From The Silent Hostess Treasure Book (1931), Knox Gelatine
I'm interrupting the semi-regularly scheduled Midnight Sausage series to share molded food images and recipes from my personal collection of early-to-mid 20th century cookbooks. There will be aspic. There will be mousse. There will be various gelatins. All will be semi-solid and of debatable degrees of edibility.
Please feel free to shimmy and shake your way to the comments section to share your very own magical, masticable molds of yore.
From Dainty Desserts for Dainty People (1915), Knox Gelatine
I'm interrupting the semi-regularly scheduled Midnight Sausage series to share molded food images and recipes from my personal collection of early-to-mid 20th century cookbooks. There will be aspic. There will be mousse. There will be various gelatins. All will be semi-solid and of debatable degrees of edibility.
Please feel free to shimmy and shake your way to the comments section to share your very own magical, masticable molds of yore.
From 500 Snacks: Bright Ideas for Entertaining (1941), Culinary Arts Institute
I'm interrupting the semi-regularly scheduled Midnight Sausage series to share molded food images and recipes from my personal collection of early-to-mid 20th century cookbooks. There will be aspic. There will be mousse. There will be various gelatins. All will be semi-solid and of debatable degrees of edibility.
Please feel free to shimmy and shake your way to the comments section to share your very own magical, masticable molds of yore.
From Dainty Desserts for Dainty People (1915), Knox Gelatine
I'm interrupting the semi-regularly scheduled Midnight Sausage series to share molded food images and recipes from my personal collection of early-to-mid 20th century cookbooks. There will be aspic. There will be mousse. There will be various gelatins. All will be semi-solid and of debatable degrees of edibility.
Please feel free to shimmy and shake your way to the comments section to share your very own magical, masticable molds of yore.
For those times that you need to feed twenty-five women, here's a recipe you could turn to. The card is faded and stained, and I can imagine some harried woman trying to pull this dish together, while the kitchen wall phone rang and the pasta pot boiled over on the stove, putting the flame out. It looks like a little bit of water from the tuna splashed onto the recipe card. There are a few notes in pencil on the back for substitutions and serving suggestions. It's a time machine, back to another age, when salmon only came out of a can and pimentos seemed exotic.