Counteract winter's dreariness with this fabulous 1950s Rainbow Cake recipe

Before we delve into the heart of today's post, I want to thank you all for your terrific recent blog comments so far this year. Things haven't been the easiest for me on the health front lately and I've not been able to stay on top of all the comments I've received here, nor my blog feeds, as a result. I'm feeling a whisper better now though and hope to get back to my usual levels of activities on those lovely fronts from this new week onward. 


Yesterday marked the halfway point until my next birthday. That means there’s six long months still to go until the brilliant warmth and sparkling sunlight of mid-July fill our days again. You might as well tell me that it's a century away, for it feels as though such is the case, while we're stuck here in the midst of a bitingly cold January. However, as I've said before, and I'll say again here right now, chilly and dark though it may be, I don't hate winter at all.

There are perks and charms - the serenity of fresh fallen snow, say, or the fact that one actually wants the oven to be on for hours so as to help warm the house further - to this first season of the year, but acknowledging, embracing and even celebrating those good points doesn't mean that we can't yearn for summer (or to take a trip south of the equator and enjoy the hottest months of the year right now with our friends on the other side of the world).

Longing, like worrying, may pass the time, but it doesn't actually achieve anything. Luckily though, we can perk up our wardrobes and menus with lively colours and dishes that celebrate the spirit of spring and summer now, if so desired.

Undoubtedly one of the most iconic signs of spring's return (which won't be for at least one to three or even four months still, depending on whereabouts on the planet you live) is a gloriously lovely rainbow. Nature's reward for surviving a downpour or full on storm and a symbol as old as time itself of hope, renewal and (quite literally) brighter tomorrows.

On a rather snowy, dreary day recently I came across the following seriously delightful vintage recipe recently on one of my favourite Flickr streams for vintage images, File Photo, and knew that there was no way I could hold off until spring or summer to share it. The punchy, sweet, beautiful pastels at work in it perked my spirits up quicker than downing ten shots of espresso, while also brimming with mid-century vintage charm that was just too good not to post on the double!





{Crisco's Rainbow Cake recipe hails 1950 and combines layers or white, yellow and spice cake all topped with pretty buttercup yellow hued frosting and, optionally, pastel hued mint wafers. If you can't track any down, why not sure pastel marshmallows, melting chocolate pieces, or jordan almonds/mlabas/confetti instead? Vintage recipe image source.}


As I almost alway say when a recipe calls for shortening, an ingredient which doesn't see a great day of play in most people's kitchens these twenty-first century days, if you're not a fan, by all means swap in butter, margarine, or your favourite vegan margarine style product instead in cake and/or frosting alike. Likewise, if you're not comfortable using raw egg yolks in the frosting, ditch them and simply use your favourite egg-free or seven-minute frosting here instead (I can’t help but think that a sweetened cream cheese frosting would be scrumptious, especially with the spice layer at the bottom).

The flavour combination at work in the three layers here is nice, and in a way it suits fall and winter well, but I'd be tempted to swap in chocolate cake for the spice layer on the bottom, or to replace the lemon extract with orange or almond, if I was going to leave the spice tier in place.

Of course, you can easily make this lovely 1950s cake with just one or two layers, if so desired, and I can't help but think how marvelous it would be as a cherry chip or strawberry cake, too. In which case I'd like tint the frosting pink, not yellow, and perhaps adorn it with chocolate buttons or walnut halves (and presto, just like that, you've got a great Valentine's Day dessert on your hands!).

Deep into the very heart of winter though we may be, unable to sway Mother Nature into giving us weather warm enough to tan in just yet, we can inject a similar sense of upbeat warmth and happiness through fun, kitschy pastel desserts like this. They serve as important reminders that spring will eventually show up again, rain puddles in tow, and with it a whole season that looks a rather good deal like this fabulous 1950s Rainbow Cake itself.

Thank goodness for that!!! :)

Now that's the kind of Spam I can get behind!

✯ Day 260 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

My husband had the immensely good fortune of growing up in a country that boasts one of the most beloved, diverse and delicious cuisines in the world: Italy. As such his childhood was peppered daily with the kind of meals and foods that most of us go weak in the knees for, from rich pasta dishes to creamy risottos, gallons of Nutella to mountains worth of outstandingly wonderful gelato.

While certain North American foods made their way to his family's table over the years, it's always fascinating for me to find out which commonplace foods from this side of the Atlantic he has yet to try. One such, entirely vintage approved, food that he hadn't stuck is fork into before a few days ago was Spam.

Yes, Spam. That most joked about of canned luncheon meats, which to most now seems like a throwback to a very different time and place in history, was something Tony had never sampled before.

I can't say as though I've consumed copious amounts of Spam in my life, but I have certainly eaten in several times before and knew that, if only once, Tony needed to give this blast from the culinary past a sampling.

But what exactly is Spam? Long before the word "spam" referred to the zillions of junk emails we all receive every day, Spam (or SPAM®, as you prefer) was the name of a canned, precooked meat produced by the US brand Hormel.

Despite the running jokes about Spam being some kind of indistinguishable mystery meat, the ingredients in the classic recipe are anything but out of the ordinary or hard to place, and include chopped pork shoulder meat, ham meat, salt, water, potato starch, and sodium nitrate.

Spam has been on the shelves - and feeding military troops - for decades now, though it's zenith really came during the 1940s and 50s, when everything from radio ads to countless recipes in magazines and cookbooks used Spam like it was going out of fashion (which, incidentally, it kind of did in the ensuing decades, though many diehard Spam fans remain to this day, especially in Hawaii, where it's one of the most popular canned foods in the state).

{Charming vintage Spam ad showing how easily one can use this canned meat for breakfast, lunch or dinner, by way of Wandering Magpie on Flickr.}

The very first can of spam rolled off the production line in Austin, Minnesota in the late 1930s, and proved to be an overnight hit thanks to its low price point (especially important for those who were still reeling from the Great Depression), convenience, ease of use, and pleasant, versatile taste. By a mere four years later, in 1941, over 40 million pounds of Spam had already been sold!

Throughout WW2 Spam was used heavily by US troops stationed overseas, with more than 15 million cans of this dependable lunch meat being sent abroad every week during the war years. Following WW2 world leaders from Margaret Thatcher to Dwight Eisenhower all credited Spam for helping to play an import role in the Allied victory (proof-positive that "spam" really hasn't always been a negative word!).

Throughout the next two decades Spam found its way onto family tables across North American and beyond. Sometimes it was whipped up into rather eyebrow-raising dishes, but often it was also enjoyed quite plainly, cooked and served much like ham steaks or any other soft luncheon meat. As the vintage Spam ad above shows, you could easily find a place on your table for Spam at any meal of the day.

For Tony's first taste of this canned food classic, we agreed that it was best he try it in it's natural form, so I pan-fried several slices for him in a little unsalted butter, creating a thin, crispy golden brown crust, with a soft, meaty interior. Served with some shoestring French fries and ketchup, Tony dug right in and enjoyed his meal very much (though he did note, and I wholeheartedly agree, that Spam is quite salty).

Though neither of us eat very many processed foods or too much red meat, Tony said he’d certainly be game for trying Spam again sometime, perhaps baked or broiled (try as I may though, I know I won't be able to convince my Italian gourmand to eat his Spam with pineapple, which is how I really prefer it).

It's delightful to have been the first person to serve Tony Spam, and to bring this classic North American taste to my sweet Italian hubby's plate. It’s safe to say, this vintage luncheon meat is definitely the only kind of Spam we like around our house!

1950s Peach Blossom Salad is just the ticket for warm weather meals

✯ Day 138 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

Perhaps no other category of vintage food is more mocked, scrutinized and talked about than salads. From gelatinous concoctions filled with everything from shrimp to horseradish, bananas to peanuts, to ingredient combinations that would likely make today's most daring foodie quickly dart an eyebrow upwards, it's fair to say that while the rap vintage salads has gotten isn't entirely warranted, it does make a fair bit of sense.

However, just because a dish veers from our current nom, doesn't mean it doesn't have the potential to be delicious. While there are certain vintage salad recipes I've stayed away from like the plague (sorry, but anything involving jellied meat or seafood is just does not float my culinary boat!), I've very much enjoyed experimenting with salad recipes culled from cookbooks of the 30s, 40s and 50s over the last several years.

Some have been hair-raising experiences, others became instant favourites, and a good many simply got folded into my mealtime reportraire , to be brought out particularly when the weather starts to heat up and a stuffy, air conditioning (stove vent-less) kitchen suddenly becomes akin a Amazon rain forest.

Recently while bopping about Flickr, I spied a vintage salad recipe that practically screams "1950s" (and indeed, that's the fabulous decade it hails from). Comprised of considerably fewer ingredients than many old school salads, this fruit-featuring dish, with its ginger infused dressing, sounds rather lovely.

{Cheerfully hued 1950s Del Monte ad with Peach Blossom Salad recipe via vintage.kitten on Flickr. Click here for a larger version of this neat vintage recipe.}

Calling for several commonplace foods that many of us have on hand most of the time (canned peaches, marshmallows, celery, walnuts, etc), this sugar salad looks like a snap to toss together, while having the added pleasure of being one of those dishes that doesn't stand to break the bank.

I might swap the heavy cream in the dressing for light or even buttermilk (to shave off a few calories and grams of fat), but other than that, I think this recipe for Peach Blossom salad (how cute is that name?!) sounds rather tasty, filling and fun precisely as it is.

While marshmallows, maraschino cherries and canned peaches might not appear in the same dish on many menus today, I think that a homey, inviting salad like this deserves to resurrected and enjoyed again come those mind-bendingly warm days of summer, when one really doesn't want to do anything more labour intensive in the kitchen than turn the handle on a can opener and quickly whip up a pleasing meal for the whole family.