The Tale of the Fred Flintstone Foot

Recipe Source: Chicago Time Herald
Year: N/A most likely 1930s
Recipe: Calvin the Cave Cricket Soda Lemonade
Music to cook by: Good Life

Calvin the Cave Cricket likes women!

My house was built in 1918 ………..sans a basement.  At some point, a man known simply as “Digging Bill”  started digging out basements under the houses in my neighborhood (1940s).  The long-time residents say his only tool was a hand shovel and that his sole motivation was to earn enough money to buy alcohol.  My house was the recipient of such a dirt diggin’ alcohol exchange.  You can see the pick marks in the wall.

This past weekend,  I twisted my foot on the last step leading down into my Diggin’ Bill-designed basement and fell. I fell hard.  It was dark. It was cold.  I could here the pinging of cave crickets on the plastic that serves as a make-shift floor.  Though I was in excruciating pain, thoughts of Calvin the Cave Cricket (pictured above) body slamming me and feasting on my meager brains provided the adrenaline necessary for me to get out of cave cricket hell………and get out fast.   As much as I’d like to tell you that I’d stand, fight, and defend the world from womanizing, ginormous cave crickets, I cannot.

Turns out the fall fractured my foot.   The grossly over-sized appendage that is now attached to my leg is fat, swollen, and discolored. It looks like a Fred Flintstone foot.   I have Fred Flintstone-itis………..yabbadabba do………..except my ability to “do” is limited.

Before deciding to send me to a Fred Flintstone Feetologist, my primary care physician wrote me a script for an anti-inflammatory medication that is typically prescribed for rheumatoid arthritis.  When she told me what she was prescribing, I thought to myself, “I bet there is a cure for swollen feet in my Great Grandmother’s collection of recipes and remedies.”  Low and behold, I was correct and it was a recipe I could make standing on one foot.

Soda Lemonade

Bicarbonate of soda (baking soda) is a remedy for a lot of things……………kind of like Vicks® Salve.  My best friend’s mom prescribed Vicks® Salve  for EVERYTHING (now known as Vicks® VapoRub®, but it’ll always be salve to me).  Projectile vomiting?  Dab a little Vicks® Salve on your tummy!   Pink eye?  Swab some menthol on that eye lid.  I bet  Vicks® Salve is an aphrodisiac for cave crickets.  We should ask Calvin.   I imagine if I put Vicks® Salve on the Flinstone foot,  the smell would be enough to distract my thoughts of any pain.  The Fred Flintstone Feetologist would probably frown at my Vicks® Salve remedy.

There are some people that claim baking soda can cure cancer (research at your own risk).   More commonly, it is used as an antacid, toothpaste, and skin softener/exfoliant. Since I was a wuss and not willing to try this concoction on its own for  ”gouty rheumatic tendencies,” I have no idea if it cures Fred Flintstone foot or not.  I can tell you that it tasted quite nice.

If you are on my schedule to get your butt kicked, let me know so that we can reschedule.

 

 

Q&A With J. Cleaver: Will Cooking with Lard Catch a Ward

Recipe Source: St. Louis Globe-Democrat
Year: Not Sure – Possible 1930s
Recipe: Big Lard MolAsses Cookies
Music to cook by:  Faithfully (a Perry I actually like)

Q & A with June Cleaver

“Cook with lard,” Kevinfucias the Mechanic exclaimed.  “It will make you a fisher of men!”  OK, so that’s not exactly what he said.  His comment was more along the lines of, “if you’d start cooking with lard, you’d be married within months.”  I think it’s more like if I start cooking with lard I’ll wake up with a third butt cheek (aka lard ass).  Sorry, there will be no pictures of a third butt cheek, but if I get married…………..WATCH OUT!!!

I have never in my life cooked with lard.  Though I’ve eaten it,  I wasn’t even sure what lard was. I know a couple of lard asses, but that’s different.  Note:  I’m pretty sure the term “lard ass” was the precursor for the term “junk in the trunk.”  Turns out, lard is your basic pig fat-ola.  Oh………and…… hey, guess what?  There is a lardbutt.com where you can get your own lard butt t-shirt.  Sorry,  I’m not sanitizing my lard ass comments.  Is saying “butt” really better?

Lard baby, Lard

So, as you can see, I made spice cookies…………with lard.  I’ve flavored the recipe title a bit.  From hence forward the recipe shall be known as the Big Lard MolAsses Cookies.

Since I’m such a bad cook, I created a “plan b” to put into effect if the cookies were inedible; thus, the Big Lard MolAsses Cookie Frisbee® was born.  I figured if the cookies bombed, The Mechanics and I could play Frisbee®  (I am expecting a phone call from Wham-O® any minute now).   The advertisements for the Big Lard MolAsses Cookie Frisbee®  would be fun eh?  A crackless MolAsses Frisbee®!

Making the cookies was easy except for the fact it took two years for me to pour one cup of molasses.

Brer Rabbit Molasses.........tick tock tick tock tick tock

While we’re waiting on it to pour, let me share a story with you. A few years ago I had to have a mole removed off of my butt (shhh…don’t tell anyone).  I had to leave work early for the procedure. Somehow, word got out among my coworkers what I was having done.  When I returned to work the next day, there was a bottle of molasses (get it? mole asses) sitting  in front of  the door to my office, Cubicle Caverns.  I work with some demented, but funny, people.  THE MOLASSES IS POURED!  BACK TO THE COOKIES!  The dough ended up resembling poop. With no scent of chocolate wafting through the air, I was hesitant to taste it.  In the spirit of my experimentation, however, I knew I had to be adventuresome and try it.  It was pretty decent!  I would rank it a 7 on the batter lick-ability scale.

With the batter licked and approved, I made the cookies.  Thankfully, they came out of the oven with great promise.  After eating one, then two, then three………..I knew they were presentable, so off to work we went.

The Mechanics approved of the cookies………..not an exuberant approval, but approval nevertheless.   While noshing on Big Lard MolAsses Cookies in Cubicle Caverns, the topic of lard prompted Kevin the Mechanic to launch into a diatribe about his time spent working at a meat-packing factory.  He went into gruesome detail about leading pigs to slaughter and drinking veal blood.  I’m now ready to be a vegetarian AND the president of Ladies Against Lard (LAL). Seriously.  My escape out of the pig-a-lating horror-story telling was to demand we go try out the aerodynamics of the Big Lard MolAsses Cookie Frisbee®.

The Lard-O Frisbee

The Mechanics test out the Big Lard MolAsses Cookie Frisbee®.

Look at that baby fly!!!!  A toy you can fling and then eat…………..yeah, I’m fixin’ to make the millions……………..AND CATCH A BIG LARD ASS HUSBAND!!! Woot.

Eisenhower Strawberry Pie: A Cure for the GOP?

Recipe Source: Shelbyville Times Gazette (reprint of recipe from unknown newspaper in Maryland)
Year: 1950s
Recipe: Strawberry Pie for a President
Music to cook by:  Let it Be

I have had no victories in the theater of war that is my kitchen since I started this project.  With my morale sunk deep in the mire of a soggy flour and butter coated battlefield, I needed help.  I needed a 5-star General to lead me into my next battle, my own personal D-Day.  I needed Ike, Dwight Eisenhower (one of my favorite presidents).

Pie for a President

 

Pessimism never won any battle! Preach it Ike.

I armed myself with the best strawberry artillery I could find and set out to face my own internal Normandy Beach.  Though this recipe didn’t come with pie crust instructions, I filled myself with a 1 1/4 cups of Eisenhower courage, or cheap Merlot as we call it in my house, and decided to attempt a pie crust.  It was a disaster of crust nuclear proportions.

Being a prepared soldier, however, I had stashed a store-bought crust among my battery of baking goods.  I brushed off my worries, signed a store-bought pie crust peace treaty, and tossed that bad boy into the oven.   Pessimism would not claim me as its victim.

With the pie crust defeat averted, it was time to mix up the pie filling.  The preparation went smoothly and my goal looked to be within target.  As I unloaded the strawberry mush into the crust, however, fear gripped me.  It was a fear I couldn’t shake and ended up taking to bed with me.  I had nightmares…………strawberry-zombie pie kind of nightmares. I awoke tired and filled with dread.  I had to face my Great Grandmother Experiment recipe judges, The Mechanics.

STRAWBERRY ZOMBIE PIE!!!!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEK.

Turns out my worries were unwarranted.

The official presidential pie presentation.

The pie was very good. Steve the Mechanic accused me of trying to pass off a Shoney’s pie as my own.  Ike’s pie was better than Shoney’s.    Though the pie was a big hit, the topic of conversation was focused more on the weaponry I had brought to cut the pie.

Cliff the Mechanic gasped when I pulled out my chosen knife to cut the inaugural piece.  He said,  “Jim Bowie ain’t got nothing on you.  You need to take that thing with you on your next date!  If things start going bad, you can say, ‘excuse me while I whip this out.’”  The conversation quickly disintegrated into a Lorena Bobbett joke exchange.  Mechanics.  Gotta love ‘em.

In the end, I think The Mechanics were relieved that  I had cooked something edible.  Like dedicated cheerleaders, they were still complimenting me the next day.

In preparation for this blog I spent time refreshing my knowledge of our 34th president.   A lot of his ideals, beliefs and policies are what I look for in presidential candidates.   The 2012 class of Republican candidates is sorely, and I mean SORELY, missing some crucial Eisenhoweristic characteristics. They just don’t make Republicans the way they use to.    Maybe I should offer the GOP some strawberry pie.

Thanks Ike for the lesson you have left us!  I would be mad crushing on you if I was a constituent in your day! :-)

“Peace, like all virtues, begins at home.” ~Eisenhower in Radio and Television Address, September 19, 1956

 

When Life Serves You Bran Bread For Invalids, Make Tiger Woods’s Balls…………golf balls that is

Recipe Source: Unknown Newspaper
Year:  early 1900s
Recipe: Bran Bread for Invalids
Music to cook by:  Chain of Fools

Bran Bread for Invalids (a doctor's prescription).......ummm.....yeah.

When I first saw this recipe, I knew I had to make it regardless of the ingredients gag factor (gag factor equal 10+).  I don’t think Martha, Rachel, OR Paula could make this recipe appealing as it was written.

Knowing that this recipe would, indeed, be a disaster I knew I had to be creative.  Thus, the bran bread for invalids golf ball was born.

When life serves you up bran bread for invalids, MAKE GOLF BALLS.

When life serves you bran bread for invalids, MAKE GOLF BALLS!

First off.  What exactly is an invalid?  When The Mechanics asked me what my next project was going to be,  I told them “bran bread for invalids.”  Cliff the Mechanic said, “Will I be able to walk again?”  My response was, “Judging by the recipe ingredients, I think you’ll just be able to poop again.”  He thought for a minute and said, “Well, I don’t have a problem with that.”  Cliff the Mechanic is obviously not an invalid.

When I first searched for a definition of “invalid,” I kept getting the “invalid” that rhymes with corn salad and no the “invalid” that rhymes with “fried squid.”  Apparently,  it is no longer politically correct to use  ”invalid” that rhymes with “fried squid” to describe a person with physical disabilities, old age, or constipation.

The recipe was easy enough minus the fact that I had no clue what oven temp to use and/or how long to bake it.  GOD WHY AM I DOING THIS????

Bran Bread for Invalids and Bran Bread Golf Balls (or Tiger woods balls..........shhhhhh did I say that?)

When I pulled the bran bread for invalids and brand bread for invalids golf balls out of the oven, everything looked good.  The devil in me said, “Hey!  Tiger Woods’s balls!”  shhhh.   Then I reminded myself, it’s not how they look…………it’s how they hit off of the TEEEEEE.    So, after a bit of cooling, off we went.

Golf Ball

Tiger Woods's ball on a tee! Look, there's a fly on it!

*

golf swang

FoRRReee!

The bran bread for invalids golf ball flew like a regular golf ball!!!!!!!  The only exception?  It left a really, really, really BIG divot in my lawn.  Somehow, I don’t think we’ll be seeing these in regulation play any time soon.   I know my neighbors think I’ve lost it.  They’re probably right.

After tucking my clubs away, I took the bran bread for invalids to work for the The Mechanics to taste.  It didn’t go well.  I think I hurt Kevin the Mechanic. He looked like a disgruntled crew member after one bite.  I may have made him an invalid instead of curing any invalidiosity hiding inside him.    I hope he doesn’t resign!

Chris the Mechanic looked at me suspiciously after taking the first bite and said, “I’m regular!  I go every morning at 5:03.”  I said, “GOOD! Let me know if you go at 4:03 tomorrow morning.  If you do, we’ll know that these babies are REALLY a cure for invalidity.”

Cliff the Mechanic was absent from work today.  I may have an update tomorrow. The Mechanics said they were going to tell Cliff how wonderful the bread was and lure him into eating this sawdust mouth trap.  I may intervene and insist that we need to do a putting test instead.  Cliff the Mechanic is the only mechanic I know that will lower himself to such an experiment (none of the other mechanics would bran bread for invalids golf with me….sigh).  That’s why I adore him and why he is a member of my crew!

I really miss my Grandmother and Great Grandmother.  I wish they were here to guide me!  I don’t think they’d approve of Tiger’s balls, however.

 

Shhhweaty Feet, the Gatorade Godfather & Smurf Poop

Gatorade brewing is a very serious business for the McGavock High School Marching Band (130+ students).  Brewing this electrolyte elixir for every marching band rehearsal is a tradition that goes back 25 years. Flavor is important, but presentation and naming each brew is critical too. The students are Gatorade connoisseurs. They know good Gatorade.  Recipe names range from the favorite, Sewer Water (a mixture of Lemon Lime,Orange, and Fruit Punch powder) to Ocean Water (Glacier Freeze with a touch of Lemon Lime powder). If we change the recipes, or fail to make it right we hear about it.

My friend Nick  is a  certified Gatorade Godfather. He has been making Gatorade for the band for 22 years. Me?  I’ve been making Gatorade for the band for six years.  What do you call a peon to a Godfather?  Feeling a bit cocky, I challenged him to a Gatorade dual last year.  I don’t know what I was thinking. You don’t challenge the Godfather. Lucky for me, instead of pulling a Corleone and having me taken out and dumped in a river weighted down by full Gatorade containers, he accepted my challenge.  The First Annual Gatorade-Off was born. We scheduled the smack down for August 2, 2011.

Going into the competition, I knew I needed a secret weapon. Nick knew I needed a secret weapon too.  He’s THAT good.  When I showed up for the competition, Nick sardonically said to me, “did you bring little umbrellas and shaved ice.”  I said, “Nope, I brought Smurf poop.” He laughed like a Godfather would laugh. Basically, I spent two days making a Smurf butt-load of blue Polar Ice Hawaiian Punch ice cubes to add to my planned blue brew.  My freezer resembled a Smurf poop cryogenics lab for a day.

SMURF POOP! Be careful or I will ICE you.

Since this blog is about my Great-Grandmother’s journal, I had to fit her in here somewhere.  Prior to the competition, Nick and I were chilling in a break room.  He took his shoes off and quickly apologized for the smell of his feet.  I said, “Godfather Nick, I have a cure!  If we can find a tree ‘round here with some white bark all we have to do is make a bark-tea brew and rub your feet with it to improve the situation.”  He looked at me like I had a third eye.  I then confessed that I was spouting off home remedies from the early 1900s.  After I theoretically cured his shhhweaty, stinky Godfatheresque feet and he put his shoes back on we moved to the Gatorade preparation area.

The cure for Godfather shhhweaty feet.

When I proudly showed the Godfather my cooler full of Smurf poop, he looked concerned.  I felt concerned.  My Smurf poop was either going to be a huge hit or huge failure.  I had no way of knowing how it would affect the flavoring of my Gatorade brew if it melted.   I decided if I was going to sabotage myself, I might as well sabotage him too (I’m evil like that).  I offered to share the Smurf poop.  He looked pleased and greedily accepted.

Nick and I begin preparations. Yes, we use a boat paddle to stir the Gatorade. I was trying to look mean.

Mixing our individual recipes was fun.  We tasted each other’s mixtures and exchanged advice.  I ended up with a mixture of all Glacier Gatorade powder with a touch of Fruit Punch Gatorade powder. It was royal blue in color which is one of the school’s colors.  Nick’s brew consisted of a little bit of every Gatorade flavored powder and was dark green in color.   Both were strong enough to put hair on your chest.  We both were aggressive.  Mine was so strong that an hour later my mouth tasted like little Gatorade men were camping out on my tongue playing croquet.

The Godfather brews Caribbean Dew.

I sampled my brew which was called McGavock Blue.

The final mixtures.

With the brews mixed, we headed to the competition venue where students would pick the winner.   Because I’m prettier than the Godfather, he insisted the judging be a blind taste test. The students had no clue who made which brew.

...........and the judging begins.

In the end, when the vote was taken, my voters were more vocal, but by the raise of hands…………………………….it was a tie.  There’s always next year!

Do either of us look happy? Next year the Godfather is going DOWN!

 

The BLING!

Nick allowed me to keep the trophy.  I took it to work to sit on my desk.  I showed it to The Mechanics today.  They were jealous.  I could tell.

Cubicle Caverns Bling

The trophy will live in Cubicle Caverns (my office) for the next year!  It looks FINE sitting next to my “Grow a Boyfriend,” Mr. Wonderful, William Shatner bobble head, and 1940s Old Hickory Fire Department photo.

The Godfather and I would like to issue a challenge to any other school or group to a Gatorade-off!  Don’t be skeeered!  :-)

The Second Annual Gatorade-Off will be the first week of August 2012.   BE THERE!!!