Peanut butter soup

1 quart milk
2 tablespoons peanut butter
1 apple, grated
1 lemon, juice only
Cinnamon, nutmeg, or a pinch of ginger

Scald milk and add peanut butter softened with the lemon juice. Let stand in a warm place for fifteen minutes. Add grated apple, beat well, and flavor. Serve piping hot in heated bowl.

Supplies necessary minerals and elements, protein, fat and vitamin content. Serves 4.

From Meatless Meals by Jean Prescott Adams (pseud. Leona A. Malek), a "home economics lecturer, editor and consultant." Published by Laird and Lee, Chicago (1943; orig. 1931). This curious green book—light green, like a snow pea—is illustrated with sometimes terrifying and always bizarre drawings by Eleanore Mineah Hubbard: dancing kitchen implements; a raunchy sandwich scene with two pieces of bread with arms and legs; sulking tomatoes; a rolling pin courting a dainty pie in pretty sandals. All in black and white.

The book was originally published in 1931, but released again, with a different publisher, in the middle of World War II. Obviously it was relevant to the wartime kitchen. The author emphasizes the "benefits of newer information regarding nutrition." Also, vegetables were not rationed and could be grown in one’s own victory garden.

Most lay vegetarian studies, seeking to free vegetarianism of its 1960s color, look further back in time, to the mid-nineteenth century, and usually to Asian religions, without considering vegetarianism’s practical wartime forms.

In 1931, our author writes that

These foods may be called sun quality carriers. They bring to the body various essential vitamins and chemical elements direct from sun and soil. They supply elements that act as protective and corrective agents in the body.

Her tone seems particularly affected, but her prose was not as holistically voodooesque as it reads today. It was based on new science. Novel—and in hindsight incorrect—nutritional theories will be a theme to which I oft return in these posts.

A traditional element of fear also drives the work:

The millions of American home-makers interested in a normal development of their children in the prevention of anemia and tooth decay, in the protection of their children against rickets and abnormalities in bone formation, in the stability of the nerves of the children and the adults of their families, and in the serving of appetizing meals balanced in the smart, modern manner with sufficient fruits and vegetables will welcome this compilation.

I looked forward to cooking this peanut butter soup, because, like most men, Paul loves peanut butter. A personal interest in sweet soups goes back further: my brother Frank and I used to make ice cream soup, letting our ice cream servings melt until they were soft and creamy, never liquid or flat. (Frank and I had also envisioned the wide distribution of a Sprite/Lemonade hybrid we called Squirt.)

Research reveals a widely-held consensus about the early years of peanut butter history. It was first developed by doctors, for poor patients with poor teeth, around the end of the nineteenth century. The process was later mechanized, sparking the interest of Dr. John Harvey Kellogg who used it as a vegetarian source of protein for his patients. The Kellogg brothers patented their process in 1895, explaining that it yielded "a pasty adhesive substance that is for convenience of distinction termed nut butter."

I chose Skippy Super Chunk for my two tablespoons of peanut butter. This was for two reasons. First of all, Skippy was trademarked in 1933, and they produced their first can of chunky peanut butter the same year (citation). It is plausible that it was used at the time of this recipe, though I was not able to identify how Skippy’s 1930s peanut butter differs from today’s. Secondly, I strongly dislike smooth and organic nut butters, and two tablespoons leaves a lot of eating in a jar.

The peanut butter soup was a terrible disaster.

I was careful when scalding the milk (the smallest bubbles, the slightest steam). Then, having softened the peanut butter in the lemon, I added it to the milk and stirred.

Immediately it curdled.

Paul nicely chose to fault the lemon—"too large and too much juice" (a true modern monster at 74c from Stop and Shop). But I believe that I ruined it by stirring too soon (the recipe does not call for beating until after fifteen minutes in its warm place).

Small flecks of curdled, tasteless milk floated in watery, lemony jus. The added nutmeg added nothing. There was no hint of peanut butter. We ate as much of it as we could (very little) and had to throw the rest away. This was a great waste—four cups of milk—of money and resources.

I did not heat the bowls, so we lost some in effect as well.

This disaster reminded me of a story from one of the original Victory Kitchens, in Malta during the Second World War.

The first Victory Kitchen opened in Lija in January 1942. Subscriber numbers peaked during the first week of January 1943, when 175,536 people took their meals at the Kitchens. Through the war, meals cost sixpence a portion.

On 1 September 1942 a meal caused waste on a large scale. A civilian explains that:

The mid-day meals supplied from the Victory Kitchens of Valletta and of several other districts had to be thrown away en masse today. The meal was composed chiefly of liver in a sort of stew. It was hard and had a bitter taste, which made it unpalatable and uneatable. This suggests that the gall had not been removed from the liver either before it was put in cold storage or before it was cooked. To this negligence may be due the fact that valuable food had to be thrown away. A slice of corned beef was passed round hours later.

Suggested pairings with peanut butter soup: corned beef.


References
Popular peanut history
Philip Vella. Malta: Blitzed but not Beaten. Progress Press: 1985.

An excellent cake for the troops

6 oz. margarine.
6 oz. brown sugar, or granulated can be used.
2 oz. chopped peel (optional).
¾ lb. mixed fruit.
¾ lb. flour.
1 ½ teaspoonsful bi-carbonate of soda.
Nearly ½ pint milk.

METHOD: Cream the margarine and sugar. Warm the milk and pour on to the soda. Add the prepared fruit, the milk and the flour. Mix well. Bake in a moderate oven for about 2 hours in a 7-inch cake-tin, or in slabs, for about 1 hour.

From A Kitchen Goes to War: Famous People Contribute 150 Recipes to a Ration-Time Cookery Book (John Miles, Ltd: London, 1940), which has a neat blue and white cover with a steaming tureen a little bit off center. Illustrations by Walter Holz. The book itself is small—almost exactly the size of a second-hand paperback. It smelled like the old Nancy Drew mystery books my aunt used to send; nothing really like the kitchen. Neither was it particularly militaristic. It was mostly strikingly clean, unlike most of the cookbooks in my kitchen. Library books are almost always immaculate, but it was funny that this was a clean cookbook. No sauces dripped upon it; the spine unbroken.

This cookbook is part of Yale’s Beinecke Rare Books and Manuscripts Library, which meant that I had to examine it in a closed reading room—and very seriously—alongside other scholars. This made the book almost dematerialized in my hands. It seemed a very improper thing to do: forcing it to perform as a historical source like any other. Things were better once I started baking and returned it to its original purpose.

The introduction explains that

Cabinet Ministers or their wives, authors, actors, sportsmen, famous chefs and food experts have sent the recipes in the hope that they may help the housewife to plan interesting meals in wartime. Using our food supplies to the best advantage will help us to win the war. We can avoid waste and keep ourselves fit. We need variety and a well-balanced diet. These recipes give you both, suggestions for a number of balanced meals for various seasons being included in the book. Many of the dishes are novel, the majority economical. But because every household feels the need to celebrate now and then, even in wartime, a few party dishes have been included. The fatted calf may be rationed, but other festive foods are not, and some of the recipes show how workaday dishes may be transformed by party trimmings.

A Kitchen Goes to War was published at the very onset of the war, thrown together with patriotic enthusiasm, but too early to truly take rationing into account. Instead, it is clear that lessons from the First World War (the idea that “food will win the war”) guided author Rebecca West as she sampled recipes. Most of the cakes avoid sugar, eggs or butter. Most of the recipes use drippings as their fat. Fish-based recipes are plentiful. Butter and sugar were rationed in early January 1940, but this particular recipe uses relatively vast amount of both.

The book’s propagandistic tone is light and happy. The wartime kitchen is here not a dire place. Jovial headers introduce each recipe and its author. “John Gatrell, like most men, likes scones.” Gertrude Jennings proposes “A really good cake for hungry people.” These famous people are unknown today, making the book’s premise amusing.

This recipe was submitted by Eva Turner. Dame Turner was a famous soprano who lived a very long time (1892-1990). She sang and then taught. Her “excellent cake for the troops” is “a cake that has had adventures.” The book’s author explains that “A slab of this cake was sent to the Front, traveled round France, chasing the owner, missed him and came back. Other things in the parcel were spoilt, but this was good after 10 weeks. It finally went out again and was much appreciated.”

The first thing that is striking about this recipe is that, while in English, it is written in a different language. The translation follows:

12 Tbs margarine.
1 ¼ C packed brown sugar.
2 oz. chopped peel (peel from one large lemon).
¾ lb. mixed fruit (a Trader Joe’s bag of apricots weighs an even 1 lb.; I used ¾ of the bag by eye).
2 ½ C + 2 Tbs flour.
1 ½ tsp baking soda.
Nearly 1 C milk.

The manner of writing the Method (aside from sounding more scientific) leaves much up to the cook. I baked my interpretation in a 325 degree oven, in an 8x8in. brownie pan. I used apricots, an unlikely fruit for the period, and creamed the margarine and sugar with an electric mixer. I baked it for about an hour, which produced a moist, heavy cake that came readily from my greased pan. It had swelled to about twice its size.

It was markedly not the fruitcake from the neighbors that I expected. Nor was it untasty. It would be much more fair to call it a bread (and necessary to note that we slathered it in “Country Crock” and it was quite delicious). The chopped peel was essential, even though the recipe calls it optional; almost all the flavor came from the lemon zest I used.

We kept portions of the cake out for almost a week, loosely covered. It did not harden or dry out.

Paul, who is a biologist and comes from a wise family, suggested that we douse it in booze and serve it flaming, like a Christmas pudding. Of course “every household feels the need to celebrate now and then, even in wartime.” The recipe cheated the rationing system, and I cheated on the recipe a bit, but in the end:

“It needs no eggs and makes a good-sized cake.”

About the illustrations: Advertisements for the Parkinson Crown Gas Cooker. I could not find the their exact date, but they were published as a pamphlet by the Barnet District Gas & Water Company. This places them before nationalization (1949). These images come from the Museum of London and can be found in their original context here.

A case for historical cooking

Why cook the food of the World Wars? Many may still remember the period as a dark time of scarcity—even starvation. A worldwide moment of gastronomic and emotional suffering. But I believe that World War cookery has much to teach, especially in today’s economic and environmental climate. During both World Wars, on all belligerent home fronts, households faced rationing and absences of crucial items. Their innovations and adaptations may help us conceive of new ways to change the way we buy, cook and eat.

The cookbooks themselves are fascinating. In the coming weeks I will be preparing recipes from Better Meals for Less Money (1917), Everyday Foods in Wartime (1918), Foods that Will Win the War and How to Cook Them (1918), Recettes de Cuisine et Conseils Ménagers en Période de Restrictions (1940), A Kitchen Goes to War: A Ration-Time Cookery Book with 150 Recipes (1940), So kochen wir heute (1940), 300 Sugar Saving Recipes (1942), Victory Vitamin Cook Book for Wartime Meals (1943). And many more.

The World War period was a time during which theories about health, nutrition and efficiency were revolutionized. For our own darkened economic moment, wartime cooking encourages us to cook without wasting, and always on a budget.

For the curious epicure, historical cooking is a new frontier. Instead of preparing foreign cuisines whose ingredients may be expensive or hard to find, step back in time and experiment with edible history from fifty and a hundred years ago.

Cooking is always historical. Family recipe books make this clear. But few of us actively associate food and history in the kitchen. The Victory Kitchen is an attempt to make this link conscious, educational, and fun.

About our name. All nations’ wartime propaganda linked household activities—and cooking in particular—to the success of the war effort. Today, victory gardens are back in style (see Michael Pollan’s article “Farmer in Chief” in the 12 October 2008 New York Times Magazine), but the victory kitchen has been forgotten.