I have been known to buy them in moments of weakness, but I don’t really approve of joke cookbooks. I own dozens of cookbooks with barely usable recipes, but I make a distinction between books that are [...]]]> Margolis, Jack S. and Daud Alani. Cooking for Orgies and Other Large Parties. Los Angeles: Cliff House Books, 1972.

I have been known to buy them in moments of weakness, but I don’t really approve of joke cookbooks. I own dozens of cookbooks with barely usable recipes, but I make a distinction between books that are intentionally bad and those that have merely aged poorly. Cooking for Orgies and Other Large Parties: How to Cook and Serve Fabulous Six-Course Gourmet Dinners for Ten to Thirty People in One Hour for $1.00 per Person has always been a crowd pleaser, though, and I feel some genuine affection for it.

The authors, Jack S. Margolis and Daud Alani, claim to be “Hollywood Bachelors” with no first-hand knowledge of orgies. Their “friend,” Ernie Lundquist, “has an orgy…every Wednesday night at 9:00 p.m.,” and has taught them everything they know. Perhaps because of their lack of experience, or perhaps, as I suspect, because they are mostly excited about their cooking method (see below), Margolis and Daud don’t devote much of the book to talk of orgies. There are naughty line drawings throughout, and there is a perfunctory “Special Consideration” section at  the beginning, complete with a suggested time-table (”9:30-12:00: Free Play”), but that’s about it:

They quickly move on to the meat of the book, as promised in the subtitle: “How to Cook and Serve Fabulous Six-Course Gourmet Dinners for Ten to Thirty People in One Hour for $1.00 Per Person.” Their definitions of “Fabulous” and “Gourmet” may differ from mine, and, but I like their approach. Each recipe is presented as part of a menu. The book then provides two sets of instructions, one for making each dish step-by-step, and one “integrated recipe,” wherein all of the dishes in the menu are made simultaneously. Not a bad idea, really. It would help, of course, if their recipes sounded appetizing. The menu below, in which spare ribs are marinated in frozen orange juice, tabbouleh is scrambled with eggs before serving, and avocados are doused with apricot brandy is, unfortunately, indicative of their questionable taste.

Things don’t improve much in the seventh menu. The zucchini recipe calls for two tablespoons of instant coffee, and the Strange Bananas are coated in a sauce made from bread crumbs, buttermilk, and banana liqueur. Strange indeed.

Margolis may not be a trustworthy cook, but if his other books are any indication, he would probably make an entertaining host. They include A Child’s Garden of Grass: The Official Handbook for Marijuana Users (in which Ernie Lundquist makes another appearance), Jack S. Margolis’ Complete Book of Recreational Drugs, The Poetry of Richard Milhous Nixon (really!), and The Ins and Outs of Orgies.

Published in 1931, Lovely Food was the work of an English socialite and hostess, Ruth Lowinsky. Her husband, Thomas, was a Surrealist painter, and they collaborated on the book. She wrote the menus and the recipes; he drew centerpieces to go [...]]]> Lowinsky, Ruth. Lovely Food: A Cookery Notebook. London: The Nonesuch Press, 1931. 8vo. 127pp

Published in 1931, Lovely Food was the work of an English socialite and hostess, Ruth Lowinsky. Her husband, Thomas, was a Surrealist painter, and they collaborated on the book. She wrote the menus and the recipes; he drew centerpieces to go with them. Lowinsky’s emphasis was more on entertaining than on cooking; many of the recipes are mere outlines. When preparing clear mushroom consommé, she simply tells the reader to “make a good consommé,” neglecting to go into what that might actually involve. The result is recipes that read more like instructions from mistress to cook than tips for a novice in the kitchen. The references to servants sprinkled throughout the book make it seem likely that this is, in fact, what Lowinsky had in mind.

Lowinsky, merits at the stove aside, was clearly an energetic and entertaining hostess. The menus in the book are all centered around witty, and occasionally improbable, dining scenarios. In one, she imagines that the reader’s stuffy father-in-law is coming to dinner, “prepared to judge you as either the laziest housekeeper in Europe, or the most extravagant, or even a subtle combination of the two.” Under the circumstances, she suggests consommé, smelts, chicken, meringues, and a centerpiece that looks like it might have been made from a slinky:

In addition to in-laws, Lowinsky addresses a number of other possible dining companions: those who don’t eat red meat (a rarity, one would assume, in 1931); those who fancy themselves gourmets but really only fancy their own opinions; and my favorite, a “dream party” made up entirely of her intellectual crushes. She acknowledges that “one can never hope to meet, or if met, be remembered by: Einstein, Mr Charles Chaplin, Freud, Virginia Woolf, Stella Benson, Mussolini, P.G. Wodehouse, Mistinguett, Lydia Lopokova, and Jean Cocteau,” but she suggests a menu nonetheless. Apparently, they would best enjoy a slightly exotic meal, interpreted through the lens of classic French cuisine:

Her old stand-by, consommé, makes an appearance, but this time it is bolstered by the addition of some curry powder and “desiccated cocoanut” (perhaps for Mussolini’s benefit?). The tomatoes are Spanish, the salmon “en suprise.” The centerpiece looks like a wedding cake.

Though the menu suggestions may seem a bit over the top, and the recipes occasionally under-developed, Lovely Food has an undeniable charm. It’s worth reading for the centerpieces alone. And who else would tell you what to make if P.G. Wodehouse was coming over to dinner?

Ruth Lowinsky’s other books include: More Lovely Food, Food for Pleasure, and Russian Food for Pleasure.