A wonderful 1940s way with watermelon salad

Watermelon and summer go hand-in-suntanned-hand like winter and hot cocoa, spring and chocolate eggs, and autumn and pumpkin pie. They're a longstanding, hugely beloved favourite pairing the world over and though certain modern cookery writers might have you believe that they invented watermelon salads (Nigella's thoroughly scrumptious watermelon, feta, and black olive salad spring to mind in this regard), such – as we’ll see today – is certainly not the case.

It's a safe bet to say that watermelon is most often eaten in it's natural state, be it room temperate or pleasing chilled, but that doesn't mean it's a stranger to being used in recipes either. From sorbets to margaritas, jams to smoothies, the creative uses for this immensely refreshing fruit are nearly limitless.

I adore watermelon, though it's been tricky (as with most fruits) for me to eat for numerous years now, I still indulge in a small portion periodically during the summer months - how can one not, when a good, sweet, lip-lickingly juicy watermelon tastes better than any candy and is packed with oodles of vitamin C, vitamin A, and lycopene?

Without a doubt, one of my favourite ways to enjoy watermelon is in a salad, be it sweet or savory, the later of which I've been making a pasta salad with involving a honey and blood orange dressing for years now, as well as a mixed greens gem that involves chives and grilled chicken. I'm also a huge fan of the aforementioned pairing of feta, olive and watermelon, and have yet to serve that combination to anyone who didn't instantly go gaga for it.

While recently perusing one of my most beloved vintage ad and recipe websites, Found in Mom's Basement, I came across an intriguing sounding recipe from 1947 for a spice filled dressing to be partnered with melon salad. Interestingly, Wesson oil didn't name this dressing or recipe as a whole, so I've decided to dub it Summery Citrus and Watermelon Salad in a Mustard Paprika Dressing.




{If you don't have one already, why not invest in a melon baller so that you can make picture perfect balls of fruit like those shown in today's charming 1940s watermelon salad recipe? Image source.}


Now, I'm the first to admit that watermelon and mustard are not a pairing I've often craved in the same forkful, but it's sometimes the curious flavour combinations that prove to be the most delicious, so the next time we pick up a watermelon, I think I'll give this forties side dish a spin.

If you're squarely against the idea of the two together - may I first suggest ditching the dry mustard and replacing both it and some of the oil with your favourite (store bought or homemade) honey mustard dressing?

Still not a fan, then scrap it entirely, perhaps subbing in a bit more citrus juice and peel. I love the taste of onions and watermelon together, so I'd also suggest trying some tender green onions, thinly sliced shallots, or red onions here as well. Should you happen to be a fan of radishes, I also find they - to borrow a phrase from my friends in the UK - go down a treat with watermelon.

This salad would be splendid made with honeydew, cantaloupe, or casaba melon (the later of which is usually very melon in flavour, thus making it great for recipes where you don't want the melon taste to dominate the dish). You could also try it with apples, peaches, nectarines, grapes, or even pineapple, just depending on your tastes and what's in season.

Hard as it may be to believe, we're now half way through August and just a little over a month away from the official end of summer, which is all the more reason to skittle down to the nearest grocery store or farmer's market (should you happen to be lucky enough to live somewhere with locally grown melon) and pick yourself up another watermelon or two while they're still at the peak of their season.

Serve it up in a fun salad, skewered on a fruit kebab, chopped up in a salsa, simply as is, or any other way your heart desires. The secret isn't so much in how you serve watermelon during the summer, but rather that you dish it up and savour its succulent flavour point blank - just remember to keep a stack of napkins handy to help wipe up all that fabulous juice when you do! :)

There's something fishy about this 1950s recipe

Hard as it may be to believe, here we sit on the last weekend of July. If you live in the Western Hemisphere, chances are that you're contending with some mighty toasty temps at the moment, proceeding through the sweltering dog days of summer as we presently are, and are not in the mood to read through a hefty tome of a blog post this morning.

As such, I'm certainly not going to toss one your way, fear not. Instead we'll kick off this sparklingly sunny morn with a quick, fun, and - yes, I'll readily admit - quirky mid-century recipe for Tuna Fish Mold (not the most appealing of names, I know, surely Tuna Mousse would have been better!).

Being married to a man who is both a big seafood fan and, fittingly, an avid angler (who I occasionally accompany of fishing excursions, as in this post from last August), fish springs up on the menu at our house fairly often.

While I've never been quite as big of a seafood lover as my darling husband is (growing up, despite our parents doing so, interestingly neither myself nor my two siblings liked seafood; as we matured and hit adulthood though, we each came to like it to varying degrees), there are certain plucked-from-the-sea (or lake) ingredients that I've come to enjoy quite a bit.

Tuna, with it's relatively mild flavour is one of them. My personal feelings about jellied meats and seafood (as discussed in this year's St. Patrick's Day recipe post) haven't altered, but I'd venture to add that an occasional exception can be made, especially when the mercury is boiling and just about any cold dish suddenly holds the appeal of a winning lottery ticket.




{Love the bed of cucumbers, sliced green olive eyes, and cute little green pepper fins on this delightful 1950s tuna fish mousse mold. Image source (click through for a larger version).}


This recipe is nothing short of wholly mid-century in every regard. The ingredient list (gelatin, mayo, cream cheese, celery, ketchup, canned tuna!) almost reads like a who's who of the most commonly used foods from the fifties, and I know it definitely won't be for everyone. However, I know there are plenty of folks out there who do enjoy both seafood and molded dishes (alas! A use for that copper mold we all seem to have gathering dust on a wall or cupboard shelf somewhere), and for whom this recipe holds much appeal.

You could very easily play around with the ingredients here. Canned salmon, crab, shrimp,or turkey (perhaps changing the shape of the mold you opted for, if not using fish) would all work, as would (perhaps most appealing, if you ask me) cubes or flakes of cooked ham. Alternatively a vegetarian/meat-free version could be whipped up by replacing the tuna with one or more vegetables instead. I'm thinking chargrilled red peppers, sweet onions, and black olives, for a Mediterranean inspired take.

If you're still feeling anything but enthusiastic about the idea, skip the dinner route entirely and instead just use your favourite mold to whip up a cute Jell-O dessert to take to a picnic, camp out, summer bbq, or (best of all) beach party, where the fun shape is sure to make it a major summertime hit (especially if you happen to have any anglers, like Tony, at your table!).

Crushing on vintage Raspberry Mint Crush

There are certain tastes that are imbued to specific months, the separation of which would be as wholly unnatural as if the weather one expects that that time of the year was suddenly to be swapped with its polar opposite. Beyond the tiniest shadow of a doubt, when it comes to July, one of these tastes has always been that of slightly tart, gushingly juicy, endlessly delicious raspberries (which just have to be my all-time favourite fruit).

When I was growing up, my paternal grandparents kept rows of raspberries in their wonderful backyard garden, which I often helped them help bring inside by the plastic bowl or bucketful if I was visiting them during berry season (always popping a few just-plucked fruits into my mouth when grandma wasn't looking in the process). Once inside, some would be frozen, others turned into canned delights. Many were eaten as is (often with a little milk and sugar or whipped cream), and many more still found their way into my grandmother's scrumptious desserts, of which a sublime raspberry trifle was, bar none, her pièce de résistance.

Though those hot summer days, drenched in buttercup sunshine, of my youth (complete with berry juice stained fingers) are long behind me now, I still associate July with raspberries on a very deep level and, though they're a bit tricky for me to eat (due to some of my medical issues) these days, I continue to indulge in freshly picked British Columbia raspberries to this day, each and every time the seventh month of the year rolls around.

One of my favourite ways to savour the taste of raspberries is in a tall, cold summery drink, and so today, as the mercury climbs ever nearer to the very sun that's driving it through the roof in the first place, I wanted to share a thirst-quenching vintage recipe for Raspberry Mint Crush with all of you.





{This piece of paper might have seen better days, but the recipe itself has held up splendidly over the years and is just as timeless and wonderful a summer drink as you could ever hope to find. Image source.}



Should raspberries not be your cup of tea (or if they're hard to come by where you live), you can just as easily sub in blackberries, strawberries, currants, blueberries, or huckleberries instead (adjusting the sugar level as needed, depending on what fruit you use). Another (non-berry) summer fruit option that is nothing short of lip-lickingly awesome, is to use fresh peaches as the star of this terrific lemonade (here's a peach lemonade recipe that's very similar to my own).

I know that for me, part of the reason why raspberries are my absolute favourite fruit, even if I can no longer eat them with reckless abandonment, is precisely because of the treasured childhood memories I associate with them.

Beyond gathering berries from my grandparents' garden, I remember doing the same thing in the yards of some of our neighbours after my family moved to Penticton, and recall with the greatest of fondness, the marvelously yummy vats of raspberry (and her specialty, pear and raspberry) jam that my mom would whip up with the supply of fruit our neighbours so kindly lavished on us.

As we propel through the second half of July, I hope that you get the chance to indulge in at least one really great raspberry recipe this month, too. Be it an icy cold drink like this, homemade jam, trifle, or any other one of the truly countless ways raspberries can be put to work in the kitchen.

Happy raspberry eating - and should you be so lucky as to have your own backyard bushes, picking, everyone!

It's so warm, even the vintage fruit salad needs to be frozen!

It's a busy day, it's scorching hot out, and you - and/or your entire household - is suddenly in the mood for dessert tonight, but there's nary a popsicle, cookie crumb, or slice of cake to be had in the whole house, and the last thing you want to do is turn on the oven and risk the kitchen getting so warm the paint starts peeling off the walls (or at least the feeling that it could).

I've been there, believe, me I've been there. Canada certainly deserves its wintery rap, but we're no stranger to mind blowingly hot summertime temperatures either (don't let this year's rain here in B.C. fool you, I've been through my fair share of astronomically hot Canadian summers before), which means that over the years I've come to know just what to do in this kind of situation (especially when the ice cream man is no where in sight).

Frozen desserts and no-bake cheesecakes, my dears. Little, scrumptious summertime dessert godsends, I tell you, which can be jazzed up or striped down to your heart's content, and which spare you from having to even give the stove a passing glance (this point being of prime importance to those, like moi, who are not blessed with central air).

As August is the generally the sort of time when you're in the mood to entertain, serve up sweet treats after midweek meals for the kids, and perhaps bring something delightfully yummy with you to a neighbourhood barbeque, in celebration of the start of the the eight month of the year, today's post features a Frozen Fruit Salad from 1963 fits all of those bills wonderfully.



{Chocked full of fabulous vintage ingredients like maraschino cherries - a personal fave - and pineapple tidbits, this sweet, refreshing vintage Frozen Fruit Salad is as much fun to look at as it is to eat. Image via jackie121467 on Flickr.}


If the idea of adding mayonnaise to something you're likely going to eat for dessert (though, of course, you could always serve this fruit studded dish right alongside your lunch or dinner) doesn't exactly set you salivating, you can always leave it out and just up the whipped cream content by another 1/2 cup or so. Likewise, if this particular pairing of produce isn't your favourite, play around, swapping in or out, whatever you fancy. I could see fresh cherries and ripe summer peaches, partnered with almonds being an especially nice take on frozen fruit salad.

Though this dish is very much akin to ice cream in and of itself, if you wanted to you, you could always serve it with a little dollop of your favourite sorbet, sherbet, ice cream, or vegetarian ice cream (rice, soy, almond, coconut, etc) on top or to the side. Depending on what you add to your frozen salad, a little drizzle of chocolate sauce, caramel, or fruit coulis could be an especially nice touch, too.

August, though sometimes brutally warm, is a gorgeous, dreamy time of the year and one that deserves to be celebrating in ways both big and small, so why not do as I'll be doing this month and whip up a batch or two of delicious frozen fruit salad before autumn returns?

Speak of the 1950s deviled eggs

Last month we delved into potato salad with a delicious, ingredient rich recipe from the 1940s. Today we're going to spend a little while with another summertime party, picnic, and cold cut based supper staple: the deviled egg.

Where exactly deviled eggs got their start is hard to say, as foods that included a notable hit of spice or piquancy have been called "deviled" since at least the 18th century, and stuffed/filled eggs have likely existed for that far back (if not longer), given how popular eggs have been throughout many cultures around the world for centuries.

Known, less commonly as salad eggs, eggs mimosa (no relationship to the drink), and dressed eggs, deviled eggs appear in scads of yesteryear cookbooks, and really began to gain in popularly from the 1930s onwards (with, I'd venture to say, the 1950s being their heyday). I'm sure that this is due in no small part to the fact that refrigerators were becoming more commonplace and thus eggs (especially ones that had been prepared with highly perishable ingredients like mayonnaise) could be safely stored in a chilled environment until they were ready to be served.

Much as with many other summertime finger foods and salads, most people put their own subtle spin on deviled eggs, though at its heart this relatively simple recipe remains fairly similar across the board. Hard boiled eggs are partnered with mayo, Miracle Whip or salad dressing cream, various seasonings, and often mustard. A sprinkling of paprika (or for those who like it extra spicy, chili powder) is commonplace, but not always a given.

In today's 1950s recipe for Deviled Eggs, the ingredient list is kept to a relative minimum, but there's no shortage of taste of crowd pleasing appeal here (especially since this recipes lends itself to being multiplied to your heart's content).





{A smile-inducingly fun illustration accompanies this 1957 recipe for Deviled Eggs, making it one that's worthy of printing out and pasting into your book of favourite recipes. Image via Charm and Poise on Flickr.}




I adore sweet relish, so I'd likely up the content there a little if following this recipe. If I was in the mood to deviate, I might ditch the ketchup and relish, and swap the yellow mustard for honey, Dijon, or grainy, swirling in a small handful of freshly picked chopped chives, parsley, basil, or tarragon. A dash of Worcestershire sauce can also be a wonderful savoury note to include in the filling when making this classic finger food.

If you like your Deviled eggs to be especially "evil" (aka, sizzlingly hot), you can always toss in a splash of tabasco, chili, or sweet chili (awesome with a little lemon grass) sauce, not to mention cayenne pepper, fresh or canned chili peppers, onions, or hot salsa.

If on the other hand, you prefer an stuffed egg that veers closer to being angelic, forgo the fire and stick with creamy, mild ingredients such as sour cream, French dressing, dill, pimentos, poppy seeds, sesame seeds, finely chopped celery, grated carrot, sun dried tomatoes, roasted garlic, or shredded cheese (such as cheddar, Swiss, or Havarti).

There's really no limit to the array of ingredients you can plunk down inside of a hollowed out half a hardboiled egg, and therein lies so much of the fun and appeal of this classic, quick-to-prepare, much beloved appetizer which, perhaps due to its name, is more than a little tempting to both make and consume!

Not your run-of-the-mill 1940s potato salad recipe

Today, the summer solstice and the very longest of the year, has always been one of my absolute favourites. I find there is a powerful energy and sense of excitement that flows through its every moment, and rarely is there a year that I don't stay up until at least midnight so as to experience every last moment of this fantastic day. 

From now until late September, we're under summer's sway again. It's hot, piercingly bright, sometimes languid, sometimes manic days of vibrancy, excitement, vitality, and - quite often - meals that are so simple, perfect, and unfussy as to scarcely warrant a recipe.

Cold cuts, platters of freshly picked and sliced (undesirably delicious) fruit still subtly warm from the tree, generously sized green salads bursting with a rainbow's worth of hues, leftovers of all kinds eaten straight from the fridge, Italian ice, garden gathered produce, and of course all of the sublimely enticing fare that comes part and parcel with barbeques, cookouts, and picnics.

In the case of the later, one of my favourite dishes to make and bring along is potato salad. Aside from my mom's fantastic recipe that I grew up with, I rarely make exactly the same potato salad twice. As with my pasta salads of the season, I like to use whatever is to hand and that I think will marry well together. Sometimes I opt for German style potato salads, others I smoother my spuds in a creamy dressing. At times fresh mint, a few peas, and olive oil are all it takes, or maybe the opposite is true and I pull out all the bells and whistles.

There's really no right or wrong when it comes to potato salad, so long as your 'tatoes are well cooked (but still a bit firm), and you ensure any dish with eggs and/or other highly perishable ingredients is properly refrigerated at all times (other than while eating, of course!). Over the years I've tried everything from an idea I came up with for pizza potato salad (fabulous!) to several vintage recipes culled from the web and my collection of mid-century cookbooks.

Most have been quite nice, though I do sometimes find myself further jazzing up those from the 30s, 40s, and 50s (and/or scaling back the copious amount of mayo in their recipes). Today's recipe from 1945 for Chef's Potato Salad is already guised up quite nicely though - so much so, that some folks may wish to remove various ingredients (forgoing the canned lunch meat will make it vegetarian, for example).

 

{Toss everything but the kitchen sink into this yummy 1940s potato salad recipe, it's a great way to use up leftovers and cut down on the amount of time spent over the kitchen stove. Vintage recipe scan via Eudaemonius on Flickr.}

Whether you try it out as is (I'd use low sodium lunch meat, if possible, as the salt and cheese should already be salty enough) or play around a bit, this is an excellent summertime dish that can just as easily be the star of the show (aka, a meal unto itself) as a highly enjoyable side dish at a party, backyard feast, or picnic.

I'd be tempted to skip the canned meat, increase the cheese a little, trade the celery for sliced gherkins (a perpetual fave of mine), and toss in a small handful of fresh chives or parsley. You could also introduce tomatoes, leftover meats, tuna (or another seafood), nuts (almonds perhaps), or some fresh-off-the-cob corn.

Dishes like wonderful 1940s potato salad are not meant to be overly serious or formal affairs, they're fun, filling, versatile summertime meals that work every bit as well today on the first day of the season as they will right up until autumn starts on September 22nd.

Have a blast this summer, sweet friends, no matter what you cook, where you go, or how you spend your gorgeous sunshine filled months!