Jellied Beef - A Taste From Childhood

Day 121: As my readers may recall, I am not a big fan of beef. However, when I was young, my favourite sandwich meat was jellied beef, and my mother had to keep a close watch on me to keep me from grabbing slices of it out of the fridge, rolling them up into a cylinder and gobbling them down without benefit of bread. By the time I was in high school, jellied beef was already waning in popularity with people in general, and by 1970 or so, it had pretty much disappeared from grocery store shelves. Every now and then, I would get a hankering for it and go searching, but even the rare deli which carried head cheese (another treat) never seemed to have jellied beef. It never occurred to me to look for a recipe to make my own until a week or so ago, but when I did, the internet was not forthcoming. I could find plenty of recipes for that horrible pulverized stuff with the pimiento-stuffed green olives in it, but no jellied beef. Joy of Cooking was no help either. Then I had a thought: "What about the Encyclopedic Cookbook?" The 1950 edition which had belonged to my husband's mother came through with "Jellied Melange," first for chicken, then ham, and then beef. I decided it was worth a try. I took a mortgage on the house, bought 3/4 pound of beef stew chunks and a box of Knox Gelatin. The rest is history. I have successfully created the taste I have been craving since childhood. I should have used a smaller loaf pan as a mold, but you know what they say: size doesn't matter. It's jellied beef, and it's yummy!

My adaptation of the recipe isn't rocket science, so don't fret too much about the amount of beef and/or broth. Just keep it "close enough for gov'mint work."

3/4 - 1 pound beef stew chunks (or if you can afford it, use a better cut, cubed)
1 16-ounce can beef broth
salt and pepper to taste
2 envelopes Knox unflavoured gelatin
1/4 - 1/3 cup cold water

Cook the beef in the broth until it is tender and can be shredded easily. I used my crock-pot and it took about 2 1/2 hours on high. Obviously, there will be some reduction in the amount of broth, but there should be about 1 - 1/2 cups remaining. Remove the beef chunks from the broth and shred them finely. Put the beef and broth in a pan on top of the stove and add salt and pepper to taste. Soften the gelatin in cold water for a couple of minutes, then add it to the broth/beef and bring the mixture to a boil. Pour into a loaf pan. Cool slightly before placing in the refrigerator for at least three hours. To remove, loosen the sides of the loaf with a knife, then set the pan in hot water for a minute or so. Turn out over a board, shaking the pan if it wants to stick. Using a very sharp knife, slice thinly for sandwiches.

Nostalgia

Day 65: Most of us experience some degree of nostalgia at this time of year, and while a part of that may direct our thoughts back to childhood holidays, another invites us to step into a time machine to travel to another era. Where does your TARDIS take you? Mine carries me into Dickens' time and is peopled with carollers clad in bustles and tophats, bundled against the cold in the thick woolens of the day, strolling along the gas-lit streets of old London. The Grinch, the Elf on a Shelf, the Peanuts gang can't be found in my nostalgic vision of Christmas, and Santa has an entirely different character than his modern counterpart who lavishes gifts on children both naughty and nice, never leaving lumps of coal or bundles of sticks in the stockings of those who didn't mind their parents. The charity of the time was personal: helping a disadvantaged neighbour, giving food and clothing to those you knew were in need, not leaving them to fight through the bureaucracy of agencies and entitlement programs. Peoples' lives were not as long then, no, but they were richer in human connection, in core humanity than in our present disconnected society. These are the images I see in my nostalgia, admittedly a romanticized version of the time, but not of the message which permeated it: to be kind and respectful to one another throughout the year.

Nostalgia Garden

Day 200: As I walk around my yard, I can't help but notice how strongly my choice of plants has been influenced by what was in my grandmother's garden. When I began selecting perennials for the beds, my "must-have" flowers were almost exclusively those I had seen in cultivation before I had attained the ripe old age of five. I recall clearly sitting on her back porch step, enveloped in a thick perfume of Lily-of-the-Valley, and braiding coronets of the stiff, arching stems of Bridal Wreath Spiraea. No garden of her era was complete without Bachelor's Buttons and Columbine, nor without single Hollyhocks growing against a sunny back wall. Ironically, it was my grandfather who was the gardener; my grandmother simply reaped the rewards, and although the garden dwindled after Grandpa's death, my association with sweet-smelling, beautiful flowers is firmly tied to her.

Columbine

Day 231: A very "grandmotherly" flower, Columbine always calls up images of old-fashioned sitting rooms and parlours in my mind, with delicate crocheted antimacassars, leather-bound books and lamplight rounding out the scene. An air of nostalgia surrounds the spurred flowers, as if alongside a vase filled with such fragile grace, a calling card from an afternoon guest might not seem out of place. Columbine is a flower which invites you to tea, demands that your napkin be spread upon your lap and that you adhere to the social niceties of conversation. It brooks no common gossip, no harsh language or vulgarity. No improprieties can be uttered in the presence of Dame Columbine.

Lights Of Christmas Past

Day 74: It's been over half a century since these lights were lit. The wiring for them is long gone, and the bases don't fit any modern socket. The paint is scratched and peeling, and I'm not even certain that some of them aren't burned out, but they are memorabilia from my childhood and I hang onto them for no reason except simple, silly nostalgia.

The bubble lights had their own tree, and when the white paper (yes, paper!) needles yellowed with age, my mother tried to salvage it with a can of flocking spray with disastrous results. I retrieved the poor thing from the trash heap, stripped it of the mess and stored the metal frame until such time as I could re-wire it and re-cover it with artificial greens. The modern bubble lights it holds today are larger by half than the old ones shown here.

I was surprised to find among the lights two plastic snowflakes to add to the seven others I've used on my tree every year of my adult life. How they came to be separated from their fellows is anyone's guess. As I recall, the set originally held ten, and I remember clearly breaking the hanging hook off one of them while I was still very young.

Functional or not, I'm sure these antiques have some worth as collectors' items, but it could not possibly match their sentimental value, and the memories of old-fashioned Christmases Past.