice of 4 limes -- the scallops need to be covered in the juice. Add cilantro and onion, both finely chopped, salt, and olive oil. Let marinate in the fridge overnight -- it helps to put plastic wrap over the bowl, letting the plastic rest on the surface of the ceviche to make sure there's no air getting in. Serve on crackers, garnished with a mixture of mayo and ketchup.

I say the recipe is mine; it's not. It's really my dad's (that's him in the picture above..handsome devil, no?). See, way back in the 80s, Dad went on sabbatical to Costa Rica, and he ambitiously took my sister and I along. I look back at that and have to realize: I am now two (nearly three) years older now than my dad was when we went. It is a weird feeling. Anyway, long digression short, my grandma came down to stay with us for several months, and with the anniversary of her death this month, I'm all sorts of nostalgic for all things family.

Back to the fish. My dad fell in love with ceviche down there, and when we got back to the States, he worked and worked to recreate it. He had the darnedest time finding cilantro (this was Oregon, in the early/mid-80s, after all), and no one had heard of ceviche. He prevailed, and this is how I know ceviche.

Dad and I would stand around the kitchen counter, spooning the fish out of a tall jar onto a saltine, and then dolloping on a ketchup/mayo sauce (mix 1 part to 1 part).

I know that sounds strange. I know that we're conditioned now to think only of tortilla chips and maybe some salsa when eating ceviche.

The saltines and Marie Rose are authentically 1984 Costa Rica. I will vouch for it. Give it a try. Throw caution cautiously to the wind. If you end up hating it -- and I've never met anyone who does -- you can always rip open a bag of Tostitos and uncap a jar of Jardine's.

I've got a bowl of ceviche tucked into the fridge, and tomorrow evening, I'll be eating it with friends.

Costa Rica style.

Mother's Fruit Cake: Boozeless (Mostly) Fruit Cake

I love a good fruit cake. I even like a mediocre fruit cake. The fact that so many people mock fruit cake makes me sad, mostly because I really would love to start getting fruit cakes as gifts again as folks did in days of whatnot. We've already covered one fruit cake option (Brandied Fruitcake Drops) here, but Presbyterian Palate Pleasers gives us a proper, mostly-full-on recipe.

Mother's Fruit Cake

1 lb. brown sugar
6 eggs
1/2 lb. butter
1-1/2 lb. flour (6 c.)
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
3 tsp. baking powder
1/2 c. milk
1 c. wine
1 lb. currants
1 c. black walnuts
1 lb. raisins
1/2 lb. dates
1/4 lb. citron
1 lb. English Walnuts
1/4 lb. cherries
1/2 lb. figs
1/4 lb. lemon peel
1/4 lb. orange peel
1 c. flour to dredge fruit

Mix ingredients. Grease and flour one large tube pan and one 9x3" loaf pan. Fill each pan 2/3 full and bake at 275° until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Serves about 25. Old recipe.

Anne Hinkle

Oh, Anne. We had such high hopes, seeing as how your churchly volunteering led you to take a bartending course. One cup of wine hardly seems properly boozy for such a lot of cake. Especially seeing as how the wine is baked with the cake, and so much of the alcohol goes away.

To fix this, I'd suggest basting the finished cake in rum, and then soaking cheesecloth in rum and wrapping the cake up with the cheesecloth and basting it every few days/weeks for a good long time.

My mother, however, prefers her fruitcake boozeless. No, really. She has many other fine qualities, I assure you.

Though the recipe doesn't specify, I'm betting all the fruit in this recipe should be dried and/or candied/glaceed. The cloves should be ground. The nuts can be swapped with other nuts if you're anti-walnut. The wine can be whatever you have -- knowing that it will lend color to the cake if you use red wine. I'd go for a sherry, or a tawny port, likely.

My favorite thing about this recipe has got to be the fact that there are two cake pans in use here. One gives you a big, pretty, take-it-to-the-church-pot-luck sort of cake. The other one is what you keep for yourself, to nibble on next to a cup of tea or a glass of sherry or port.

Ham Loaf, Redux: Presbyterian Ham Loaf

It's been a while since we contemplated on how fun it is to say "Sheboygan." Presbyterian Palate Pleasers has brought it back for me, for, lo, there's a ham loaf. Not Ethel Holbrook's Ham Loaf, but the less-eponymous more-institutional Presbyterian Ham Loaf.

Presbyterian Ham Loaf

1 lb. ground ham
1 lb. ground pork
1 c. bread crumbs
1 c. milk
2 eggs, slightly beaten

Thoroughly combine all ingredients. Shape into a loaf by packing mixture into a 5"x10" loaf pan. Then, invert on a shallow baking pan. Score loaf with a knife. Boil ingredients below into a syrup to make the following:

Brown Sugar Glaze:
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. water
1/4 c. vinegar
2 tsp. dry mustard

Spread loaf with glaze and bake at 350° for 1-1/2 hours. (This loaf will burn easily. Do NOT bake longer than 2 hours.) Baste frequently while baking.

Variations:
To form loaf, use 1-1/2 lbs. of ground pork, 1 lb. of ground smoked ham and salt and pepper to taste. Double the glaze recipe ingredients and substitute 1/2 c. pineapple juice for the water.

To form loaf, reduce breadcrumbs to 1/2 c., leave out the milk, and add 1/3 c. Ketchup, drop of Worcestershire sauce and 2 Tbsp. dry mustard.

Optional Glaze:
Make a mixture of brown sugar, mustard and sweet pickle juice.

Zoe Bowen
Claudia Strite
Anne Hinkle

Claudia's back! Zoe is harder to pin down -- who knew there'd be so many Zoe Bowens out there? -- but Anne Hinkle proves to be an easy find.

Anne Hinkle, 90, makes volunteering her full-time job.

She moved to Washington County in 1938 and has volunteered "since the first Sunday I was in church," she said.

She served as a deacon and an elder and worked with the Sunday school for her Presbyterian church, she said.

Her volunteer efforts recently prompted Hinkle to take a bartending class.

Oh, she seems like our kind of people! I'm hoping she's the one who added the optional glaze with the pickle juice.

But I promised a head-to-head of a sort. First off, and this wigs me out a bit, Ethel uses ground beef in her ham loaf.

Beef is not ham.

Beef is a good and tasty thing, but it's not a pork product.

I'm anti-loaf pan for my own meatloaves (meatloafs?), and while I respect the Presbyterians for not baking their meat in the loaf pan I must wonder at why they use a loaf pan in the first place.

Gentle readers, you do not need a loaf pan to help you shape your loaf. Use your hands. Mound it up in a pleasing loafy shape. Go to town with it. You don't need to dirty yet another pan.

Ethel's glaze is going to be less sweet than the Presbyterians'. I grew up glazing ham and Spam (yes, Spam -- I love it. No shame!) with brown sugar dissolved in white vinegar, so I lean towards thinking Hagerstown has it all over Sheboygan.

Except Sheboygan is more fun to say.

Savory Snacks: Bacon & Cheese Paste, and Scotch Eggs

Presbyterian Palate Pleasers's second recipe sealed the deal on this twelve-and-a-half cent purchase.

C.&.B.'s (Sandwich Filling)

1-1/2 lb. cheddar cheese
2 to 3 slices bacon (uncooked)
1 small onion
Green pepper (as desired)

Place all ingredients into a food grinder and mix well. To serve, spread on slices of party rye or English muffin and place under broiler to toast. Serve warm. Mixture may be kepet in refrigerator in a tight container for a week or two. The above amounts may be varied according to personal taste.

Marie Lockwood

It's bacon paste. Bacon & cheddar paste. You take raw bacon, and you grind it up with cheese, and you call it macaroni. (No, you don't. You call it "C & B.") Me, though, I'm calling it bacon paste.

And there's nothing at all wrong with that.

Okay, there's one thing wrong with this -- odds are, it looks like other processed cheese products one might have in one's fridge, but THIS one has raw pork fat in it. So, put a little warning on your crock of cheesy bacon paste, so that no one confuses Ms. Lockwood's masterpiece with some port wine cheese spread.

There is nothing about that recipe that wouldn't make me want to buy this cookbook. But, just turn the page, and there's another classic savory snack recipe!

Scotch Eggs

4 hard-boiled eggs, cooled and shelled.
Roll lightly in flour.
1 beaten egg with little milk for dipping in before coating.
Fine bread crumbs
8-oz. sausage meat, with herbs added, if desired.
Deep-fat or oil to fry.

Divide sausage into 4 equal parts and smooth over eggs. (Try to cover egg all around.) Coat these with egg and milk mixture and roll firmly in bread crumbs. Deep fry and drain on paper. Remember, the sausage must cook through, so don't rush the frying process. Serve hot or cold. May be cut in half or in large slices. Excellent as an appetizer or on a picnic. This recipe was received from Jenny Cannon, who is from England.

Carol Alphin

First, I must say, the typesetter left out the period after "Fine bread crumbs," not me. Diligently capturing typos makes me twitch.

Now, I love me some Scotch eggs. They remind me of Chefly Husband, who has made them for children's menus and called them "dinosaur eggs." They remind me of the Maryland Renaissance Festival, where, I swear, a day without a Scotch egg is as close to a sad day as one can have at the RennFest.

A bit of hyperbole goes a long way on a blog. The statement above is not hyperbole.

I think it's sweet that Ms. Alphin doesn't claim the recipe as her own, but rather credits a Brit. Does it add authenticity to the Scotch-ness of the recipe?

Ms. Alphin's from the great Pacific Northwest, originally -- even went to Pacific Lutheran College. I don't know what brought her out to Hagerstown, but in Hagerstown she was and in Hagerstown she is. My crazy little brain likes to make up stories to fill in the details and connections, so in that c.l.b., somehow this recipe for Scotch eggs is what inspired the RennFest to have Scotch eggs, and...

It's not at all a likely scenario. But it stars yummy, savory snacks.

PUNCH!!!! No, Seriously. Punch. With Actual Booze.

Presbyterian Palate Pleasers has a metric buttload of punches.

Well... it SAYS it does. It has shockingly few punches with any punch. Thank God the Presbyterians give us at least one punch with some booze in it.

Punch

1 qt. ginger ale
1 can Hawaiian Punch
1 box frozen strawberries
Whiskey (optional)
1 pt. orange sherbet
1 pt. pineapple sherbet

Mix all of the above ingredients, add ice cubes to make cold. Foat orange and lemon slices on top. Serves 12 to 15.

Joyce Stephens

Bless Ms. Stephens's heart, but...no.

First off, for a proper punch, the booze is not optional. I'll admit that the last time I made a punch, it was 2 gallons or more of non-alcoholic beverage, but... it lacked booze, so it wasn't a proper punch.

We of Take One Cookbook... never think that cheese is optional, that bacon is optional, or that booze is optional.

We trust you love us anyway.

Let's look at this and realize this is making 12 servings that are really, really, really small. Like, teacup size, not even coffee mug size. Certainly not Solo cup sized, and when was the last time you were at a punch-worthy occasion that called for less than Solo cup sized servings of anything?

I've never made a sherbet/HawaiianPunch/soda punch with whiskey. I tend to use cheap bubbly. Prosecco, American "champagne," whatever is less than $13 and has bubbles and booze in it.

But, really, let's again look at that size... This is not enough punch for real people. Here's how I'd do it:

4 liters ginger ale or other clear soda
2 liters of Hawaiian Punch or other fruit punch (not a can of concentrate)
1/2 gallon of rainbow sherbet
1-2 bottles inexpensive toasty/yeasty fizzy booze

Plop sherbet in large (I mean LARGE) vessel. Pour non-fizzy liquid over top. Pour non-alcoholic fizzy stuff over top. Pour fizzy booze over top. Serve.

Wendy A F G Stengel

This punch will do sans alcohol if you have a baby shower and a pregnant woman lurking. It does taste good virginized.

But the boozy bubbles make a punch.

Trust me.

Grasshopper Pie & Rhubarb Pie: Pies for Peace

Sometimes, when it seems the whole world is sliding into a cesspit, JJ, Heather and I declare Pies for Peace. Basically, this means we get together and bake pie after pie after pie. Somehow, filling the kitchen with yummy smells makes the world at large seem a bit more cheerful and manageable.

Pies for Peace shouldn't be confused with Piepocalypse, our yearly Thanksgiving glut of pie. One is all about peace and the other is all about topping last year's number & variety.

Like any self-respecting church cookbook, Presbyterian Palate Pleasers has a lot of pie recipes. Today, we'll look at two of them: Grasshopper and Rhubarb.

Grasshopper Pie

Crust:
16 Oreo cookies (crushed)
3 Tbsp. melted butter

Mix and press into a pie pan.

Filling:
24 marshmallows
3/4 c. milk
2 oz. creme de menthe
1 drop green food coloring
1 oz. creme de cacao
1 c. whipped cream

Melt marshmallows in double boiler. Add milk, blend and cool. Add creme de menthe and creme de cacao. Fold in whipped cream; add food coloring. Pour into cookie crust and chill.

Ann Bean

How much do I love grasshopper pie? It was one of my favorites growing up -- the other was coconut impossible pie, which I should really dig up and post here, because...yum. Anyway, I am not quite sure how such a boozy pie became the favorite of a wee child. I suppose it's possible my mom used mint extract and chocolate syrup or some such, but really, I doubt it.

This is one of the easier grasshopper pie recipes you'll see out there. No fiddling about with gelatin, no whipped egg whites. One thing to note: It's 24 big marshmallows, not mini. I advise you to toss the double boiler; you can melt the marshmallows in the microwave. "Less fussy" is usually the way to go.

For the ultimate in reduced fussiness, you could always buy your chocolate crumb crust pre-made. Your pie will lack a certain rustic beauty, though, and you'll miss out on the fabulous catharsis one can find when bashing Oreos into dust.

Rhubarb Pie

3 large c. rhubarb
1 egg
1-1/2 c. sugar
Butter size of walnut

Pour boiling water over rhubarb and let stand 5 minutes; drain. Mix all ingredients well and fill unbaked crust. Dust with flour and put on top crust. Bake at 350°F for 40-50 minutes.

Mrs. George S. Lehner

(Mrs. Lehner and her husband owned and operated the Dagmar Hotel for years.)

Go, Mrs. Lehner! Here's her hotel:


Dagmar Hotel, Hagerstown, MD,
by Mr. T in DC, under Creative Commons license.

The Dagmar Hotel was also the headquarters of the M.P Moller Motor Car Company for a good stretch of time. They made custom cars (called Dagmars, naturally).

Now, I dig that cooks of yore often assumed you knew without being told that you'd need crust for a double crust pie, and that you would know how to make it. I know how to make a really good pie crust.

Confession time: I usually just buy the Pillsbury crust from the refrigerator case. What can I say? It's not as good as homemade, but it's only marginally less good, and it's so fricking easy. So, you can do as I do, and there's no judgement coming at you from this corner. You can rustic it up with your crimping technique, or by being less than anal with straight lines for your lattice strips.

Never done a lattice crust? Don't fret -- it's easy, and there are lots of tutorials on how to make a lattice crust out there.

I will insist upon you having a lattice crust. It's rhubarb pie. I can't imagine a rhubarb pie without a lattice crust. Save your regular top crust for your apple pies, your blackberry pies, your peach pies. Go lattice for rhubarb.

Three cups of rhubarb is about one pound, for what it's worth. Yes, you could buy a pound of chunked up frozen rhubarb -- if you do, thaw it before using -- but it's still rhubarb season. Go buy a pound.

Three Jell-O Salads; Presbyterian Palate Pleasers, The Presbyterian Church, Hagerstown, MD

Chefly Husband and I are headed out to Wolf Trap today to hear the Indigo Girls perform, and to hang out with friends, and to picnic, picnic, picnic. There's lots of cooking going on, and not a little bit of assembly. It's all very summery.

Yesterday, we hit St. Alban's annual sidewalk book sale. I am constitutionally unable to restrain myself at such things. There shall be cookbooks! Oh, yes. There shall. I did show some restraint -- we left with only four new-to-us cookbook treasures. One is a great single-color comb-spined church cookbook from the Presbyterian Church up in Hagerstown, MD. It cost me all of twelve and a half cents. Half a quarter. You can't beat it! So, this week, before I head out to the wilds of Taiwan for a fortnight, we'll be exploring Presbyterian Palate Pleasers. Ya can't beat that title, either.

Going through the cookbook last night with my trusty Post-it flags, I found far too many cool recipes for one week, so on some days, we're going to have multiples. Like...today! Today, you get three -- three! -- molded salads, of varying difficulty.

Cherry-Coke Salad

1-lb. jar red bing cherries
1-8-oz. can crushed pineapple
1 small pkg. orange jello
1 small pkg. cherry jello
2-6-1/2 oz. bottles Coke

Drain juice from cherries and pineapple. Add enough water to make 2 c. liquid. Heat and bring to boil, then add 2 pkgs. of jello. Stir, dissolve and let cool. Add pitted cherries and pineapple. Add Coke and mix well. Refrigerate at least 3-4 hours. Serves 8.

Floyd Bingaman

Now, I like to do a little Google stalking of people who contribute to these great old cookbooks, and I was a bit surprised to see how many Floyd Bingaman hits I got. I mean...it seemed an odd sort of name. Seems that it's a family name in Hagerstown, MD. I'm suspecting that the Cherry-Coke Salad Floyd is the father or grandpa of the unfortunate Floyd who was sentenced for a terrible crime not so very long ago. (What is it with these old cookbooks and the connections with the unsavory? The Maine islanders were all linked to stories of arson and abuse, and now child murder. :shudder:)

I didn't choose this recipe for lurid tales. No, I chose it because it reminded me of a recipe from the Jell-o (let's use the preferred brand spelling, shall we?) cookbook I had as a kid. I remember making a streamlined version of this years ago, with Coke replacing water while making cherry Jell-o. Tasty stuff, and the bubbles seemed sophisticated.

Odds are, you can actually find tiny bottles of Coke at the grocer's these days. I won't think poorly of you, though, if you use the cheaper 12 oz. can. Honest.

Bloody Mary Aspic

1-24-oz. can cocktail vegetable juice
1/3 c. vodka
1-1/2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
Hot pepper sauce
2 envelopes unflavored gelatin
2 tsp. lemon juice
1/4 tsp. garlic salt
Salad greens

In a 1-1/2 qt. saucepan, over 1 cup cold cocktail vegetable juice, sprinkle gelatin. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly until gelatin is completely dissolved. Remove from heat; stir in remaining vegetable juice and other ingredients, including a dash of hot pepper sauce. Do not add greens. Pour into a 1 qt. mold. Refrigerate until set. To serve, unmold on salad greens. A delicious salad for luncheons and dinners. Serves 6.

Frances Machen

I ran across a chilled tomato and vodka soup recipe the other day, and yelled "Just call it a Bloody Mary In A Bowl and stop with the soup pretense!" No pretense here, though Frances does stop before calling this "big Bloody Mary Jell-o shots." She also gives the helpful advice to not gunk up the salad by putting the veg IN the salad. Trust that this sort of guidance is vital in old cookbooks. You never know what someone is going to tell you to put in there; it's nice to be told to hold something back.

It seems Ms. Machen died a year ago at age 78. She had a music store, and was known as Aunt Fran to her friends' children.

See, that's the happier kind of story I like to associate with cookbooks and Jell-o.

All in all, the Bloody Mary Aspic sounds pretty tasty. You have your V8, your Tabasco...all clean bright colors. But, where is the fearful sort of molded salad we all love to read about and fear will land on our plates? Never ever think the Presbyterians are going to let you down!

Presbyterian Jello Salad

1 can tomato soup
1 box lemon jello
1/3 c. chopped celery
1/3 c. chopped green pepper
1/3 c. chopped onions
1 c. mayonnaise
2 c. cottage cheese

Melt soup and jello together over low heat, stir constantly. Add the celery, green pepper, onions, mayonnaise and cottage cheese. Chill until firm. Serves 6.

Claudia Strite

Oh, Claudia. I suspect this serves a lot more than 6.

Claudia had a big, big heart, from an early age. This, from a 1937 slave narrative:

Henry killed a man in anger and was sent to Parchman. Friends in Pontotoc intervened when they saw Emmeline's tears. Henry was made a trusty, then transferred to Jackson as a chauffer and house-boy to Governor Earl Brewer. Henry became the especial friend of the Governor's youngest daughter, Claudia, former society editor of the Daily News, now Mrs. Samuel C. Strite, of Hagerstown, Maryland.

One day Claudia, a very young miss, stuck a note under her father's plate, 'Please set Henry free.' Governor Brewer when he left office gave Henry a pardon, and the freed negro was hired as strawboss on a delta plantation, 'but I guess he was too biggety by then,' his whitehaired mother says, 'because it wasn't long until he got into another scrape and got killed.' Henry's grave in the delta is marked by a tombstone that Claudia placed there.

Okay, I just teared up. Not ashamed to say it. Much of that tale is sad, too, but the fact that the governor of Mississippi's little daughter was concerned about Henry, and years later still cared enough to place the tombstone? It's touching. And I'm a sap.

This is what this blog is about: scary recipes, warm hearts, and a generosity of spirit that shines across the years.

Paradise Cakes

Today with the The Women's Institute of 650 Favourite Recipes, we enter the Prizewinner's section. Happily, we skip past "Kate's Surprise", which contains (surprise!) gelatine, anchovy essence, prawns and cottage cheese. We also miss out on "Secret Salad", which will alas remain a mystery, and we hastily hasten past "Hasty Fish Pie", which appears to actually take about an hour and a half. Hasty, no; tasty, perhaps not given the addition of 600ml/1 pint parsley sauce, AKA Tasteless White Goo With Green Bits In.

No, today our rural repast will be Paradise Cakes, with apologies to John Milton.

First, though, a glossary, because the fruit of that forbidden tree is probably called something different where you live, because the words for ingredients, clothed in reason's garb as they are, differ across the world.

Sultanas are dried white grapes: white raisins. Glacé cherries are crystallized. Currants are not red- or blackcurrants, but are small raisins. (Incidentally, did you know that the currant is named for Corinth, the Greek isthmus and city-state?) If you can't find the precise dried fruit, do just use whatever you have, although plain raisins won't taste of much. Caster sugar you may not be able to find; superfine should do it if you can't. Oh, and I never use margarine for cakes, so butter is fine. And a Swiss roll tin looks like this.

On to the recipe, sadly unaccompanied by a picture today because the cats are both outside and unwilling to assist.

Paradise Cakes

Makes 25-30

175g/6 oz margarine
150g/5 oz caster sugar
3 eggs, beaten
100g/4 oz ground rice
75g/3 oz ground almonds
50g/2 oz sultanas
50g/2 oz glacé cherries
75g/3 oz currants
shortcrust pastry, made with 100g/4 oz flour
caster sugar to dredge

Cream the margarine and sugar together until pale and fluffy. Gradually beat in the eggs, then mix in the ground rice and almonds. Fold in the fruit.

Roll out the dough and use to line a Swiss roll tin. Spread the fruit mixture over the dough. Bake in a preheated moderate oven (180°C/350°F, Gas Mark 4) for 45 minutes.

Cool, then cut into fingers and dredge with caster sugar.

The thing I love about the sound of this recipe — and the way it fits into our gift-giving theme — is that I'd imagine that one could easily cut them into festive shapes (trees, stars, crescents, bright consummate flowers, Flying Spaghetti Monsters) and decorate the tops as desired. I'd imagine that a good stiff Christmas Cake icing would be particularly delicious with a layer of marzipan. Plus, the shortcrust pastry and the adhesive effect of the baked dried fruits will almost certainly make it shippable.

Quaff immortality, or perhaps tea, and enjoy!

On a personal note, sharing a WI cookbook is particularly poignant for me today, because my dear Great-auntie Helen, a lifelong member and keen blancmange-maker, died this morning. So long, Auntie Helen, and thanks for all the cake.

Dark Thick Marmalade

Greetings again from the wilds of Cornwall, where it got so chilly last night that we had an actual frost! The daffodils are starting to come up in the front garden, though, so we're not entirely despairing.

Today with the The Women's Institute of 650 Favourite Recipes we skip past "Gooseberry Swansdown" (a molded jelly, of which there are many), "Sussex Pond Pudding" (a dried fruit and suet steamed pudding that contains precisely 0% pond) and "Pwdin Watcyn Wynne", which is Welsh for "Watcyn Wynne Pudding", because vowels are English, and appears to consist of a similar pudding made of mainly breadcrumbs and suet. Delicious, all of them, I'm certain, and I do so enjoy making a pudding.



(Today's lovely assistant/prop is Ashley the Six-Claw'd Menace, who has had to be forcibly separated from the yarn on the table.)

Whenever I think about cakes, I remember a broadcast of the famous British radio comedy programme I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue, where the regulars are impersonating members of the Women's Institute being asked about cake. To paraphrase:

Questioner: Have you been concerned about the recent salmonella scares?
WI Lady 1: Oh, no, dear, we rarely use salmon or any other fish in our cakes.
WI Lady 2: Although we did make a very nice sea-bass meringue pie one year.

We end up on page 262 with Dark Thick Marmalade. Now, I'm very lucky because a Mrs Dingle brings her marmalade to the weekly WI market in the village, and Mrs Dingle's marmalade is possibly the best I have ever tasted, so I've never felt the need to make my own. Of course, as we run up to Advent, a jar of homemade marmalade would make an equally good Christmas present as the fudge Wendy posted about today. That said, for Christmas you can't go wrong with a nice pot of chutney or cranberry relish for the Twelve Days of Leftovers.

Dark Thick Marmalade

1 kg/2 lb Seville Oranges
1 small lemon
2.75 to 4 litres/5 to 7 pints water
2.75 kg/6 lb sugar
25g/1 oz dark treacle (which Google tells me is blackstrap molasses in the US)
225g/8 oz crystallized ginger, chopped (optional)

I rather like the sound of adding the ginger here. This would make great marmalade for having a cold. Hmm, perhaps adding some hot chilis to it as well for a real kick?

Scrub the fruit, then cut it in half and squeeze out the juice into a preserving pan. Remove the pips and fibrous membranes and tie these in a piece of muslin.

You do have a piece of muslin hanging around your kitchen for just such an occurrence, right?

Add to the pan. Finely shred the peel without removing any of the white pith and add to the pan with the water. Bring to the boil and simmer gently for about 2 hours or until the peel is very soft and the contents of the pan are well reduced. Remove the muslin bag, squeezing out the juice against the side of the pan.

Add the sugar and treacle and stir to dissolve, then return to the boil and boil until setting point is reached. Add the ginger, if using. Skim off the scum and leave to stand for 4 to 5 minutes for the peel to settle. Pot as usual.

Clearly, the WI expects the cook to be familiar with things like preserving pans and setting points and how to safely and hygienically pot preserves. (Either that or the brownies later on in the chapter are not your granny's brownies, if you know what I mean.) I'll leave you to research that one on your own.

Peaches in Red Wine

This week has made me fall in love with Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! all over again. I could sit down and read it, cover to cover, lapping up the celebrity stories along with the sauces, and, especially, losing myself in Dom DeLuise's family.

It seems all sorts of appropriate, then, to end the week not with one of the complex cakes or fried dessert concoctions (though Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! has 'em, and they're fabulous), but with something a little more simple, a little more focused on the stories.

Peaches in Red Wine

Every kid feels there are certain things their parents do which embarrass them. Especially kids who are trying to be American, not Italian -- like I was when I was growing up. When my father would eat big, ripe peaches with his homemade wine for dessert, it would make me so embarrassed! I thought this was definitely not a class act -- even though I secretly loved the taste too. So you can imagine my surprise when, some years ago at a verrrrry fancy Italian restaurant, they served ... you guessed it! Ripe peaches in red wine for dessert. Writing this book has helped me examine some of my attitudes toward my past. I wish that my father were alive today, because nothing would please me more than to take him to a fancy restaurant for Peaches in Red Wine.

really ripe freestone peaches, sliced
light red wine
candlelight

Put the peaches in wineglasses, pour the wine over them, and let them sit for a while ... just long enough for a father and son to talk awhile and get to know each other better. Try it out on your dad, I'm sure he'll like it.

:sniffle:

Aw!

I'm sure it works with mothers and sons, daughters and mothers, sons and mothers, aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, old neighbor ladies who don't get many visitors... try it out with anyone you need to get to know a little better.

...which makes me think, oh, yes, that this would be perfect summer-picnic-at-an-outdoor-concert sort of take-along dessert, too.

Writing this blog is helping me examine my attitudes about my own past and culture. Maybe I'll get a little less smug about cream of whatever casseroles, and be less hesitant to use a pudding mix in ... something non-pudding. Time will tell.

I miss my dad. I should give him a call.

Rabbit con Polenta

The second of today's two-fer from Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better!: something to go with the polenta:

Rabbit con Polenta

This dish is extremely popular in Venice and Naples, and will be at your home, too!

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 rabbit, cut into pieces
2 stalks celery, sliced
1 carrot, sliced
1 medium onion, cut into small pieces
6-8 mushrooms, sliced
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 sprigs of fresh rosemary or 1/2 teaspoon dried
2 whole cloves
1 cup Chianti or other dry red wine
1 cup chicken broth
pepper
polenta (see Basic Polenta, page 143)

Heat butter and oil in large heavy skillet. Add rabbit, turning frequently, until brown on both sides. Add celery, carrot, onion, mushrooms, garlic, rosemary, cloves, wine, and broth. Season with pepper. COver and simmer over low heat until rabbit is very tender and meat pulls easily from bone, about 1 hour.

Serve on polenta.

Serves 4-6.

Note: Polenta is also very kind to chicken and veal.

Cookbooks today probably wouldn't use the word "kind" in the same sentence as "veal." The times, they are different.

If you can't stand the thought of eating Thumper, you can replace the rabbit with chicken. You'll miss out, though. I'm very fond of rabbit dishes, all the while also being fond of the animals. Comes from my years in 4H, I suppose... We raised rabbits for several years. Long enough, actually, that all the stray rabbits in the neighborhood ended up hopping their ways into our back yard. I'd never thought of stray rabbits before, but they can and do get out of their enclosures by accident, or through neglect, and they have to hippety hop somewhere. We had a passel of 'em, and took in the stray as long as there was room for them. At one point, that even meant boarding up a shower stall that was in the back yard, waiting to be installed. Odd accommodations, but worked in a pinch.

If I were cooking this, I'd want more mushrooms, as 1-2 mushrooms per serving seems awfully stingy to me, and some nice mushrooms, simmered in wine and broth, sound very tasty.

Basic Polenta

Rehearsal ran until 10 last night, so I didn't get a post in; you get two today from Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! to make up for it. Not just two; two that go together!

Basic Polenta

Polenta is very popular in Italy, and leftovers, which have a very firm consistency, can be fried like grits. Very few people know this, but polenta can be used to repair broken stucco and any cracks in your home! The nice part is, when you're hungry, all you've got to do is lick the walls. Seriously, though, the real trick here is to keep stirring it slowly...and keep believing.

6 cups water
2 cups polenta, or coarse-grained cornmeal

Bring water to a boil in a heavy saucepan. Reduce heat so water is just simmering and gradually add the polenta in a steady stream. Stir constantly.

Continue to stir until polenta is thickened. Polenta should come away from the sides of the pan and be able to support a spoon. Pour thickened polenta onto a wooden board and let stand for a few minutes before turning out onto a serving platter.

Polenta can be served in a variety of ways: as a bed for chicken, sausages, or rabbit stew. As a first course, it can be topped with grated cheese. Polenta is delicious served with marinara sauce too... just make indentations and fill the wells with your favorite spaghetti sauce. Have fun serving your polenta by cutting it the "old-fashioned" way: hold a string tautly and slice right through.

Serves 5-6.

Aaaah, Mr. DeLuise. Now is when we remember that you're a schlocky comedian. Note to blog readers: don't use polenta to repair your home. Also, lentil soup is not improved by adding in a piece of ceiling or sky.

It may seem strange that this recipe doesn't include any fat. Where is the butter? Where is the cheese? Regardless, this is a purist approach, and just like cooking up a pot of rice, you should know how to get the starch perfect perfectly plain before you do improvisational riffs on the theme.

Truth be told, I usually buy my polenta pre-cooked, in tubes, and then fry it up in rounds, or smoosh it into a casserole and top off with Tex-Mex ingredients. I don't know that I've ever gone a polenta route with Italian food. I'm willing to give it a try, though -- starch + tomatoes + cheese = perfection, in my book.

Soft squoodgy warm starch sounds very soothing to me.

Mamma's (and Michael's) Meat Sauce

If you see comments on Take One Cookbook... from Kelly Redwine, you should know, you're reading my big sister. As a little sister, I feel it's my duty to both support and horribly tease my big sister whenever possible, and Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! has given me a fabulous chance. So, Kelly, here's your boyfriend's meat sauce recipe.

Mamma's (and Michael's) Meat Sauce

Once when my mother came to visit us, she taught my son Michael (who was nine years old at the time) to make this sauce. Michael (who is seventeen now) has been making it ever since. He takes requests for "Michael's Meat Sauce" without batting an eye.

4 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 carrot, chopped fine
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 28-oz. cans ready-cut, peeled tomatoes
1 6-oz. can tomato paste
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon sugar
1 pound lean ground beef
1 teaspoon thyme
10 fresh mushrooms, diced

In a saucepan, heat oil and lightly brown onion, carrot, and garlic. Stir in tomatoes, tomato paste, pepper, and sugar. Simmer gently for about 30 minutes.

While sauce is simmering, brown ground beef in skillet over medium-high heat, drain off fat. Add meat and thyme to tomato mixture. Cover and simmer 1/2 hour, stirring occasionally. Add mushrooms and cook another 10 minutes.

Great with 1 pound of pasta, cooked al dente.

Serves 4-6.

I know you loooooooove him, Kelly, so here's a photo of your boyfriend. He's so dreamy!

Requisite teasing: over.

This meat sauce sounds like my family's standard spaghetti sauce -- well, if you sidestep around the whole "we used a Schilling seasoning packet" part -- and so sounds cozy as all get-out to me. I also like that it says how much pasta this recipe will sauce adequately. Anyone who gets 6 servings out of a pound of pasta is clearly no friend of mine, however. 4? Sure. 6? NO.

If for any reason you have leftovers, this should keep well.

As you'd expect, there are a lot of sauce recipes in Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! -- it's a predominantly Italian cookbook, after all. If anyone's interested, I'll post Mamma's Sunday Sauce, too... it's what Dom DeLuise grew up eating, and his default sauce.

Hearty Mushroom Barley Soup

Part of the fun of Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! is the unabashed starf***ery; Dom DeLuise seemed to know just about everyone in showbiz, and is as downright chatty about the stars as he is his family in this book.

Julann's Fat-Free, Hearty Mushroom Barley Soup

I was the very first guest on the Merv Griffin television show back in 1961. It was at that time that I met Merv's wife, Julann Griffin. We have been good friends ever since. Julann is a very unique woman. She makes her own soap, she has kept bees, she has even been known to make beer in a bathtub! She was the president of the First Women's Bank of California, she plays a mean game of tennis, and she even invented the game "Jeopardy" that Merv produces for television. Julann is a very funny lady, and I have laughed till I cried with her. I've also just cried. She is a fabulous friend, a great cook, and is very concerned with eating healthfully. I have had some of Julann's wonderful, fat-free, hearty soups, and I know you'll love this one as much as I do. (If you'd like this soup a little less "hearty," add more chicken broth and/or tomato juice to your taste.)

1 1/2 cups barley
3 tomatoes, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
6 cups chicken stock
2 cups tomato juice
4 fresh sweet basil leaves, chopped
1/2 teaspoon oregano
10-15 mushrooms, thinly sliced
pepper to taste
lowfat yogurt

In a soup pot combine barley, tomatoes, carrots, onion, garlic, chicken stock, tomato juice, and herbs. Stir. Bring to a boil. Lower heat, and cover, but not completely -- leave lid slightly askew. Stir occasionally. Let soup simmer 1 hour, then stir in the mushrooms. Add pepper and let simmer 1 more hour. Ladle into hot soup bowls and top each with a spoonful of yogurt.

Serves 8-10.

I cringe to think of adding garlic and onions to a soup without a nice sauté first, but this soup is simmering for a long time, so the sharpness has plenty of a chance to mellow.

And, isn't there just something perfectly autumnal about a thick soup with barley and mushrooms?

DeLuise's gushing description of his friend might make you think she and Merv were still married at press time; they were not, having divorced in 1973. Their son is in entertainment, too -- best credit: Prison Guard, Spaceballs. And, though creating Jeopardy! is pretty cool, how much cooler is it that she also composed the theme song?

This post might be a little scattered; Chefly Husband and I are celebrating our 8th wedding anniversary today, and I'm a bit giddy and unfocused.

Calling All Popeyes: Two Spinach Recipes

A dear reader asked for a spinach recipe from Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! -- I couldn't decide between two such recipes, so will post both.

Mamma's Spinach and Potatoes in Broth

I don't know why it took me a long time to appreciate this terrific dish of my mother's. Spinach never had it so good!

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup chicken broth
1 cup water
4 medium potatoes, peeled, quartered, and parboiled
2 pounds spinach, well washed

Place oil in a large saucepan and gently brown garlic. To the pot add chicken broth, water, and the potatoes. Add spinach. Cover and cook 15 minutes. You'll notice spinach has collaped to almost nothing.

This is a soupy mixture but the garlic, potatoes, and spinach mingle together and you won't want to leave a drop of this behind. Just have plenty of hot Italian bread around so you can get it all.

Serves 4.

This sounds a lot like the caldo I devoured all along the pilgrim trail to Santiago last August. Mmmm, potatoes and greens and broth! Simple, hearty, tasty. I also like that it's 4 potatoes for 4 people; our family's potato soup is measured that way - one potato per person. I'm sure if you wanted to scale up this recipe for more people, it'd be a spud a body.

But, let's say you're not in the mood for a soup, brothy, soppy wonder. (It could happen.) What else can Dom DeLuise's mamma suggest to use up that spinach?

Mamma's Spinach Rolls

When anybody is working with flour and dough, it's always fascinating to children. I remember when I was a little kid, with my nose just above the counter, I used to love to watch my mother lovingly roll out the dough. Then Mamma would let me climb on a chair so I could roll out y own. I remember how proud and excited I was when my spinach roll came out of the oven. I recently taught my seventeen-year-old son, Michael, how to make this, and I guess he wasn't too old to get into this terrific dish because he ate the whole thing for dinner!

Pizza Dough (page 207)
1 pound fresh spinach, washed, drained, and coarsely chopped
1 small onion, chopped
grated cheese
pinch of red pepper
olive oil
1 egg, beaten

Roll out pizza dough into a thin rectangle and place on greased cookie sheet. Spread chopped spinach evenly over dough. Sprinkle with chopped onion, cheese and pepper. Drizzle olive oil over, then gently roll dough jellyroll fashion, making sure the seam is on the bottom. Shape into a crescent.

Using a fork, poke 8-10 holes in the dough so it can "breathe," and brush roll with beaten egg. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes. Slice and serve hot or cold as an appetizer, or with a salad, for a delicious, healthful light meal.

Serves 4-6.

Variation: Substitute 2 cups chopped broccoli and 1 cup of shredded mozzarella for spinach.

...oh, yes. It's not noodles, but... oh, YES. Bread, cheese, spinach? What's not to love?

I never quite got the whole "kids hate spinach" trope. I've loved spinach since I was a baby. I love it fresh. I love it cooked. I love it after it's been frozen. I even love it after it's been canned. Spinach, spinach, spinach! Also, "bacon, bacon, bacon!" Even better, "spinach and bacon, spinach and bacon, spinach and bacon!" In fact, I wouldn't turn up my nose at adding crumbled bacon into this spinach roll (though it de-vegetarianizes the dish).

If anyone needs a pizza dough recipe, I can post the one from Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! -- or you can use frozen (and defrosted) pizza dough from the market. Better than that, though, at just one step down from making your own -- see if the local pizza place will sell you some fresh dough.

Like DeLuise, I have fond memories of dough-making endeavors with my family. My dad would let me help knead bread and pizza dough, by making monster faces and then pounding them away. He'd wash the kitchen floor, and then I'd use the floor as my work surface, covered in flour. Good times.

Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better, by Dom DeLuise; Dom's Mom's Meatballs

I asked Chefly Husband to grab me down a cookbook for this week. It surprises me not at all that he selected
Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! by Dom DeLuise. Published in 1988, it reads like a good Italian granny's recipe box; says Chefly Husband, "we've no Italian blood in our family, and we needed some good Italian." And, boy, did they get it.

Dom's Mom's Meatballs

For as long as I can remember, my mother has never worn makeup. Also, she simply combs her hair straight back in a bun. Can you believe that when I was a child, I thought that bun was filled with meatballs? Good old Mom.

2 pounds ground chuck
1/2 pound ground pork
2 cups Italian-flavored bread crumbs
4 eggs
1 cup milk
1 cup fresh parsley, chopped
1/2 cup grated cheese
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 garlic cloves, chopped very fine
1 onion, minced
1/2 cup pignoli (pine nuts) (optional)

Place all ingredients in a large bowl and mix thoroughly. Let stand 1/2 hour. Shape into medium-size meatballs. Fry gently in olive oil until lightly browned, or place on foil on a cookie sheet and bake for 1/2 hour at 350 degrees. Gently place in your own hot spaghetti sauce and cook on medium-low heat for 1 hour.

P.S. What I like to do is quadruple the recipe (you'll have about 100 meatballs) and then place the meatballs on large Teflon baking pans. After they're baked and cooled, I put twenty at a time in large Ziploc bags and pop them in the freezer. Then they're ready, willing, and able anytime!

Serves 10, 2 meatballs per person.

Nick's family follows Mr. DeLuise's advice and quadruples the recipe. Evidently, they'll load up the Nesco (ah, regionalisms! My family, if doing the exact same thing, would load up the Crock Pot.) with meatballs and sauce, and put out toothpicks -- instant party food!

The pine nuts really add a nice touch, and they're not as hard to find as they used to be. If you're wondering how big the meatballs should be, the recipe has a picture of the author, holding an ice cream scoop to portion out his meat balls. They're not small, folks.

I didn't grow up eating meatballs -- our meat sauces had ground beef crumbled throughout, not distinct chunks of anything -- but the first time Nick made me these meatballs? I became a meatball fan.

This'll be a fun week, folks, with lots of good autumnal eats.

Dishes to Tote; Savory Sausage Rice

I think that nearly everyone who goes to many potluck events succumbs, eventually, to potluck fatigue. You know what I mean -- you have one dish that you go to over and over. You're always the one who brings the Polynesian chicken. Or the green bean casserole. Or the chilled tortellini on skewers to dip in a chilled tomato vodka sauce. (That's my fallback.)

How can you get out of this rut? Adopt someone else's fallback, like this one from the Milwaukee Ward Relief Society Cookbook:

Savory Sausage Rice
Pat Diehnelt

Once our family was on a test group for the Farm Journal magazine. They sent this recipe to be tested. Our family enjoyed it very much. Later they published it in their cookbook under "Dishes to Tote". Usually I take this to pot luck suppers.

2 lb. bulk sausage
1 c. finely chopped green pepper
3/4 c. chopped onion
2 1/2 c. coarsely chopped celery
2 (2 1/8 oz.) pkgs. chicken noodle soup mix
4 1/2 c. boiling water
1 c. uncooked rice
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 c. melted butter or margarine
1 c. blanched almonds (slivered)

Brown suasage in large skillet; pour off excess fat. Add green pepper, onion and 1 c. celery; saute. Start the second paragraph at same time as this.

Combine soup mix and boiling water in large saucepan; stir in rice. Cover and simmer 20 minutes or until tender. Add sausage mix and salt; stir. Pour into greased baking dish, about 9x12 inches. Sprinkle remaining celery over top; drizzle with melted butter. Bake at 375° 20 minutes. Makes 10 servings.

If almonds are used, saute' all celery with green pepper and onion. Mix most of almonds with other ingredients; save a few to sprinkle on top. Omit melted butter.

I try very hard to avoid introducing typographical errors into the recipes here at Take One Cookbook... That being said, I also try to preserve the recipes -- so "suasage" stays, as does the close-quotation-period construction that makes me cringe so.

I'm not sure why they're using chicken noodle soup mix instead of stock (or, being a 1970s/1980s cookbook, bouillon cubes), but I'm willing to give it a go. I'm also not sure why we should omit the tasty melted butter if we're having almonds. Butter is good! Butter is tasty! I'm amused by the 1/2 t. of salt; on the face, that doesn't seem like much for a recipe that feeds 10, but considering there's sausage AND soup mix going on, I'm sure there's ample salt.

Most folks aren't going to have a baking dish that's "about 9x12 inches." I'm betting you have a 9x13 dish handy, though.

Farm Journal Magazine is still going strong; I did a search for "recipe," and think if I go off to recommend the best to you, I'll never come back, I'll just fall in to reading recipes and end up going another few days without a post. (My apologies for missing recently.)

It's time we say goodbye to the ladies of the Milwaukee Ward Relief Society. There's a trove of stuff we didn't touch -- kids sharing their mom's recipes (ha!), pages of substitutes for alcohol in various recipes, soap recipes, kitchen wisdom, leftover hints, and how long everything will keep in the fridge or freezer. The book is more than a little dated, and definitely a product of an LDS committee (see: alcohol substitutes), but a good go-to cookbook, especially for novice cooks who want something that feels homey.

Feeling Older, Part 2: Frozen Peanut Butter Pie

We didn't eat out much when I was growing up, so my early restaurant experiences are seared in my mind as the Special Occasions they really were. At one restaurant, we sat at the counter, and I was allowed to order dessert. I chose something that sounded yummy, and ended up being so rich, so decadent, so completely impossible to finish... and it became my absolute favorite dessert for years and year. Whenever I see it on a menu, I still start to order it, to this day.

The Milwaukee Ward Relief Society Cookbook is, once again, a shrine to the recipes that entranced me as a child.

Frozen Peanut Butter Pie
Connie Poppy

Graham Cracker Crust:
18 graham crackers
3 T. sugar
1/3 c. melted butter or margarine

Mix together. Reserve some for topping. Press evenly on bottom and sides of pie pan. Bake 10 minutes at 350°. Cool.

Filling:

3 oz. cream cheese
1 c. powdered sugar
1/3 c. smooth peanut butter
1/2 c. milk

Mix the above together until smooth and creamy. Fold in 9 oz. of Cool Whip. Fold into pie crust. Sprinkle reserved topping or chopped peanuts on top. Freeze 4 hours or overnight.

Reserved topping? Nice to know we should try that... I'd rather use chopped nuts, or some crumbled graham crackers.

Speaking of, I'd admit to being a margarine person for the better part of the first two decades of my life, but... do me a favor: use butter for your crust. It just tastes better than margarine. It does.

Though I won't rat you out if you use a pre-made crust from the store. Heck, I won't rat you out if you buy a chocolate pre-made crust, or if you line your crust with Oreos before adding your peanut butter mixture. Or chocolate Flicks. Heck, line the tin with them, and then top the pie with them! Have fun with it.

Cut your pie into tiny, very thin slices. This bad boy is RICH.