How It Began

Ages ago, aka, earlier this year, I was in an antique store in Indiana. Most of the shops on this street were quaint houses, converted to shops. This street was probably the main thoroughfare at one time, but now, it's more prone to foot traffic on weekend afternoons. This particular antique shop was going out of business, not only on that day, but within that half-hour I was there. I'd only gone in to pass the time. I didn’t really NEED anything. However, there were deals to be had and maybe I could find my sister a Christmas present. She appreciates the antique aesthetic. I looked at jewelry and artwork and knick-knacks and dishware. Nothing in the main room on floor one sang out to me, for either myself or my sister. Then it was on to the hallway to access the stairs to the upper level. And, lo, there it was, on a side table in the crowded hallway-- a square box of sunshine, its yellow color like a canary flying straight out of the crayon box. This vibrant yellow color was once so popular you’d have thought the 1970’s invented it. With its hinged lid open revealing a series of commercially printed recipe cards, this Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library sang out. It was organized into categories such as Seasonal Favorites, Gifts from the Kitchen, Fondues, Budget Casseroles, and, friends, I kid you not…Men’s Favorites. (No, there was not a Women’s Favorites! It was the first thing I looked for after seeing Men’s Favorites!) I laughed and held gratitude for how things have changed. Out of curiosity, I looked at the price tag. With the discount it would be somewhere between $5-$7. I have a ton of cookbooks, though, and I wouldn’t say I was known to be a cook. (This is a post for another time, as this whole post is already a tangent of epic proportions.) That price was a great deal, but my inner Marie Kondo said to leave it in on the table and go browse upstairs. I was supposed to be looking for a gift for my sister, remember? As I perused the books and dishware and artwork on the upper level, I kept thinking about that yellow box in the hallway. The recipe cards within showed slight wear, so I began imagining the household it came from, the weeknight budget casseroles and the showy Sunday dinners. I started thinking about the photos on the recipe cards, the telltale limited color reproduction giving the images not quite true to life hues. I started thinking about my mother's cookbooks. She had a spiral notebook with handwritten recipes and newspaper clippings. She also had The Joy of Cooking and one by Betty Crocker, hardbound with a red cover. I started thinking about the kitchen of my childhood home, with the wooden bread box next to the yellow stove, the orange and brown floral and swirl lineoleum floor my parents only recently replaced. There was now no doubt of the pull that yellow box had on me. I tried to talk myself out of it one more time, to no avail. It was already mine in spirit, and a few dollars later, it was actually mine to take home.

I organized every single card according to category and number within each category. I tracked how many were missing (only a couple!) and how many of the recipes I might actually attempt. It didn’t matter, though. I purchased this for the novelty of it. I purchased this knowing I would need to get rid of at least two – three cookbooks to make room for it. I purchased this knowing I had no real use for recipes from the 70s with their Hamburger Helper and gender stereotypes.

Fast forward: November rolls along and the pandemic rages on. I’m struggling emotionally. I make myself put on clothes I didn’t sleep in as part of my mental health routine, even though there is no real need to do so, otherwise. I work from home exclusively now. I can no longer responsibly go to stores just to browse and be caught up in a whirlwind of nostalgia. I can't go inside my friends house to drink wine. I can’t watch most movies and tv shows because they all trigger me in some way. Except cooking shows. Cooking shows I can watch. My favorite is the Great British Baking Show. I like the baking, but I also very much enjoy the antics of Noel Fielding and Matt Lucas. Other shows I frequent are Triple G and Triple D (both of which, historically, I didn’t favor, but now can’t get enough of), Iron Chef (any iteration of Iron Chef will do, but bonus if it’s an original Japanese episode), and Beat Bobby Flay. I’ve also stumbled on a newbie (new to me, anyway) Molly Yeh, and she is basically the most delightful person, and I want to be friends with her.

I found some inspiration and motivation in these shows, made a make-shift photo studio in the butler’s pantry, and started taking pictures of the food I was making.
I started with cupcakes from a mix which had been in the pantry for months. I experimented with it by swapping tea for water and butter for oil. It was something I had seen on Pinterest. The commercial icing had a hole in the foil and was thus inedible, so I had to make an icing from scratch. Only, the powdered sugar was rancid making my first batch of scratch icing also inedible. I had to make one which called for granulated sugar and flour. It was not horrible. It was not something I would repeat, but it was not horrible. I piped it on to the cakes with some piping tips and bags I bought years ago and topped them with a cherry. The cuppies looked cute.

I made jazzed up ramen with enoki mushrooms, arugula, and a soft boiled egg.

I made French Onion soup inspired by an episode of Beat Bobby Flay in which the challenger did BEAT BOBBY FLAY.

I made a plate of Snoopy’s Thanksgiving meal.

While photographing these foods in my make-shift studio, there behind me stood the cookbooks. One day, Betty in her yellow box called out. I answered, "Hey there, Betty. What’s going on?" We shared some small talk and remembered that day she came home with me. Then she suggested I should make all the recipes in that yellow box (most of the recipes) reminiscent of Julie and Julia. Suz and Betty. Only I should make them my way, vegetarian. And start a blog about it.

Who am I to argue with the ghost of Betty Crocker who lives in a yellow recipe box in my house?
Not to be neglected, Amy Vanderbilt politely chimed in from her spot on the shelf. Years ago, she, too, came home with me from an antique store. (I like vintage cookbooks; this has been established.) The Amy Vanderbilt cookbook has illustrations by Andrew Warhol !ANDY WARHOL! and now you know why I had to have it. (side note: I did make a soufflé and vichyssoise from that book shortly after purchasing it. Both were good.)

So that’s the beginning of this journey, and, yes, I still need to get my sister a gift for the holidays.

Next up: Winter Salad Variety via Betty Crocker.