1950s Archive

Food Flashes

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The live-lobster packers tell us that a related process has been successful for packaged fresh-cooked lobster meat. The lobster is cooked, the meat placed in the can with the special treating material and with no sterilization to destroy the delicate flavor. This pack kept in the can at household-refrigerator temperatures can be held safely for a week. In the home freezer the meat keeps well for three months. This product sells around $2.20 a pound and represents about 4 ½ pounds of the live lobster. The low price is possible because the lobster is canned at its source, usually at Prince Edward Island, Canada, at peak lobster season.

A top-rater of a potato soup, one to serve hot or cold, is on the market this summer, made by Penn's Manor Canning Company of Bristol, Pennsylvania. They call this a vichyssoise, but it isn't exactly as it's made with the onion instead of the leek.

Fresh rich milk in this soup, along with creamery butter, with potatoes, with onions and garlic and celery; everything fresh. One of the best potato soups you are likely to turn from a can, honestly homemade in flavor. It's a soup we like hot even better than chilled. A medium-thick brew, ready to serve, nothing to add.

But heat, beat, beat to disperse the fat globules. Add a garnish of chives or snips of parsley for the green touch. Order direct by mail from Penn's Manor Products, Cornwells Heights 2, Pennsylvania. Six 19-ounce tins for $2, postpaid anywhere in the United States.

Cooked baby shrimp are being flown weekly to New York's delicacy stores fresh from the Continent. A miniature shrimp barely one and one-half inches long, caught off the coast of England, off France, Belgium, Holland, and the Scandinavian countries. On the Continent these midgets are cooked, peeled, and eaten just as they are. In England they are served frequently at bars as a snack item to be accompanied by a glass of dry sherry. Served cold usually, with warm melted butter as the last word in a dunking sauce. That with a big sprinkle of freshly ground pepper.

The shrimp are more delicate in flavor than Florida's big jumbos, and because the flavor is elusive, much of the goodness is lost when put into cans. Charles and Company carries these shrimp for 69 cents for ½ pound, that's portions for two. Or 35 cents for ¼ pound bag.

What to do with them? We put the question to Théophile Kieffer, veteran chef of New York's Sherry-Nctherland Hotel. He suggests the shellfish be sautéed with a little onion and paprika and added to a sauce similar to Newberg, then dipped into patty shells. Or have them done in a rich cream sauce and serve on toast as a supper dish.

In Denmark, which still sets the world's snacking pace in way of the open-face sandwich, these little fellows are shucked and prepared in sweet butter on bread to make one gigantic pyramid portion. Use any bread and spread it thickly with butter and lay on the midgets for the appetizer called “shrimp in a crowd.”

It carries the taste of crisply fried bacon, yet no film of grease. It's French-fried bacon rind, tender, slightly porous in texture, crunchy as popcorn. So often these bacon skin appetizers around in the stores are mighty tough chewing. Not these Krunchy Crackles put out by Krunchy Foods, Inc. of Marcy, New York. Pass these Krunchies with the drinks. Good eating with a vegetable salad or a cheese sandwich. Scatter a few coarsely crumbled over a vegetable cream soup.

These are found in better food shops all over the country. S. S. Pierce of Boston, for one, Marshall Field of Chicago, Daniels & Fisher of Denver, McLean Goldberg and Bowen of San Francisco, Jordan Marsh of Boston, Loblaw Groceterias through New York State, for others, your favorite local shop very likely for another. The price is about 39 cents for the 2-ounce net weight jar.

Pickle Chips by Sexton are bright, sweet, and spicy, a crisp, cool-looking garnish for the cold-cut platters. A chip that adds nip to a salad, a sandwich. Easy to locate in the food shops which carry Sexton products; 20th Century Pickle Chips, that's the whole name.

Found a jar of crêpes Suzette that taste freshly made, homemade, and are. Little pancakes unsubstantial, thin as a whisper, the yellow-brown of an omelette, elegantly and generously sauced in Cointreau and cognac. These are ready to serve after reheating, unless you wish to flame them when dished, then sprinkle with cognac and touch off the big blaze.

The crêpes are made in small batches by two French women, Jeanne Douglas and Berthe Louis, of New York. Mrs. Louis bakes the pancakes, and hot from the griddle passes them along to Mrs. Douglas who has the spirited sauce ready and flaming. A few tosses of the pan-cakes ill the bubbling elixir until they absorb all the sauce, folded into a triangle, and quickly into the jar. The pan-cakes aren't allowed to linger an instant —result, they couldn't be better.

No neat rolling of the cake—they are much too gossamer to stand up on end. These cakes relax, fragile and limp, oozing the odors of paradise, and not the teetotaler Mohammedan kind. The 8-ounce jar, Chanteclair the brand, sells for $2.25.

The same kitchen has ready an excellent sauce named Suzette Delight for those who prefer to bake their own pan-cakes, then lave on a prepared sauce. This sauce has exactly the same ingredients as used for the crêpes packed in the jar and is but half as expensive, $1.25 for 8 ounces, enough sauce for 12 thin little pancakes. Nothing to add except the extra bit of brandy if you wish the dish flambéed. A second sauce is the rum, a marvelous thing for puddings, to spread over cake, to dollop on baked apple, add to broiled grapefruit, or spread over toast. It's made like the Suzette Delight but with more orange than lemon, and rum instead of Cointreau and cognac.

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