I do not, as I believe I may have mentioned hereintofore, write a food blog. But I was feeling nostalgic for my parents’ kitchen (which had, among other glories, cupboards and refrigerators I was not responsible for refilling.) I was thinking back to the Add-Ins: the ingredients added to prepared foods, which came out of a box or can ready to cook but which needed a few touches to make them our own. Sauerkraut, for example, came out of that little green can but had to be warmed first in a saucepan with chopped onion and a few tablespoons of grease poured off the cooking roast. Baked beans came out of a reddish-brown can and were often given a quick lacing of molasses in that same little saucepan. (NO, we did not cook them together. What meal requires both baked beans AND sauerkraut? Every main course had its traditional vegetable sidekick: canned corn was served so often with pork chops that my father dubbed them cornchops. And it was good.)
Now, you understand, this was the Midwest. And nothing in the Midwest has things added to it like Jello. A cousin of mine, brought up in the South, did not understand until she attended her mother’s high school reunion, and found a potluck meal including a dozen different casseroles, an array of dessert bars heavy on sweetened condensed milk, and FORTY-SEVEN different salads consisting of Jell-o and whatever was in the kitchen at the time. She accepted it with a chuckle on learning that these are known in some circles as Congealed Salads, but she never really converted.
Furthermore, she never understood that despite the demands of novelty and variety, there are certain salads congealed into tradition. This applies not just to the main additive, but the Jello itself. Color is very important in Jello presentation, and you don’t want to make a mistake.
Tradition demands that a can of mandarin oranges is added only to ORANGE Jello; people who choose some other Jello are just looking for attention. (And yes, you can also add orange sherbet for that extra layer of foam. My mother thought this was a waste of sherbet, but there were Cub Scout banquets and church suppers where we got our share.) Bananas are for RED Jello (people claim that there are different flavors of Jello that are red, but we knew better. Red was red, it was red-flavored, and that was that.) Red Jello can also be used for fruit cocktail, though SOME iconoclasts will you Orange or Lime for this. Again, just people looking for quick notoriety. Lime Jello CAN be used for chopped-up canned pears, but we liked canned pears on their own, or, as Dad taught us, under a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
My mother was also something of a pioneer in our neigborhood, and most of the world, I find, in liking to pour milk on a bowl of red Jello and stir it around. People look at me in shock when I explain this, but it is one of those rare viands you should not knock until you have tried it. (My mother was also an expert at mooshing ice cream. You can take a scoop of vanilla and stir it in your bowl until it starts to thaw just a little and assumes a sort of soft-serve consistency. This is VERY good, and you must not be discouraged in doing this with vanilla ice cream and Hershey’s syrup results in something the color of packaged slices of bologna. “Don’t look at it, just eat it,” as my mother said so often, generally to no avail.)
Even in the Midwest, however, I get walleyed glances when I speak of one of my father’s favorites, a side dish it has taken me years to make my peace with. I will pass it along so you can try it (unless you are one of that strange tribe which has been making it for years and doesn’t know what the fuss is about. Greetings, neighbor. Do you actually eat it, or just serve it?)
Carrot Jello is simple. Get your vegetable grater and grate three or four good-sized carrots, using the smallest opening in the grater. Prepare your lemon Jello as directed on the package, pour it into that little white bowl which is just the right size, toss all those carrot shreds on top, and allow to chill thoroughly. That’s it.
I didn’t eat any lemon Jello WITHOUT carrots in it until my grownup years, and I was surprised to find it refreshing and pleasant. That’s what I mean when I say I have made my peace with carrot Jello. I like lemon Jello and I like fresh crispy carrots and if someone insists on turning the carrots into a floating nest, have at it. I do not SEE Carrot Jello the way I used to, but if I was served some, I honestly believe I could eat it without scowling (a talent which might have saved me trouble back in the day.)
At any rate, if anyone would like to give me backing for my billion dollar restaurant chain plan, which will duplicate the potluck dinner of yore with all its casseroles, sheets cakes, and amazing cookies, I WILL include Carrot Jello on the buffet. You can always get some to throw at Cousin Thurgood, who mixes his beans and sauerkraut.
Blogsy Babbles 