Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

Chiffon cakes are airy, moist, and delicious. They have an interesting history too. Harry Baker, a Los Angeles insurance agent turned caterer, is credited with the original chiffon cake in 1927.

For two decades he carefully guarded his secret recipe, making his special cake only for Hollywood screen stars and for the famous Brown Derby Restaurant.

In 1947, he agreed to sell the recipe to General Mills. They released the secret recipe in the May 1948 Better Homes and Gardens Magazine, and it became a nationwide sensation.

With Thanksgiving around the corner, my wife and I have started talking about the menu. Mostly we want to enjoy favorite dishes. One of those is a turkey liver pate I adapted from a chopped liver recipe my mom made when I was a kid.

Even people who love chicken livers view turkey liver as too much of a good thing. Whoever has the job of prepping the turkey on Thanksgiving Day frequently looks with bewilderment at the large double-lobed liver in the bag tucked ever so neatly inside the turkey.

Following my mother's lead, my solution is to turn lemons into lemonade or, in this case, turkey liver into pâté. My mother prepared chopped liver using a shallow wooden bowl and a beat-up, double-handled, single-bladed mezzaluna knife that her mother had given her.

She would cut up and sauté the turkey liver with a chopped up onion. Two eggs would go into boiling water. Once hard-boiled, they would join the sautéed liver and onion in the wooden bowl, which she would hand to me along with the mezzaluna. While she prepared the turkey, she put me to work.

As with many good things, a cherished recipe resulted from an accident.

My wife wanted an omelet for breakfast and we had only one egg in the refrigerator. That egg was an especially good, farmers' market egg, but it did not have a companion and my wife was used to having a two-egg omelet.

Many solutions came to mind.

Go to the market to buy more. That seemed like too much trouble with a cup of coffee already brewed and waiting on the dining room table next to the Sunday New York Times. Use a lot of milk as "filler." But the resulting omelet would have been more like a custard than what my wife likes, a very firm cooked egg.

So, I did the only thing any guy would do in the circumstances. I punted.

If I was short an egg, well, I'd compensate with a lot more filling, hoping my wife would be distracted by all the goodies so she wouldn't notice the paucity of "egg."

Many years ago, my mother-in-law’s niece made a trip to England. She brought two gifts back for my mother-in-law — a Bone China tea cup and saucer and a cookbook. I was the lucky daughter-in-law who got both of her English treasures after she died.

I pulled “Cook in Your Castle” off the shelf this week. After paging through the section on desserts, I finally decided on 10 Downing Street Frozen Orange Mousse, a recipe from Margaret Thatcher, who was Prime Minister at the time the book of recipes was compiled.

There were a couple of things about the recipe that worried me a bit. First, I noticed it called for gelatin. I don’t use gelatin very often. The recipe didn’t explain how to dissolve it before adding it to the mixing bowl.

I wound up putting 2 tablespoons of cool water into a custard cup. I sprinkled the packet of gelatin over the water and mixed it with a fork. The gelatin immediately absorbed the water and became an ugly, clumpy mass. I left it sit for 5 minutes and, in the meantime, heated some water in a small saucepan on the stove. Just before the water came to a boil, I removed the saucepan from the heat and set the custard cup holding the clumpy gelatin in the water that came halfway up the sides of the bowl. As I stirred the gelatin mixture, it began to dissolve and become liquid. Smooth and lump-less liquid. The mousse turned out perfectly light and lovely.