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Thursday, April 9, 2020

Those molded salads from the Sixties




I’ve been reading Helen Corbitt cookbooks lately and am struck by the contrast between what she cooked at Neiman’s in the Sixties and our dietary tastes today. (For those that don't know, Corbitt ran the Neiman Marcus kitchens from 1955 to 1969 and left an indelible and delicious stamp on them.) Her appetizers recipes are heavy with oysters—I don’t know anyone who serves oysters in the home these days. If you eat them—and that’s a big if—they are restaurant fare. Lots of cream and butter, but none of the Middle Eastern influence we see today and very little Asian.

But what strikes me most is her several recipes for molded salads and even entrees. Molded sounds better than gelatin, but whatever you call them, we rarely serve them today. I grew up eating a salad of grated carrot, canned pineapple, and maybe nuts—not sure—in orange Jello. When I was raising kids, I frequently made a jellied gazpacho, using tomato juice or beef bouillon as the base. Corbitt offers recipes for fruit salads, chicken mousse, ham mousse, cranberry mold, etc. The only one I don’t think I’d try is prune—and I like prunes. She also has advice on layering, etc.—some fruits sink, some float, and your salad will be prettier is you know which does what. She cautions never use fresh pineapple in a jellied salad--the jelly won't stiffen.

One molded chicken dish that I loved came from an older friend, now gone, who sort of adopted me. We met because my then-husband and I looked at a house that we could no more afford than the man in the moon. She was the real estate agent, and, long story short, we rented a house owned by one of her sons and got to know her and her younger son. For years, on the birthday of one of my children, Carolyn Burk would call to let me know she was thinking of me.

She taught me to make chicken loaf. It’s a great summer dish, the purest chicken flavor I’ve ever tasted. I never can remember which one in my family likes it, but I well know that my older daughter despises it as “too gelatinous.” Being chicken, it doesn’t keep too many days but freezes well. Once you defrost, you have to eat within a day or two, so I often slice leftovers and freeze separately.

I never had written directions for this, so here goes, from the top of my head. You need,

One old hen

One sleeve saltine crackers

Salt and pepper

Maybe a bit of chicken bouillon

Maybe a bit of Knox gelatin

Boil that old hen until it’s tender. You might add a bouillon cube or tsp. of condensed flavoring (Better Than Bouillon) to give more flavor to your broth.

Reserve the broth. Skin and bone the chicken and dice the meat finely. Carolyn used to do it with scissors (if I remember correctly, she had her husband trained to do it with scissors too). That’s too labor intensive. I do small batches in the food processor at chop setting, turning it off and on. You don’t want to mince or fine grind it; you want small pieces.

Do use the food processor to make crumbs of the crackers. Mix with chicken. Salt and pepper to taste, remembering that the saltines already are salted. Stir in just enough broth to bind the mixture together. Do NOT let it get mushy.

This is the tricky part. Carolyn never added gelatin; my mom, who became a fan of the recipe, did. When she stirred in the broth, she added an envelope of gelatin dissolved in some of the broth. You don’t want to make it too “gelatinous”—Megan’s word—but you want it to hold together. I usually add the gelatin.

Pack this into a loaf pan and cover with plastic wrap. Set a second pan on top and weigh it down with a couple of canned goods. Refrigerate overnight.

Next day carefully run a table knife around edges to loosen the loaf. Put a plate on top of it and gently turn upside down. If you’re lucky, the loaf will slide out; you may have to prod with that knife but be gentle and careful.

Makes a lovely summer platter with tomato wedges, hard-boiled or deviled eggs, lettuce, maybe diced scallions. Pass mayonnaise or perhaps your favorite blue cheese dressing—or even tonnato sauce. (See Gourmet on a Hot Plate for tonnato sauce.)

And don’t be too quick to dismiss molded salads and even entrees.

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