For example, the meat and fish chapter begins with a chart detailing the most economic way to buy meat: in bulk. They need to learn something their mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers learned in school: Home Ec.Įach chapter in this spiral-bound cookbook starts with a quick lesson on the overarching home economics theory behind the dishes within.
BETTY CROCKER OLD FASHIONED MACARONI SALAD HOW TO
What modern home cooks need to learn from Betty is not how to make a mean mac 'n cheese (though by all means go for it). Don't even get me started on her "international" forays into curries and something called "Spaghetti Oriental."īut you're not actually here for the recipes. The modern home cook who dives into the 1950 Betty Crocker needs to read with a discerning eye and select recipes accordingly Betty holds up much better on the classics than she does on her more adventurous dishes. (That last one actually sounds like it has potential, but maybe that's just me.) There are recipes for grossly outdated food: more jello salads than anyone could ever need, all manner of ham loaves, a tuna casserole that uses cheese crackers instead of noodles. I'm not going to pretend every recipe in Betty Crocker's Picture Cook Book is a home run, though. Everything I tested in the book ended up like this: meatloaf, roast chicken, glazed squash, banana bread. "It looks like my grandmother's!" declared one of my co-workers. It was achingly perfect in its simplicity. Just elbow macaroni, white sauce, and sharp cheddar. It didn't have anything extra it in, no tricks up its sleeve, no bacon, no Sriracha. The macaroni and cheese was just plain old macaroni and cheese. The food that resulted from these recipes was the most basic, most solidly American food I have eaten in a really long time. "Betty doesn't want you to use stock to moisten this stuffing! Water, use water." "Ketchup-excuse me, catsup-is optional." I repeatedly had to fight the modern-day cook in my head who thought she knew better than Betty. "Betty doesn't put Worcestershire in her meatloaf!" Shaking my head, elbow-high in ground meat. "She wants you to truss the chicken before you bake it," I'd mutter, wrestling with twine and poultry. I found myself talking to Betty while I worked through this cookbook, calling on her like the patron saint of dinner.