Two views on the food we ate—and what I ate tonight

 

Today I happened across a reference to Adelle Davis, the most famous American nutritionist in the twentieth century, and it brought back a flood of memories. My mom was a follower of Davis, and as a result I remember wheat germ in cereals, honey instead of sugar in cornbread, and maybe a bit of Brewer’s yeast in who knows what.

Probably the Davis book that most influenced Mom was Let’s Cook It Right (1947) which was, some sources claim, an attempt to update the popular Joy of Cooking. Davis’s goal was to teach people to eat properly for nutrition, and to that end she advocated nutritional supplements such as wheat germ and powdered milk, the avoidance of prepared food, sugar, and preservatives, and an emphasis on fresh fruits, vegetables, and whole grain breads. Davis believed that outcomes in life depended on nutrition, and women who did not well properly during pregnancy would have unhealthy babies who would not do well later in life. Almost no one in America ate a healthy diet, according to Davis.

She criticized both food producers and the medical community for their lack of knowledge about nutrition. Food purveyors, she claimed, misled us about harmful ingredients in their products, and physicians, ignorant of the truth, prescribed unhealthy diets for their patients. Needless to say, she had many critics.

I can remember once as an older teen I had some sort of severe infection, and the doctor assigned to care for me was gentle in his approach—he was after all, an old family friend, as were almost all the doctors on the staff of the hospital where Dad was administrator. This particular one—his name was Ward—said, “I know your mother has some unusual diet ideas.” I have always remembered that moment, though I don’t remember what came afterward.

Running into Adelle today was almost like running into a long-lost friend, but what struck me most was similarities and yet contrast to Helen Corbitt (if you read my blog and don’t know by now who Corbitt was, I give up!). Davis was born in 1904 and died in 1974; Corbitt was born in 1906 and died in 1978. They were contemporaries, both nutritionists, both dedicated to changing American eating habits. Both focused on fresh food and vegetables and proper cooking methods. Books by both women continue to sell well, all these yeas later.

But Davis took the academic route--one book had over 2,000 footnoted references to medical journals and studies. Her tone was peachy, almost scolding for bad habits, verging on the shrill.

Corbitt on the other hand found joy in food, delight in the flavors she combined, the dishes she created. She once claimed God had put he on earth to teach southerners not to overcook green beans. When Stanley Marcus wanted her to share her cream of tomato soup recipe with a visiting dignitary, she demurred and later explained they wouldn’t want him to know it began with a can of Campbell’s. Corbitt’s arena was smaller too—where Davis had a national audience, Corbitt reached mostly people in Texas and surrounding states. But Corbitt’s books are cookbooks with no judgement beyond such cautions as cooking vegetable al dente and often with chatty notes to a recipe.

That’s it—two women, similar backgrounds, similar goals, and such different paths. I have no conclusions to draw about which one succeeded better. Both have pretty much slipped into obscurity these days. And maybe that’s my mission—to rescue them.

So with my head full of healthy eating, guess what I had for dinner tonight? A plate from the potuck buffet for Christian’s birthday—Cane’s chicken fingers, that decadent and ubiquitous potato casserole with sour cream, butter, etc., a sour cream corn dip, some really good dippers that were so crisp they must have been deep fried in a ton of grease, marinated black-eyed peas (okay that was my contribution and Corbitt’s recipe). It was good, and I enjoyed it, but I could feel those two nutritionists frowning at me.

By contrast, one of the thoughtful guests brought me a bag of tomatoes, peaches, and squash from her family’s fresh market. I guess it all balances out.

Here’s to a healthy and delicious daily diet!

Cooking with Mom

My mom has been gone thirty years, and yet she’s still in the kitchen with me. I’ve been proofreading my new cookbook—Gourmet on a Hot Plate, due out in November--and there are reminders of Mom on so many pages—recipes, household hints, etc.

I can’t tell you how many times she cautioned me that food is half eaten with the eye. She taught me to put a pinch of sugar in any tomato-based sauce to “round it off,” to put a splash of vinegar in the water when I boil eggs so they don’t leak out of the shell, to stick cloves of garlic in tiny slits in a roast before cooking it.

I still use her recipes (never written down) for things like wilted lettuce salad or devilled eggs or stuffed mushrooms or salmon patties—okay, I’ve varied that one a bit. Today I had diced tomatoes with butter and crushed saltines for lunch. Jordan’s immediate reaction was, “Yuck,” but she quickly added, “I’m happy for you if you like it.” I do. It’s comfort food my mom used to make.

Then in a bit Jordan asked me to add a certain brand of sweetener to the weekly grocery order, and as I did I thought how strange Mom would find that. She was an Adele Davis fan. Davis was a nutritionist, popular in the mid-20-century. Her basic approach was to stay fit through eating right—and that did not include additives, supplements, etc. It meant eat healthy, natural foods Mom would not understand a sweetener powder, because she would have used sugar. She would understand, as one family does not, my insistence on grating my own cheese—they don’t believe me that the pre-grated in the store has wood fiber to keep it from clumping. Don’t relay on me for that one—I got it straight from the cheese monger.

One of my favorite stories, handed down by Mom, involves the time my parents took a friend and me on a convention trip. In the hotel cafeteria, we girls ordered spinach, but Mom noticed Eleanor Lee wasn’t eating hers. She asked what the matter was, and Eleanor Lee wrinkled her nose and said, “I think it’s fresh.” We were used to canned spinach. Mom went off into one of her well-known laughter fits.

When I think about my kids, I realize how different their eating patterns are. One son’s wife is a representative of a line of prepared seasonings--she has mixes for everything from meatloaf and ranch dressing to apple pie. Much of it is delicious, though I can’t help worrying about preservatives.  Another son drinks far too many diet drinks, no matter how I lecture about the evils of aspartame and the looming specter of dementia. Jordan—and to some extent her sister—eschews carbs. There are several good, old-fashioned casseroles that she won’t eat because, you know, fattening.

I’m an old-fashioned cook, like my mom, and in these my golden years I sometimes long for the days when I cooked for a crowd (four kids is a crowd; add some relatives, and you’ve got a production). As I explain in the cookbook, I don’t want the newest gadgets—Insta Pot, air fryer, etc. To me, they just put a machine between me and the food. If I want to make a pot of soup, I’ll simmer it all day--I’m lucky I have the time to do that.

Here’s a recipe I long to make It would feed Coxey’s Army, but my local army won’t eat it.

Cheesy, creamy beef noodle casserole

6 oz. egg noodles

2 lb. ground beef

1 medium onion, chopped,

3 Tbsp. garlic

Salt and pepper to taste

Sliced mushrooms – optional

1 can each – cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soup

1 can corn, drained

1 c. grated cheddar (more of you wish)

1 sleeve buttery crackers (I use Ritz), crushed

½ stick butter

Cook egg noodles and set aside

Brown beef with garlic, salt and pepper, and mushrooms. Drain

Add noodles to beef mixture along with soups and corn. Sprinkle with grated cheese.

Mix crackers with one half stick butter, melted; distribute evenly on casserole.

Cook 30 minutes, uncovered, at 350. Enjoy! I never said it’s good for your waistline.

No, it’s not one of my mom’s recipes, but she’d have approved. Cooking with canned soups never bothered her at all.

Watch for the cookbook in November. Meantime, bon appetit! Okay, Julia I’m not.