I SAID - WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?
A Vintage Recipe Ridicule -
Where we take gross, vintage recipes and poke fun at them!
Welcome to: What the Heck is That? A new section in Forks and Fiascos, written by Michele Furman, along with her collaborator / friend (from England) Coco Ashford. Every Sunday a new Recipe Ridicule will appear on this page. We will make you laugh! Or at least chuckle, perhaps giggle, or even snicker, but you are sure to at least tee-hee a little!
Here we dive headfirst into absurd, questionable and downright unhinged vintage recipes that will probably make you ask: What the heck is that?
This blog segment might make cringe and try to understand why people were so determined to cook ridiculous things or suspend things that just do not belong as jellied or in Jell-O!
So, grab a snack (preferably one that doesn’t wiggle), settle in and read on.
Today's Recipe Ridicule Posted: Sunday 2/22/26
The Recipes (Double the Recipe Torment):
Beef Headcheese — Split a beef head in two, take out
the eyes, crack the side bones, and lay it in water for one night, to draw out
the blood, then put it in a kettle with sufficient water to cover it, let it
boil gently, skimming it often ; when the meat loosens from the bones, take it
from the water with a skimmer into a bowl or tray; take out every particle of
bone; season with a small teacupful of fine salt, and half as much pepper; chop
it fin ; add a tablespoonful of powdered thyme or sage, tie it in a cloth, and
press it by laying a gentle weight on it. When cold, it may be cut in slices
for luncheon or supper.
Michele and Coco’s Translation:
“Split a beef head in
two, take out the eyes…”We’re not even past the first comma and we’re already
in a horror movie.
“Crack the side bones - soak the head overnight” … Is this a
recipe or a spa treatment?
“a small teacupful of fine salt, and half as much
pepper”?? Wow. Just Wow. I have no words for the amount of salt and pepper.
How big is this pot and this animals head?
The recipe is basically saying: Boil it until the face falls
off!
Potted Head — Thoroughly clean an ox head, split it
in two, take out the eyes and brains, then boil it gently, in sufficient water
to cover it ; skim it clear, when the bones loosen it is done enough then take
it up, take out every particle of bone strain the liquor in which it was
boiled, add pepper and salt to taste, and put it with the meat in a stew-pan or
dinner-pot over a gentle fire, and let it simmer until the water is nearly all
done away, then put it in a stone pot, press it down and let it become cold. To
be eaten sliced for luncheon or supper.
Michele and Coco’s 2nd Recipe Translation:
I’m sorry, WHY did this cookbook have multiple ways to cook a face? This is definitely
the sequel nobody asked for…. It gets even worse-
Same plot, slightly different ending. It’s like the editor
said, “You know what this book needs? Another head recipe. People love those.”
The recipe begins with: “Thoroughly clean an ox head, split
it in two, take out the eyes and brains…”
Ma’am.
Mrs. Crowen.
Why are we removing the eyes and brains like we’re
prepping a prop for a haunted house?
What The Heck is That?
This is the moment when the cookbook stops pretending to be a cookbook and fully commits to being a Victorian forensic manual. We’re dealing with not one but two separate recipes that both begin with, “Remove the eyes,” like that’s a normal Sunday task. Headcheese and Potted Head aren’t dishes — they’re culinary jump scares. These recipes read like someone asked, “What if lunch… but also trauma?”
Ridiculous Recipe Realities (The Fun Facts):
It was forbidden to turn a loaf of bread upside down after it had been cut. Furthermore, it was considered bad luck not to tear bread by hand rather than cutting it with a knife. These were ingrained superstitions; flipping a loaf of bread was believed to bring the devil to dinner or more practically, was seen
Ridiculous Kitchen Rituals (things They Actually Did
in 1847):
Victorians used “spoon warmers” that were typically ceramic or silver vessels shaped usually like shells, frogs or urns to keep soup spoons warm, right before serving soup.
Why They Did It:
Due to the kitchens being far from the dining rooms back then, and houses being heated only via fireplaces, cutlery became freezing cold. If hot food, specifically hot soups were served with a cold spoon, it would cause the fat in soups or gravy to congeal on the utensil, which was considered poor service!
Coco’s Commentary:
Michele, I’m tapping out. I’m done. I have reached my personal limit for 1847 head‑based cuisine. Why are there MULTIPLE ways to prepare a face? Why is every step written like instructions for assembling a haunted doll? And why — WHY — does every recipe begin with “take out the eyes” like that’s just a casual warm‑up stretch?
Also, I need to talk to whoever decided, “You know what this book needs? A second head recipe.” No it didn’t. Nobody needed that. Nobody asked for that. Nobody in the history of lunch said, “I wish there were more options for cold sliced head.”
I’m going to go lie down. Preferably somewhere far away
from ox skulls, beef skulls, or any skulls that require overnight soaking.
Today's Recipe Ridicule Posted: Sunday 2/15/26
The Recipe: CALVES FOOT JELLY
An Authentic 19th‑Century
Recipe
Written like an English teacher’s nightmare! (vintage cookery books have it as you see here).
Take four calf’s feet, well cleaned and split. Put them into
a pot with three quarts of water and boil them gently until the liquor is
reduced one half, and the feet fall to pieces. Strain the jelly through a
flannel bag, and when cold remove all the fat. To clarify it, add the whites of
three eggs, the juice of two lemons, a bit of cinnamon, and sugar to taste.
Boil it again, stirring constantly, and pass it once more through the bag. Pour
into moulds and set in a cool place to form.
Michele & Coco’s Translation
Step 1: They are taking calf’s feet, splitting them, boiling them until the “feet fall to
pieces”. It literally must have taken hours. It’s bad enough they are cooking
hoofs to create a jellied dessert, but that’s not dessert, it’s like a medical
specimen pretending to be dessert. I have no more words for this. I’ll let Coco
have a crack at it … This isn’t cooking — this is what happens when a science
experiment escapes the lab and decides it wants to be served in a fancy mold.
Somewhere, a Victorian doctor is nodding proudly, thinking this belongs in a
hospital ward, not on a dessert table.
Step 2: They are straining this through what their
version of a cheese cloth today would be (basically, it’s a 19th century
strainer) that was probably never washed good enough to recover from straining
anything, especially calf feet. Therefore it was more like a piece of fabric
begging for early retirement. Calf’s feet are packed with collagen, probably a
lifetimes worth of cosmetic‑clinic loyalty points for someone
with a Beverly Hills punch‑card! Honestly, that flannel bag
saw more action than a modern Brita filter and smelled like it needed therapy.
At this point, the bag isn’t filtering impurities — it’s absorbing trauma.
Step 3: Clarify it with egg whites and lemon juice, then add cinnamon and sugar? I
don’t think this recipe is worth clarifying and it’s highly unlikely that
cinnamon and sugar would ever be able to help calf’s feet - a meat flavor, taste good? Yet here we are!
This is the culinary equivalent of putting perfume on a taxidermy project and
hoping no one notices. This step feels like the Victorian version of putting
glitter on a crime scene.
What the Heck is That? It’s another boiled meaty
foot, turned into dessert with skin benefactors (collagen) and flavors I never
want to put together in one meal. It’s giving ‘spa day meets autopsy’ — and
absolutely no one asked for that crossover.
Ridiculous Recipe Realities: The Fun Facts
In the 1800’s, not only were they terrible spellers, but
some of the language / words and definitions were very different from what we
understand them to mean today. Victorian recipes read like they were written by
someone who lost a bet with the English language.
For example:
• “Liquor” meant any type of cooking liquid, such as water,
broth and stock. What we know as liquor today, was called “Spirits”, “Cordials”
“Wineglassful” and “Restorative tonic”, back then. If someone in 1850 said they
were “adding liquor,” they weren’t having fun — they were making soup.
• When a recipe said to strain something “through a flannel
bag,” it meant: A homemade cloth filter, typically a cone shaped bag made of
flannel, muslin, or tightly woven cotton. It usually hung from a hook, a broom
handle, or a cabinet knob in a kitchen, and it worked by catching impurities,
fat (and apparently, egg‑white clots)! It was much more
rustic and much more likely to smell horrifying afterwards! Imagine a laundry
hamper and an unwashed colander had a baby.
• I did some research: “Sweetmeats” meant candied fruit, not
meat. “Salad” meant anything cold in a bowl. Whatever gelatinous nightmare you
can coax out of livestock.
Ridiculous Kitchen Rituals: The Things They Actually Did
(The 19th‑Century Obsession with Clarifying
Everything)
Back in the 1800’s, cooks had a ritual that feels less like
cooking and more like a chemistry lab requirement: they clarified almost every
broth, stock, or jelly with egg whites. Not added egg whites. Not mixed in egg
whites.
No — they cracked raw egg whites into boiling liquid and let
them coagulate into a floating protein raft.
Why they did it:
Victorian cooks wanted their broths and jellies to be crystal clear — the kind of clarity that said, “I spent six hours on this and I need you to notice.” Egg whites would grab onto impurities, fat, and anything cloudy, then rise to the top like a ghostly foam hat. Strain it off, and voilà: a clear, shimmering liquid. In theory? Smart. In reality? They were basically making egg‑white soup hats to clean their food.
Coco’s Commentary: Honestly, the 19th century
treated egg whites like the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser of the kitchen!
Got cloudy broth? Egg whites.
Murky jelly? Egg whites.
Suspicious liquid that looks like it came from a haunted
cauldron? Egg whites.
And the best part? After all that effort, they still ended up with a dessert made from boiled hooves.
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Posted Sunday 2/8/26:
The Recipe: PEANUT BUTTER STUFFED ONIONS (1930’s, resurfaced in 1940’s
Onions, Peanut Butter, Breadcrumbs
Peel whole onions. Parboil the onions. Scoop a hollow through
to the center of each onion. Stuff the cavity with peanut butter. Add breadcrumbs.
Bake until heated through.
Michele and Coco’s Translation:
The recipe itself is a threat. If those ingredients could
speak, together they would say:
“We are here to ruin your day.”
Hot soft onions, molten, oily peanut butter combined and steaming
like a warning signal! The breadcrumbs are trying desperately to hold the
relationship together like a marriage counselor saying, “I tried to fix it, but
it was already too late.”
Michele's Statement: In speaking with Coco last night, we
began to discuss an entire imaginary scene (as if it were a TV sitcom!) We were envisioning
someone getting invited to a party and they are asked to bring a covered dish. This
is how it ended up unfolding…
The guest arrives and is standing on the porch holding a
warm covered dish that smells like confusion. The guest rings the doorbell. The
hostess opens the door with a smile, takes the dish and politely asks: “Oh — What
did you bring?”
The guest: “Stuffed onions.”
The Hostess: “Oooo, what are they stuffed with?”
The guest opens their mouth, committing the ultimate culinary offense and has the audacity to say:
“Peanut butter.”
In that moment, she’s quietly thinking:
“What the Heck is That?”
“Did I hear that right?”
“Is she okay??”
“Where can I put this dish, so no one sees it?”
The hostess’s internal monologue is now screaming:
“Dear God!” And then she says out loud (because she’s trying to be polite):
“Oh! How … interesting!”
Which is hostess code for: “I’m never inviting you again.”
Ridiculous Recipe Realities: The fun Facts –
During the Great Depression, peanut butter was considered a protein miracle — cheap, shelf‑stable, and endlessly abused in recipes that never should’ve existed.
Onions were one of the few vegetables people could grow,
store, and/or afford year‑round.
Stuffing onions with anything was a common 1930’s trick
to make a tiny amount of food look like a “proper meal.” Vintage cookbooks
often didn’t provide temperatures or times, assuming every home cook had the
same oven intuition, and psychic abilities.
Breadcrumbs were used in nearly everything because they stretched ingredients, absorbed grease, and made dishes appear more sophisticated an substantial than they actually were. Many 1930’s “innovations” came from home economists who were paid to convince Americans that bizarre combinations were “nutritious,” “economical,” and also “delightfully modern.”
Ridiculous Kitchen Rituals - Things they actually did:
One tea bag served the whole family, sometimes twice. Tea bags were invented in 1908 and were commercially available throughout the 1920’s and 1930’s. Loose tea was still extremely common though. Tea balls (ball strainers), and teapots were still the norm.
Why they did it: They reused tea bags to save money during the depression era.
Coco’s Commentary has been temporarily removed (just for this recipe) because she pretty much wrote the entire party scene (with a little help from me)! Her commentary will resume in next Sunday’s Recipe ridicule on:” What the heck is that?
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Posted Sunday 2/1/26:
The Recipe: JELLIED
FISH (copied and pasted from the source, as it was written)
Dissolve 1 1/ 2 dessertspoons of powdered gelatine in y 2
cup of hot water, add 2 tablespoons lemon juice, 1 dessertspoon vinegar, a
teaspoon of salt and then 1 breakfast cup of cold water. Pour a little of this
liquid into a mould or basin, and stand in cold water to set quickly. When it
is firm, arrange slices of hard boiled egg upon it, for a decoration. Then just
cover with a little more of the liquid and let it set, or nearly so. Meanwhile
mix together 2 cups of flaked, cooked fish, a dessertspoon of chopped pickles—
(gherkins or cucumbers are the best for this)— and a few chopped capers. Now
fill the mould with layers of flavoured fish and slices of hard boiled egg.
About 2 eggs altogether should suffice. Pour over all the now- thickening
gelatine liquid and leave the mould to set. Serve with lettuce and salad
dressing. The cold liquor in which the fish was cooked may be used instead of
the cold water.
Michele
& Coco’s Translation:
Step 1: Make a gelatin base that smells like a fish funeral.
Step 2: Decorate it with egg slices like you’re crafting a Rembrandt.
Step 3: Add pickles and capers because the 1950’s had no
brakes.
Step 4: Layer everything into a mold and pray.
Step 5: Chill until firm enough to bounce.
Step 6: Serve to someone you secretly resent.
What
the Heck Is That?!
A shameful 1953 tower
of seafood regret, garnished with eggs and existential dread. We don’t know if
this was their form of ipecac, or perhaps this is what the housewives made
their husbands for dinner, when they were mad at them! Either way it’s a recipe
for disaster.
·
Gelatin was the “It girl” of mid‑century
cuisine. If it didn’t jiggle, they didn’t trust it.
·
Fish aspics were considered “elegant,” which
tells you everything about the trauma of post‑war cooking.
·
Hard‑boiled eggs were used as
decoration because food photography didn’t exist
yet and no one could stop them.
· Pickles + capers + fish + gelatin = a flavor profile known as “No thank you.”
Ridiculous
Kitchen Rituals: Things They Actually Did
In the 1950’s A lot of people washed raw chicken with soap!
Not water.
Soap.
Why
they did it
Because some people thought poultry needed “a good
scrubbing.” While soap was not a universal way of cleaning poultry, the act of
"washing" meat was considered necessary due to lower sanitation
standards during food processing. The ritual was designed to remove
"slime," odor, and debris. Naturally, this was before anyone
understood cross‑contamination or that soap isn’t something
you wash food with!
Coco’s
Commentary:
Honestly… this is what happens when someone tries to make
tuna salad but accidentally joins a cult. Nothing says “bon appétit” like a
gelatin broth that smells like a seafood boil collided with a bottle of vinegar.
Apparently their goal was to make it look like a crime scene at an aquarium. This
recipe was already horrifying, and they thought adding pickles and capers would
make it better?
Pickles + capers + fish + gelatin = a flavor profile known
as “No thank you.”
Nowhere in this universe should anyone layer these
ingredients together like a seafood lasagna and then suspend them in gelatin! This
is not food. This is a shimmering tower of maritime regret.
________________________________________________________________________________
The Recipe: Lime Jell‑O Tuna Salad
An Authentic 1950’s Recipe (Apparently nothing was safe in
that decade)
The Recipe:
1 package lime gelatin
1 cup boiling water
1 cup cold water
1 can tuna, flaked
½ cup diced celery
¼ cup chopped pimiento
2 tablespoons lemon juice
½ cup mayonnaise
Salt to taste
Directions:
Dissolve gelatin in boiling water; add cold water and chill
until slightly thickened. Fold in tuna, celery, pimiento, lemon juice, and
mayonnaise. Season lightly. Pour into ring mold and chill until firm. Unmold
onto crisp lettuce and garnish with additional mayonnaise if desired.
Michele & Coco’s Translation
Step 1: They start by making lime Jell‑O
— which isn’t a bad
flavor by itself — but then they chill it until it’s “slightly”
thickened. They’re preparing the world’s least‑requested swimming pool for canned tuna. This is the
moment the gelatin realizes it’s not becoming
a dessert… it’s becoming a
hostage situation.
Step 2: Now they fold in tuna, celery, pimiento,
lemon juice, and mayonnaise. This is not folding — this is burying evidence.
They’re mixing seafood, vegetables, citrus, and mayo into lime gelatin like
they’re trying to cover up a crime while summoning a demon from a Church
basement; and the pimiento is just there to murmur under its breath, “I didn’t
ask to be part of this.”
Step 3: Pour it into a ring mold, chill until firm,
and then unmold it onto lettuce like it’s a centerpiece instead of a cry for
help. And if that wasn’t enough, they suggest garnishing it with more
mayonnaise. Because nothing says “bon appétit” like a glossy tuna‑lime
halo sweating melting gelatin on a bed of iceberg lettuce
What the Heck is That? It’s a gelatinous seafood
wreath — a mid‑century masterpiece of confusion — where lime Jell‑O and tuna join forces to ruin
both lunch and dessert in one efficient mold. In the 1950’s this is probably something they served when they wanted
lingering guests to leave politely but immediately.
Ridiculous Recipe Realities: The Fun Facts
• The 1950’s were obsessed with gelatin. If it didn’t
wiggle, they didn’t trust it. Jell‑O was basically the duct tape of
the decade — they used it for everything except actual
repairs.
• Canned tuna was considered fancy. This recipe was the
height of sophistication — the kind of dish you’d bring to a bridge club
meeting if you wanted to assert dominance.
• Pimientos were added to everything because they were
colorful, cheap, and made any dish look like it was trying its best. They were
the edible version of “I tried to dress up for this occasion.”
• Ring molds were the Instagram of the 1950’s. If it wasn’t
shaped like a wreath, was it even food?
• And yes — they really did put mayonnaise on everything.
The 1950’s believed mayo could fix anything except this recipe.
Ridiculous Kitchen Rituals: The Things They Actually Did
Brings you short, funny facts that highlight a bizarre
kitchen habit from the era of the featured recipe.
Back in the 1950’s, home cooks had a very specific ritual:
they rinsed canned vegetables like they were trying to baptize them. Yes —
every can of peas, carrots, green beans, corn… straight under the faucet for a
full cleansing. It wasn’t a quick swish, either. It was a moment. A ceremony. A
vegetable purification ritual.
Why they did it:
Canned foods back then sometimes had a faint “tinny” taste
from the metal cans. So the logic was to rinse away the metallic flavor and
reveal the “freshness” beneath. In theory? Sensible. In practice? They were
rinsing away the only flavor those soggy vegetables had left.
Coco’s Commentary: Honestly, 1950’s canned peas were
already hanging on by a thread — rinsing them was like washing the personality
off them. And the idea that a shower could turn a mushy, grayish pea into
something “garden fresh” is peak mid‑century optimism. These people
truly believed in miracles.
If rinsing canned vegetables actually restored flavor, the
1950’s would’ve been a culinary paradise instead of the decade that gave us
tuna suspended in lime Jell‑O!
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Recipe Ridicule Posted 1/20/26 (A recipe duo)
The Recipe: OYSTER LOAVES
Take litle french Loaves cut off the tops and take out all the crumbs then take a pound & an half of Butter melt it in a frying pan till all the froth is gone then put in the Loaves and put of your melted butterr into them till they are crisp, then take them out & set them before the fire, then take 3 pints of oysters wash them in white wine - then stew them in their own liquor with some strong gravy and a little mace or nutmegg - and if you please a bit of lemon peel, when they are enough stewed put in a piece of butter and a little juice of lemon, then fill the loaves and put on the tops being fryd with the rest. when you cannot have oysters cockles will do.
Michele & Coco’s Translation:
Step 1: Destroy the Bread: Cut off the tops. Scoop out the insides. Turn them into hollow bread coffins.
Step 2: Commit Butter Manslaughter: A pound and a half of butter. Let me repeat that - A POUND AND A HALF OF BUTTER! For little French loaves. They’re not brushing them. They’re not drizzling them. They are deep‑frying the bread loaves … in butter. This is not a recipe. This is a cry for help, or a suicide mission, not sure which- maybe both.
Step 3: The Oyster Situation: Wash oysters in white wine (because water is for peasants). Those lucky oysters get drunk before they kill them, then stew them in liquor with gravy, mace, nutmeg, lemon peel, and more BUTTER.
What the heck is that?
Butter‑fried bread bowls, filled with butter‑stewed oysters, topped with butter‑fried bread lids. This is basically a Victorian award winning artery hardener!
The Bonus Banter:
This recipe reads like a 4-year-old wrote it. The spelling is an English teacher’s nightmare. This recipe does teach us something though - If you can’t get oysters, just shove some random sea creatures in there. No one will notice. Whoever created this, experimented on perfectly good French loaves like they were in science class dissecting frogs. Maybe if you can’t find oysters OR cockles, you can always turn to the amphibians!
2nd Recipe Ridicule (the duo): Apparently, there were a lot of boiled meats in the 19th Century. I’m not talking about a simmer or a poach, I’m talking about long, full rolling boiled meats – for hours! I’ve heard of overcooking, but this recipe sounds like someone sent it straight to the afterlife! Speaking of the afterlife, this recipe I’m about to drop makes me cringe. Before I post the recipe- you should know that a lot of recipes back then didn’t have measurements, just ingredients and brief instructions- I guess they thought whoever would be cooking were mind readers.
The Recipe:
NZ Boil-up (The sausage edition)
Ingredients: Water, Sausages, Onions, Potatoes, Salt
Instructions: Place sausages in a large pot. Cover with water. Bring to a boil and continue boiling until sausages are tender and light gray. Add potatoes, onions, and watercress. Boil until everything is light in color. Season with salt.
Michele & Coco’s Translation:
Step 1: Begin the Sausage Sacrifice: Place sausages in a pot. Just toss them in like you’re punishing them for past sins because this recipe is hopeless. Cover with water and boil them until they turn light gray, which is the universal color of food murder. If your sausage looks like it’s seen some things, you’re on the right track.
Step 2: Add the Vegetables to the Misery: Once the sausages have fully accepted their fate, throw in potatoes and onions. No seasoning yet. No finesse. Add watercress? Hey- that wasn’t even in the list of ingredients but at least it will add color to those gray sausages- those poor gray and lifeless sausages, that probably end up looking like a dead man’s ding-dong! Everything in this pot probably looked like it’s was filtered through a black‑and‑white movie.
Step 3: Season with salt: Only salt? After boiling the life out of everything, sprinkle in salt. As if that will fix it! No pepper. No herbs. No sauce. No joy either. Just salt — the culinary equivalent of a sigh.
What the heck is that?
This dish is a monochrome crime scene. The sausages are gray. The potatoes are probably grayish. The onions are opaque. Even the watercress — the one hopeful ingredient that could have brought some color to this dish has been boiled into a pale, soggy disappointment. This isn’t a meal. This is what food looks like when it has given up on its dreams.
Bonus Banter:
This recipe reads like someone said, “Dinner? Oh crap,” and then threw whatever they found into a pot and boiled it. It’s like the 19th century had a personal vendetta against flavor, texture, and color. The instructions basically say to boil everything (apparently until it loses all color). Serve immediately to someone you don’t like.
I think calves feet jelly on an everything bagel would be good Assad served with a stuffed onion. A good hearty lunch
ReplyDeleteYou are too funny! A stuffed onion- I wonder where you got that idea? LOL
DeleteBut the eyes are the best part
ReplyDelete