Would you read a book entitled Perfection Salad? I found it on the sale shelf at the Satisfied Mind, opened it, noticed it was non-fiction. The idea that someone would write what seemed to be a book about the history of Jello® was daunting, so bought it.

Laura Shapiro, the author, actually writes only briefly about gelatin. Her emphasis is United States cuisine and how it has come to be stereotyped and desensualized. She assembles an intriguing argument. She recounts the evolution of scientific nutrition and cookery from the late 19th century through to the packaged convenience foods of today and posits that even our current mania over fresh, foreign and fancy foods is so standardized that food has lost much of its adventure. She considers Perfection Salad a metaphor for what the U.S. has accomplished in our pursuit of the consummate food. This appealed to me. Perfection Salad is the axis around which our family food disagreements revolve.

There were many in my ancestral family who plied the burner, most professionally. Then there’s the one for whom we don’t take credit. He’s related by marriage. He figures prominently in our family’s Jello® wars. One of my mother’s generation, he was a cook in the Navy, spent the bulk of his working life in an unrelated field and cooks, now, for a charitable organization. His wife, a blood relative, was a master baker and pastry chef. She ruled the pantry at Latchstring Inn for several years. Her potato bread changed my mind about bread. He, though, should only be allowed to cook when survival is at stake.

He views food as a chance to garner a compliment; thus, he cooks tense. I’ve never heard him talk sensually about food. His premiere dish is Perfection Salad, a composite of fruit flavored gelatin, grated cabbage and carrots, topped with marshmallows or some other mindless sweet. Even my mother, whose been known to relish a sweet garnish on a sour food, can’t stand his Perfection Salad.

Every time a family dinner is held at our house, he volunteers his Perfection Salad, even though we assiduously assign the salad entrée to someone else. If my mother answers the phone, she allows him to bring it. If I answer, I don’t.

The Perfection Salad tradition in our family started with my grandmother. Since my immediate family was usually out of country, we were rarely exposed to it, or to other entrenched family food customs, detailed, much to my surprise, in Laura Shapiro’s book: White sauced everything. Very few vegetables, certainly not raw ones. Sugar used as a spice in food not meant to be sweet. Everything cooked. And cooked. During the few years Jello® packaged a vegetable gelatin, my grandmother used that instead of fruit gelatin. It made up into a piquant, fresh vegetable aspic. This was the only time I ate Perfection Salad. I was sorry when vegetable gelatin was discontinued. My relatives were not.

On hot summer days I fondly remember that chilly, flavorful crunch. With the recent advent of vegetable broth in the canned soup section, I decided to try repeating the scandalous blip in my grandmother’s cooking and create my ideal Perfection Salad:

Tart Perfection

Mix these together in a bowl. Set aside.

Warning: Don’t expect Jello®. Expect cool, crisp delight.

Text, Recipes & Graphics ©2000 by Gail Rae Hudson

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