A quick, delicious recipe for vintage Easter Sunday Pie

As you may have gathered over the years, if you're a long time Chronically Vintage reader, I have such a thing for cute and/or uber festive vintage recipes. This love extends just beyond my menu however, and I absolutely adore celebrating these special occasions in general, too.

I'm not alone here in the slightest and know that the same rings true for many of you as well. As vintage fans, I think we're especially well attuned to the importance of celebrating the positive events in life. We honour and celebrate the past with our wardrobe, decor, vehicle, music, etc choices and we usually take time to appreciate traditions, customs, and other elements that go hand-in-hand with holidays and special occasions.

Easter, falling on Sunday April 5th this year, is certainly one of the highlights of spring and well worth celebrating through and through! If you don't want to or can't celebrate Easter for whatever reason, than simply use this day as the perfect excuse to welcome spring back into your life with the most open of arms!

This day helps us to usher in spring after winter's seemingly endless visit, reminds of the power of rebirth and new life, and is chocked full of countless beautiful - and delicious - things from daffodils to Easter bonnets, chocolate eggs to the all that sublimely lovely fresh produce that is hitting the grocery store and farmer's market's displays again.

Naturally, being a holiday associated with sweetness - which I can't help but think stands as a very apt representation of how very sweet springtime itself is - Easter lends itself particularly well to sugary desserts and today's vintage recipe for Easter Sunday Pie is certainly no exception (plus, you've got to love the bonus Butterscotch Jewel Parfait and Coconut Party Pudding recipes that are included on this charming 1951 recipe ad that originally hailed from pages of Good Housekeeping Magazine).



{Crunchy coconut, lush vanilla pudding, and splendidly sweet candies combine in this quick, fun and very pretty Easter dessert that is sure to have guests asking for seconds and the recipe! Image source.}


This recipe is uber simple and relatively budge-friendly. You can use either a store bought or homemade 9-inch pie crust for the base, whichever you fancy. Alternatively a graham cracker crust would be really nice here and if I went that route, I might make this a frozen pie to help the crust and pudding filling stay put all the better.

For my fellow gluten-free friends, in terms of store bought gluten-free pie crusts, I've had the most luck so far over the years with Glutino's Perfect Pie Crust. There is a bit of prep and chill time involved (so I'd suggest making the crust a day or two in advance of when you plan to assemble the pie), but it creates very, very good pie crust that I've used for everything from pumpkin to strawberry to pudding pieces with zero troubles to date.

As this classic mid-century vintage pie recipe is so straightforward and includes a mere handful of ingredients, I wouldn't be apt to tweak it too much (aside from assuming it was GF, if I was going to have a slice). That said, if coconut is not your cup of tea, I would imagine that sliced toasted almonds would work fabulously here as well (if I went that route, I'd probably use pistachio, white chocolate, or milk chocolate pudding instead). You could also swap out the Easter candies used on top for any that you and/or your guests would like. Festively shaped and coloured gummy candies, jujubes or chocolates would be super lovely atop this fun 1950s dish.

Though Easter may no longer mean rooting around the house for foil covered eggs and checking to see if the Easter bunny nibbled the carrots we left out for him (he always did - thank you for that, mom! :)), it still fills me with excitement and joy and is a special day that I can't wait to celebrate with my wardrobe, home decor, and vintage recipe choices each spring.

Join me, won't you, in whipping up this easy-as-pie (pun intended), wonderfully tasty coconut and pudding dessert for a sweet treat that is sure to bring joy to everyone who gathers 'round your table to honour the gorgeous return of spring and all the grand things that this season brings back in our lives once more.

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!!! :)

How to have fun with fresh cranberry sauce

According to a cute 1947 illustrated recipe ad from Eatmor Cranberries (don’t you just love that name?), the secret to having a blast with this tart, juicy, crimson hued fruit it to whip up their speedy, scrumptious Ten Minute Cranberry Sauce recipe.

I'm not one to argue there, given that a mere three ingredients and just 1/6th of an hour are required to bring flavourful homemade cranberry sauce to the table.

While those of us here in Canada tucked into our roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and mountains of fluffy stuffing last month, the fine folks south of the 49th are gearing up to celebrate Thanksgiving Day tomorrow, which is why this morning seemed like the ideal time to share this festive vintage recipe with you.

If you've already made, bought, or otherwise have plans for Thursday's cranberry sauce, fear not, this ultra simple recipe (which I've made, and can attest is a gem - I added a little mandarin orange zest towards the end of cooking for an extra hit of flavour, which is similar to the suggestion in the recipe itself for the addition of tangerines) is wonderful to have on hand for Christmas, next Thanksgiving, or any time you're in the mood for some homemade cranberry sauce.



{Whether you try one of the spins suggested above or stick with the three ingredient classic, this lovely cranberry sauce recipe is the kind of classic that will always remain a beloved holiday favourite. Image via Charm and Poise on Flickr.}



I think the suggestions provided here on how to further jazz up this sauce are terrific. I’d never thought of putting bananas in cranberry sauce, but now I'm wildly curious to know if this combination works or it it's as eyebrow raising as I suspect. Mint is always lovely with cranberries, especially if you plan on serving this sauce as an accompaniment to lamb.

Almonds are great here, as is the addition of a little almond extract, or if you're not an almond person, then pistachios or even shelled pumpkin seeds for a pleasant hit of crunch. I adore pears and cranberries and think that's my favourite of the add-in ideas they offer.

Celery is a good addition, though if you were heavy handed with it in your stuffing or elsewhere, you may want to forgo using celery in your cranberry sauce. If you're more of an apple person, then you could certainly use those instead of pears, too (I'd go with a somewhat sweet apple, such as Fuji or Red Delicious to help offset the tangy tartness of the berries).

I certainly know how busy the day before Thanksgiving can be, so I'll wrap this fun little 1940s recipe post up here for now, but not before I wish each and every one of you who will be celebrating it tomorrow, a deeply, serenely beautiful Thanksgiving Day tomorrow. Having online friends like you is a blessing I count every time we sit down to Thanksgiving dinner at my house.

Hearty 1940s Sausage Macaroni Casserole recipe

✯ Day 313 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

There's an undeniable chill in the air these days. Perhaps not quite bone-shatteringly cold like the brutal arctic winds that rattle much of Canada throughout the winter, but enough of a bite so that one firmly knows summer and even the milder days of fall are well behind us.

During these mid-Novembers days as the world outside begins to slip from autumn to winter, and the possibility of snow is ever-near, I take a certain distinct joy in once again being able to keep my oven on for hours without it heating up our apartment to the point of it feeling like Death Valley.

There's comfort - timeless as the return of night time frost - to the act of creating hearty, filling, wonderful means on the stovetop and inside the oven once more.

From pots of bubbling soup and stew, to roast root vegetables, whole chickens and fragrant sweet nut and fruit breads turning perfectly golden brown, the return of nippy weather brings with it the desire - and need - to feed your family with the sort of dense, stick-to-your-ribs dishes that are rarely seen during the sizzling months of summer.

Though a handful of eyebrow-raising recipes over the years has given the given the word "casserole" a certain less desire connotation, the fact of the matter is that casseroles are a fantastic, handy, scrumptious one dish way to serve up a filling, nutritious meal (especially if you're heavy-handed with the veggies and lean protein).

I've always enjoyed casseroles a lot, be they rich, elaborate Italian cheese-topped numbers or simpler fare tossed together from store cupboard staples. Today's vintage recipe for Sausage Macaroni Casserole (which first appeared in Woman's Home Companion magazine and comes by way of curly-wurly on Flickr) hails from 1947 and speak of the culinary tastes of the decade, yet is still in keeping with many modern day baked pasta dishes.

 

As with most casseroles, this one has the added benefit of being adapted to high heaven. You could swap the sausage for lean ground beef, chicken, or turkey (or use soy crumbles instead); nix the American cheese and add a smoky gouda, mild havarti, or beautifully aged cheddar. In addition to (or instead of) the green pepper, why not try some broccoli florets, corn kernels, or sundried tomatoes?

On the table in under an hour, this creamy, crowd-pleasing macaroni casserole is precisely the kind of dish one yearns for the moment the mercury starts plunging, and is a great vintage recipe to whip up all through the freezing cold fall and winter night have returned once more.