The Recipe Retrospective

By Roberta Allen

The history of women simmers away on the back burner of time—largely forgotten. Some foremothers left lingering traces in treasured recipes passed down from generation to generation but not mine. My great-grandmothers’ kitchen chronicles can never be retrieved. My grandmothers—one gone twenty-two years before my birth, one by the time I reached two—are nearly as ephemeral. Preserving and cherishing keepsakes was not in my mother’s repertoire. What remains is the merest wisp of what was or might have been.
For the generation of women born just after World War II The Recipe Retrospective has captured in time and preserved what otherwise might have once again been lost.
Roberta Allen is currently auditioning a bunch of recipes that feature batches of bacon as the main ingredient in her Oak Bay, Canada kitchen. If heaven is personalized, hers includes a celestial kitchen with more than manna on the menu.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberta Allen
• Release date: Feb 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780988006829

Book preview

Black Bottom Banana Bars

1. ½ cup butter softened

2. 1 cup sugar

3. 1 egg

4. 2 teaspoons vanilla

5. 3 medium-sized bananas or 2 large

6. 1 ½ cups flour

7. 1 teaspoon baking powder

8. 1 teaspoon soda

9. ½ teaspoon salt

10. ¼ cup cocoa powder

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. Butter 8 inch square pan.

3. Mash bananas and set aside.

4. Combine ingredients 6 through 9 and set aside.

5. Cream first 4 ingredients in a large bowl.

6. Stir dry ingredients into the creamed mixture.

7. Stir in the bananas.

8. Add half of this batter to the now empty dry ingredient bowl.

9. Stir cocoa into this bowl.

10. Spread the cocoa mixture into the prepared pan.

11. Top with the other half of the batter. For easier spreading, add this batter in dollops in different parts of the pan.

12. Bake approximately 45 minutes.

Baked Alaska

1. 1 recipe black bottom banana bars

2. 1 can of frosting of your choice or make your own

3. 1 pint coffee ice cream. (Coffee ice cream can be hard to find. In a pinch, see my recipe under July or substitute.)

4. 5 egg whites

5. ¾ cup sugar

1. Frost the banana bars.

2. Cut the cooled banana bars into two halves and freeze.

3. Line a 4 by 8 loaf pan with foil or saran wrap.

4. Dip the ice cream into the cake carton or pan and allow it to soften.

5. Even out the softened ice cream to fill pan and freeze.

6. On Christmas Eve or the relevant day before, assemble as follows in an attractive oven-proof baking dish with sides:

one banana bar half frosted with that side up

the ice cream

the second banana bar half frosted with that side down.

Store in your freezer.

7. On the next day shortly before serving, protect your table by placing the heat-proof mat in the middle.

8. Pre-heat the oven to 500 degrees.

9. Whip the egg whites till stiff gradually adding sugar.

10. Remove the cake and ice cream from the freezer and frost with the whites.

11. Warn your guests that service is imminent and set out spoons.

12. Turn on your oven light. Bake for about 3 minutes till the meringue is slightly brown. Vigilance at this stage is crucial.

13. Place the Baked Alaska on the table.

14. Forget etiquette and dig in.

Serves 8 to 12.

Note: The dish will be red hot but will cool down quickly. Initially, small children may be best served by adults.

My oldest granddaughter, Tesia, born in 1988 loved Baked Alaska. One memorable holiday season under my tutelage, she tackled the dish. Unfortunately, this dessert while perfect for the frozen or in our case, the fluid north, does not jibe with the cuisine of her adopted country, Mexico. I suspect homemade Baked Alaska is not in her future or mine. Indeed, as the logistics of assembling family at our house for holidays mounted, my own Baked Alaska became like an iceberg, floating along and melting into yesterday.

At least one problem is eliminated, what to do with five egg yolks, when baking yet another cake holds zero appeal.

December 24, 2006. Our Christmas breakfast for relatives used to feature my husband’s homemade waffles, cherry pie filling for topping, and mountains of whip cream. When we relocated from Victoria, B.C., proper to Victoria’s still urban outskirts, too far for our carless kin to pop over, he eventually decided to have the waffle iron join him in retirement. Fortunately, TV Week proffered an alternative recipe from CSI Miami actor, Adam Rodriguez.

Baked French Toast Crème Caramel

1. ¼ cup butter

2. ½ cup brown sugar

3. 1 tablespoon liquid honey or corn syrup

4. 4 slices cinnamon raisin or Texas toast bread

5. 3 eggs

6. 1 cup half and half cream or eggnog

7. 2 tablespoons sugar (delete if using eggnog)

8. 1 teaspoon vanilla

9. Pinch of salt

1. Grease an 8-inch square pan.

2. Melt butter in a small saucepan.

3. Stir in sugar and syrup till well combined.

4. Pour into the greased pan.

5. Top with bread slices.

6. In a medium mixing bowl (using a 4-cup measuring pitcher with a spout instead of a bowl can save one dirty dish), whisk the remaining ingredients well.

7. Pour evenly over the bread.

8. Cover and refrigerate overnight or at least 8 hours.

9. Bake in a 350 oven for 45 minutes till puffed and golden brown.

10. Flip on to plates with bottom side up.

Serves 4 slices.

Pairs nicely with a few slices of artisanal bacon.

Christmas Eve inevitably fills up like a stocking with tasks, ones that can only be done last minute. When relaxation time rolls around, I plop down with my Santa Claus mug filled with my mocha beverage.

Mocha Mug

1. 1 tablespoon cocoa

2. 2 tablespoons sugar

3. 1 teaspoon instant coffee

4. 3 tablespoons water

5. 1 cup milk

6. 1 tablespoon bourbon or liquor of choice

1. Stir together the first 4 ingredients in a large mug; split between two standard sized ones.

2. Microwave on high for 30 seconds.

3. Add the milk.

4. Microwave on high for 2 minutes.

5. Add 1 tablespoon bourbon or liquor of choice or not and imbibe.

The energy of young me amazes me. The holiday recipes presented here are just the skeleton of what I used to do with a baby on my hip, a two-year-old swinging from the ceiling, and a kindergartner, also, vying for my attention.

December 25, 1966 Of all the cozy, comfortable, contented Christmases, why do those that missed the mark, Chris misses as it were, stand out?

Before Christmas 1966, weary of the workaday world after a long two months of slogging along in the workforce (I may have invented slacking), we flew to visit friends living in the Virgin Islands. Coming home, a blizzard stranded us at JFK Airport in New York. Food supplies diminished rapidly while garbage and other unmentionables threatened to overflow. That Christmas, our first together, proved unforgettable.

Another occurred in Istanbul in 1970 during our everywhere in Europe with a baby daughter in tow, not-so-grand tour. Moslem students warned the populace that any expressions of Christmas would light up the sky with bombs not stars. Anyone who bemoans the holiday season, try spending December without it.

Then there was the one when my father was visiting our house in Vancouver, B.C., in 1979. He insisted on treating us to dinner at the Hotel Vancouver, then maybe close to the classiest dining venue in town. With three small children including a rambunctious five-year-old, a morose four-year-old, and a sometimes sulky ten-year-old, I was not keen but loathe to disappoint my father. The night before my father over-indulged on almonds sent by my brother—was this sibling sabotage?—and was ferociously sick on Christmas Day. We debated cancelling, but Dad insisted we go. Shortly after the entrée was served, my littlest, who must have joined Grandpa in the nut fest, projected his stomach contents all over the splendidly appointed table and our meals!

On the home front after my fondness for fondues waned—chicken cooked in broth for Christmas, cheese for New Year’s, chocolate whenever an excuse could be found for fondue—our Christmases mainly trotted out the traditional fare except for our singular Baked Alaska. But, no longer does the feast take place at our apartment. My son-in-law loves to cook and host. My response? Let him!

Subsequently, the fondue pot has been recast in a new role. When the power goes out or in some kind of selective emergency, hot food can still be ours. A camping kettle placed where the fondue pot would be even heats water for tea. For apartment dwellers without access to fireplaces or barbecues, this is a viable alternative.

December 26, 1967. In Canada the day after Christmas, called Boxing Day, is a statutory holiday in several provinces. The beginnings are somewhat obscure and may go all the way back to St. Stephen’s Day in the Middle Ages. The raison d’etre in Britain seems to have been a day to give gifts to servants and tradesmen. Vestiges of giving still persist in Canada, but for too many, a great tidal wave of self-serving commercialism has swamped the murky original meaning.

For those of us that avoid shopping and are inclined to lassitude, Boxing Day is the perfect holiday—a day of total relaxation when nothing truly has to be done, an effective antidote to hectic holidays that proceeded.

Now, Christmas leftovers more than fill the bill for food, but in decades past, in serial kitchens past, I featured a recipe from high school—Ten Boy Chicken Curry. That is, I did until the recipe went missing for about a decade. Then, a reader, Mary Hardy, responded to my query in a recipe search column in the local newspaper with her recipe for Eight Boy Chicken Curry. Two warnings: 1. The name of this recipe is not politically correct but is authentic. 2. Start at least four hours before planning to serve.

Eight or More Boys Chicken Curry

1. 2 pounds boneless or deboned chicken (Chicken purchased pre-cut into bite-sized pieces saves effort and time.)

2. 3 cups water

3. 1 chopped onion

4. 1 chopped apple

5. 2 tablespoons oil

6. 2 tablespoons curry

7. pinch of pepper

8. ¼ teaspoon ginger

9. ¼ teaspoon hot sauce

10. 2 tablespoons flour

11. 1 cup whipping cream

12. Sufficient rice for your guests

Suggested Sides to Choose from

1. 2 chopped hard boiled eggs

2. ¼ pound cooked bacon

3. 1 cup chutney or marmalade

4. Grated coconut

5. 1 chopped green pepper0

6. Currant jelly

7. Relish

8. Peanuts

9. Raisins

10. Bananas

11. Green onion

12. Crushed pineapple

1. Cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces if necessary.

2. Sauté the chicken, onions, and apple in the oil.

3. Add flour and 3 cups of water, and cook till thick, stirring constantly.

4. Add curry and other spices and simmer 20 minutes.

5. Add chicken and allow to stand in the fridge at least 3 hours,

6. While chicken is cooling, prepare sides which require advanced preparation like hard boiled eggs and bacon.

7. Before serving add cream and heat.

8. Serve over rice accompanied by sides in little bowls for guests to pick from.

Serves around 8.

December 27, 1962. Parenting for my father included exposing us to the finer things of life with the hope that eventually we would be at ease in any social situation. Unfortunately, of the quartet of his children, I was the only eager pupil. The Christmas after I reached sixteen, the lesson plan covered New Orleans with a one-week trip. Why we travelled by car rather than entraining in style as was his wont on Illinois Central’s City of New Orleans, I can only wonder.

The route, Highway 61, ambled through Memphis where roller skates must have been the hottest gift under the tree. From the side streets, great phalanxes of people of all ages rolled merrily towards us as my dad drove steadily south.

In Mississippi, the mood was nowhere near as light. When we entered small town cafes, all the heads would swivel towards us—the air of menace so thick, not even a machete could have slashed through it. Hostility to strangers clearly included on the menu despite the reality that a man in his fifties and a teenage girl hardly filled the stereotype of outside agitators.

With the courage of the empty stomach, we sat ourselves down and ordered any way. There was little other choice. In that era, fast food restaurants had not become ubiquitous.

Yet, despite the enmity or maybe because of it, Mississippi bestowed upon me a lasting memory of beauty and triumph over adversity. Just adjacent to a habited, tumbledown shack, stood a tree festooned with blue glass bottles, bottles which sparkled in the reflection of the setting sun.

In New Orleans, my father dazzled me with the finest restaurants of the day including Antoine’s with its pompano en papillotte and The Court of the Two Sisters. Beignets, pralines, etc.—we sampled all the local specialties. Blind eyes to underage drinking allowed me to sip famous cocktails like the Ramos gin fizz. Far from leading to a lifetime of dissipation, I discovered I disliked alcohol in any form but could be beguiled into imbibing a yearly cocktail if called for.

December 28, 1969, when I had a cook/housekeeper. With marriage, the move to Canada, the refusal of Canadian universities to accept many of my credits and a baby which entailed the complications of arranging child care, the plan to finish university in three years was way behind schedule. After sojourns at Southern Illinois University, the University of Illinois, Simon Fraser University, and the University of British Columbia, I was desperate to finish my degree. Surely, the world cried out for one more sociologist, and my vision of myself demanded I be a university grad.

When the opportunity arose to work as house parents for six teens in a group home in Vancouver close to the gates of University of British Columbia, we snatched it up. My husband