The Funnies - None of the Vices (1919)

"Your wife doesn't smoke, eh? None of the vices?"

"No, she only drinks and swears."

April 1919, Life Magazine

Holy WTF!

I spend a lot of time looking for seasonal ads and articles to feature on the blog. Like most anyone who is into blogging finds themselves spending time asking the "what next" question and that question sometimes leads you into strange and disturbing places. Such was the fall of 2015 which led me to the ad below.

It's an ad for a Textron, a company which is still in existence today. They started out with textiles and since have diversified, owning properties such as Bell Helicopter. Back in the 40's when this ad ran in Life Magazine they were happy to pimp synthetic pajamas and underwear. At least I assume that was the intention of  what has become known as the ad.

Let's dive in a little, and I'll let the margins run wild so that you get the full effect. Just let it soak in for a few moments...

Nothing like a little homoerotic log-pulling to sell PJ's. Most of the time I chalk the squiggly feeling that comes from some of these ads to the times. There are plenty of sexist, racist, and elitist ads which are truly cringe worthy, but this is something different. A dreamland log-ride must be a euphemism somewhere.

Meanwhile the centaur-deer women are looking on and giggling. Yes, I said centaur deer women. There they are, clad in nothing but antlers and garland. By the way, for those of you who aren't familiar with deer, it's only the fellows who've got the antlers. The rules may be different for half human magical creatures, one can never really be sure about these things. I'm only guessing that Textron consulted the appropriate magic tomes.

The artist is an Austrian by the name of Fredrick "Fritz" Siebel. Fritz came to the US in 1936, fleeing growing unrest at the urging of his Grandmother. He struggled to save his family from Hitler's Nazi forces, but was unsuccessful and they perished at the hands of the Nazis. He went to work for Paramount Pictures where he worked producing movie posters from a New York theater on Broadway.

In 1938 he entered a poster contest sponsored by the Devoe and Reynolds Painting Company and judged by Eleanor Roosevelt. The aim of the contest was to promote the importance of protecting the country's security in the face of escalating foreign tensions, and his winning entry Someone Talked was displayed in Radio City and used by the Office of War Information (a predecessor of the OSS).

Fritz would return to Europe as a member of the United States Army where he served from 1941 - 1943. Thereafter he went on to be an illustrator creating magazine covers and ads for Jello and Joy Detergent as well as (apparently) Textron. He'd later illustrate children's books, hopefully without log rides or centauresses.

So, there you have it, a trip down the weird turnpike.

Happy National French Toast Day!

I'm pretty sure some of the observances I find really only exist on the internet. I mean, National French Toast Day? Sure, I like French toast, but should it have its own day? I guess, if you're a toast-head and feel strongly enough to march on the Bastille for your right to soak bread in milk and eggs, we'll today is your day.

What's potentially the first ever recipe for French toast actually appeared in the Roman collection of recipes. Apicius. Searching You can find a 2009 translation of the work on Project Gutenberg and within its digital pages you'll find a recipe for Aliter Dulcia which loosely translates to "otherwise sweet" (at least to the best I can determine). If you're interested in cooking a 5th century version of French Toast, here's how:

Break (slice) fine white bread, crust removed, into rather large pieces which soak in milk (and beaten eggs). Fry in oil. Cover with honey and serve.

Like most early recipes, this one is short on methods and measurements. There's no micromanaging the amount of time you soak the bread, no instructions on how thick to slice the bread, nothing saying you should only use artisan oil crushed from the pits of olives from a mysterious village in Southern Umbria. We've been a culture of perfect, of Martha Stewart judgmentalism, where nothing's worth doing if it's not nearly flipping impossible and worthy of Instragram bragging rights. Anyway, if you want a more modern recipe, check out this one from the French Cook Book for American Families, by Xavier Raskin, published in 1922:

Thanksgiving Dinner - The Aftermath

Whether too much turkey or the Black Friday blues, there's one cure.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here's hoping in a world of uncertainty you find yourselves with friends, family, comfort, and peace on this Thanksgiving day.

Singing for Thanksgiving Dinner - Every Night I Bring Her Frankfurter Sandwiches (1920?)

Ah, hot dog! Sandwiches for Thanksgiving! Reminds me of my twenties when I'd gather with a bunch of the other misfits to have what we called "The Lost Boys Thanksgiving". Dinner then consisted of anything you could get at a convenience store supplemented with fast food. Ah for the fortitude of years past.

Thanksgiving Dinner - Cloverbloom Turkey

Some of you may have just got up to begin the annual, November turkey ritual. Stumbling to the kitchen to put the bird in the roasting pan and pre-heat the oven. A few foggy-headed fiddlings with salting and peppering and then a somnambulistic slog back to bed and a few more hours of blessed sleep before the onslaught to turkey zero-hour truly begins. By the time you rise, the house already has started to smell like Thanksgiving - that warm, baking bird aroma that hangs in the air in spite of the fact the bird's still frozen to its core.

At one time Armour was a player in all things meat. They sold steaks, they sold poultry, and they sold potted meat product. If it was meat, Armour sold it somewhere and that included the centerpiece of the Turkey Day feast. As I look at this ad, I can't help by think how time's turned up our expectations both in presentation and quantity.

Today no poulterer worth their salt would dare advertise a bird that hadn't been brined, glazed, smothered in exotic spices and citrus, professionally photographed, and PhotoShopped to the point it bore no resemblance to its former self. It's a byproduct of the 24 hour Food Network cycle. Now a simple roasted turkey can't really be simple, it's got to be spiced, or plumped, or boozed, or deep fried, or whatever before it can be considered a success.

The second thing I noticed is how small  the bird in the ad seems. I mean it looks practically chicken-like there on its simple platter with cranberry tartlets and a few wilted greens for a garnish. According to the Atlantic, in 2013 the average weight of the American thanksgiving turkey passed 30lbs, big enough to eclipse the platter and encroach on the peas in Armour's paltry poultry picture. I'd be surprised if the bird shown in the 1947 ad weighed in at more than ten pounds after being stuffed. Then again, the average American probably weighed a third as much back in 1947 what with the Great Depression and four years of war rationing their dinner choices.

All of that said, what will I be doing today? Getting up at the crack of dawn to set thirty pounds of turkey flesh in the oven. I just have to decide whether I want to do Wild Turkey Honey-Glazed or Five Spice Rubbed.