I thought to myself, Why not host a Mad Housewife Party to celebrate the premier of Mad Men's third season? It starts on July 25th, so I have a couple of weeks to plan it. I’ll invite guests to dress up in 60s fashions, sip Mad Housewife wine, and watch—through our tortoise-shell cat glasses, of course—the opening show. My favorite wine, my favorite show, my favorite gals—what could be more fun?
But what shall I serve? The 60s were a regrettable decade for food, with two clashing and equally odious trends. The first trend was prepackaged products. Pitched as convenient, easy, and reliable, prepackage food was sold to the housewife as traditional home cooking with no effort: Simply thaw the frozen pie crust, open a can of cherry filling, bake, and serve with Cool Whip. Yum! Just like grandma used to make! Or you could simply heat up a TV Dinner.
Many of our best-selling junk foods come from the 60s: 1964—Pop-Tarts, Ruffles potato chips, Lucky Charms; 1965—Shake ‘n’ Bake, Cool Whip, Tang, Apple Jacks, Gatorade, Diet Pepsi; 1966—Bac*Os, Doritos; 1969—Pringles. No wonder teenagers were so eager to leave home to eat brown rice and hash brownies in
Which brings me to the second regrettable trend of the 60s: Hippie food. Sticky brown rice mixed with overcooked vegetables, whole wheat bread as heavy as a rock, and granola that tasted and smelled like cow feed. Thankfully, the health food trend evolved into something wonderful: a renewed appreciation for fresh, local produce, and well-prepared meals that combine healthful food with gourmet cooking. But in the 60s . . .
I have nightmares of 60s food—pineapple slices coming at me like flying saucers; maraschino cherries bombing me; Velveeta cheese oozing up from the ground; mudslides of Spry; a giant, quivering Jell-O slowly consuming the earth.
Allow me to remind you of some of these horrors:
For hors d’oeuvre we have: Pigs in blankets (Vienna sausages wrapped in pastry); Ritz crackers and Velveeta Cheese; Ambrosia—dates rolled in coconut; Deviled eggs; Chex Mix; Celery stuffed with cream cheese; Cheez Whiz; Cranberry juice with orange sherbet; Lipton’s Onion Soup dip. These delectables were followed by: Spam baked with pineapple slices; Ham basted with Seven-Up; Swedish meatballs; Tuna casserole with Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup, topped with potato chips; Fishsticks; Sloppy Joes; Macaroni and cheese, made with Velveeta cheese; Green bean casserole; Rice a Roni; Pumpkin casserole with marshmallows. And for dessert: Jell-O with marshmallows and fruit cocktail; Baked grapefruit with a maraschino cherry; and Jell-O cake topped with Cool Whip.
Are any of these recipes worth redeeming? I have my doubts, yet some of these dishes are making a comeback, such as macaroni and cheese, only now made with lobster and fancy cheeses: Gruyère, fontina, or Comté. These dishes bear little resemblance to the gooey mounds of glutinous glop Mother served (with a bit of curly parsley, of course, for nutrition).
I remember one 60s food with fondness. The coffee cake. At least once a week, my mother would invite women over for some meeting. I remember hiding on the stairs, watching these women—perfumed, with gloves, hats, and starched dresses at eleven in the morning—sitting down to coffee, with little plates of Mother’s freshly baked coffee cake primly balanced on their laps. The smell of cinnamon brings me back to that moment—a little girl, peeking out from behind a balustrade, amazed at how glamorous and self-assured these women appeared, knowing even then, I would never grow up to be like them. They were of a different era.
So what could be more suitable for a Mad Men party than coffee cake, served with Mad Housewife wine? As we gaze—voyeurs once more—mesmerized by Betty Draper’s petulant beauty and Don Draper’s magnetic masculinity, seduced by fashion and style, we wonder, Why aren’t we more like that?
Cherry Sour Cream Coffee Cake
The signature dish of the mad housewife has to be the coffee cake. Here’s my mother’s recipe, modified to be slightly more healthful. Serve with coffee in the morning, or as a dessert with whipped cream and a glass of Mad Housewife wine. You deserve it.
2 eggs
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup sugar
1 cup sour cream
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1-1/4 cup all-purpose flour
½ cup whole wheat flour
2 cups pitted cherries, frozen and thawed, or fresh
For Streusel topping:
3/4 cup oatmeal
½ cup sliced almonds or walnuts
2 tablespoons flour
2 tablespoons melted butter
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1. Preheat over to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a glass pie dish. Mix streusel topping, except for nuts, and set aside.
2. Cut together butter, flour, baking power, soda, and salt.
3. In another bowl, cream together 2 eggs, and sugar. Add sour cream. Add flour and mix until blended.
4. Pour half the batter into the baking dish. Sprinkle with half of the cherries and half of the topping. Drop remaining batter in small mounds over the cherries, and spread over filling. Sprinkle with remaining cherries and topping mixed with nuts.
5. Bake for 55 minutes.
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