Aunt Lyd’s Goulash

Time for a retro recipe!

Great Aunt Lydia Meyer provided this recipe about 1984, though I’ll bet she’d been making it for years. Aunt Lyd, Grandma Renner’s younger sister, who lived off of West McCarty, on Hamlin Street, in one of those nifty 1920s/1930s homes with the tall, steep gable soaring over the front door.

Her husband, Adolf, was a letter carrier for the post office—a physical job, for sure—and they had two robust, busy sons, so with all that activity and appetite surrounding her, she knew how to make satisfying meals in a hurry. And inexpensively.

Since there were lots and lots of women in the same situation, the following dish is hardly unique. Most of us who grew up in the middle twentieth century have memories of eating some kind of gloppy hamburger-based stew called “goulash.” It didn’t help that it sounded a bit like “galoshes,” which puts one in mind of mud, slush, and other sloppy things that collect on the ground. But honestly, we loved it.

The concept of “goulash,” although somehow loosely connected to an ancestral idea in the Old World (e.g., Hungary), constitutes a central branch of a wide variety of midcentury American tomatoey, ground-hamburger-and vegetable, one-dish meals called “goulash.” In Sue’s family, when her mom produced a goulash dish, Mr. Ferber would chuckle and call it (affectionately, but no doubt to Mrs. Ferber’s chagrin) “slumgullion.”

If we’re critical, and we’re being honest, this is not food to savor, except occasionally as a retro recipe—a way for us midcentury babies to plumb childhood memories of suppertime and potlucks. Mostly, it’s valuable as a quick, tasty way to feed a bunch of hungry people using things you have on hand.

Which means: “mom food,” or “church lady food.” (With the recent cold, snowy weather, I made this recipe as a meal for my parents and brother.)

Also, since we’re being critical, we owe a salute to our moms for improvising such tasty meals, on a shoestring, using what was in the freezer and cupboard. Boxed Hamburger Helper would soon come along and tell them, “you don’t need to mess with all that stuff; just brown some hamburger, add water, and stir in our box of sodium and dried-up things.” And compared to that, goulash seems like a meal made with actual love and care and creativity.

As a hot stew, it’s also perfect for wintertime eating.

I’m sure you can find lots of similar recipes, maybe even better ones, online, but here’s Aunt Lydie’s version. My suggestions follow the recipe.

Aunt Lyd’s Goulash

Brown ½ pound of hamburger; add ¼ cup chopped onion, and ½ cup chopped celery. Cook until tender. Then add 1 package of frozen succotash, 1 can tomato soup, 1 tsp. sugar, and pepper and salt to taste, and a little chili powder, and a little green pepper.

Simmer for 45 minutes.

Makes 4 servings.

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Suggestions and notes:

• “Package of frozen succotash”: in the past, frozen vegetables only came in ca. 10 oz. boxes. Maybe you can still find 10 oz. boxes of frozen succotash, but to replicate this dish, you may have to buy frozen lima beans and corn and measure out about 5 oz. of each. You could also use canned instead of frozen.
• “1 can tomato soup”: this would have been a can of condensed Campbell’s tomato soup, used in the condensed form.
• Obviously, the variations are endless.
• Finally, if you add a little Italian herbal seasoning, or oregano, it would probably be even more tasty. Just sayin’.

Fun fact: I had to look up the spelling for slumgullion for this post!

Miss Ann Kielman

Tonight I’m sharing with you a photograph of Miss Ann Kielman, whose delicious Cucumber Mold recipe I presented to you in my previous post.

Mom stopped by the other day with a copy of the 1972 Pictorial Directory of Jefferson City’s Faith Lutheran Church, which had belonged to Mom’s Aunt Lydia Meyer, who, as I also mentioned in my previous post, had been Ann Kielman’s best-friend-forever (BFF).

That 1972 church directory! I couldn’t help hooting and pointing at some of the hairdos. There were some real doozies—beehives, wing-to-one-sides, swooping Kon-Tiki Hawaiian do’s. One lady looked like she had a Drip-O-Lator coffeepot on her head. And the men weren’t immune, either: Comb-overs and slicked-down hair galore. And everyone was wearing polyester and looked, well, permanently pressed.




I could indeed share some of the more entertaining pictures with you; other bloggers would jump on the chance to provide such hilarious pictures to which they could add witty put-downs, but you know what? I’m too classy to do that. These were and are real people, with feelings; sincere Lutherans just trying to look nice for their church directory portrait.

Face it, the fashions reached their lowest point ever in the history of humankind in the seventies, and these folks, like all the rest of us, were victims of the trends. Unlike James Lileks et al., I just don’t feel like “poking fun at the defenseless past” this time.

Back to Miss Kielman for a second. Remember, it’s pronounced “kilmun,” not “keel-man.” I remember Aunt Lyd talking about her and pronouncing it “kilmun.” And no, I don’t know why the directory spells it “Anne” while the cookbooks spells it “Ann.” I don’t know about you, but my money’s on the cookbook spelling. (If you’re reading this and you can correct me, please leave a comment!)

She’s dead. Why does any of this matter? It just does. I didn’t know her (though I’m sure I met her; she had to have been at cousin Dennis’s wedding and funeral, and at many other occasions) . . . but like Mildred Sippel, the thread of her life has interconnected with mine, and the fact that she left behind no progeny, no one to leave flowers on her grave or point at her picture in an album compels me to put her name and picture on the Internet, for people maybe even a world away to see and sort of know, a memorial of sorts, even if we’re recognizing her for her cucumber Jell-O mold and for the fact that she and my great aunt were dear, dear friends.

It has to count for something.

Retro Jell-O Recipes Nos. 62,500 and 62,501: Lime Jell-O with Cucumbers, Onions, and Vinegar

Hey, folks! I’m almost getting serious about these retro Jell-O recipes! Today I present to you two variations on a theme, and these are both definitely “salad” Jell-Os and not dessert ones.

Both involve lime Jell-O, cucumbers, vinegar, and a small amount of onion.

The first recipe was published in the official Jell-O cookbook from 1930 and was the first “salad” recipe listed, on page 16. I should mention that this cookbook announced a brand new Jell-O flavor: “The new, wonderfully refreshing Lime!” (“You will want to buy Jell-O in all six flavors, six packages at a time. Then there will always be the ‘makings’ of a lovely dish on hand.”) Yes, junior, there was indeed a time before green Jell-O.

Just in case you missed the fantastic news, there’s a “note” just before you launch into the recipes:




Above this particular recipe is a lovely illustration of some pret-ty high-class folks. One lady is our heroine; she’s slicing into her monumental jewel-like creation. Another lady behind her has her pretty little nose in the air. Bleeding off the edge of the illustration are two figures in black suits, and another high-class lady’s shoulder. There’s a magnificent coffee urn on the table (puffing out his stainless chest, with arms akimbo), attended by some fabulous coffee cups and saucers. What a fine, gay luncheon this shall be! (I think the message here is: “With Jell-O, you can forget all about the Great Depression.”)




Here’s the recipe, transcribed with great care. My comments follow.


Sea Dream Salad

1 package Lime Jell-O
1 cup boiling water
1 cup grated cucumber
1 tablespoon vinegar
1 teaspoon onion juice
Dash of Cayenne
1/2 teaspoon salt

Dissolve Jell-O in boiling water. Add cucumber, vinegar, onion juice, Cayenne, and salt. Force through sieve. Turn into mold. Chill until firm. Cut in squares and serve on crisp lettuce. Garnish with Hellmann’s Mayonnaise. Serves 6.




. . . Now, is there any law that says you have to cut it in squares? Pffft. I molded mine in little cups!

I have to say, this is a Jell-O technique you don’t see very often in your standard church-ladies cookbook, this idea of infusing your hot liquid Jell-O with other flavors, keeping the Jell-O crystal clear. You add the grated cuke and stuff to hot Jell-O, then strain out the solids. It’s like making cucumber–onion–Jell-O “tea.”

Hmm. I think that most church ladies would see this as a waste of perfectly good cucumber. I think most church ladies would just as soon keep the cuke in the salad.

Aha! Hence the next recipe, which comes from my beloved copy of Cooking with Faith: 1950 to 1975, published in Jefferson City by the Faith Lutheran Ladies Guild.




It’s a contribution from “Miss Ann Kielman,” and appears, amid a wiggly, jiggly bounty of other fine Jell-O recipes, on page 30.




Again, I transcribe it for you, with a few comments afterward.


Cucumber Mold

1 pkg. lime jello [sic]
1 c. hot water
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. vinegar

Mix together and let cool until almost set, then add:

1 c. sour cream
1/4 c. or 2 Tbsp. mayonnaise
1 c. chopped cucumbers
1/2 tsp. grated onion




As usual with these sketchy types of recipes, you’re left to wonder about how finely chopped the cucumbers should be, or how finely grated the onion. But I bet I know what Miss Ann Kielman would say: “Well, as fine as you want them.” . . . I chose a small dice.

So! How Do They Taste?

My curiosity about this very question is what made me make these two recipes. They sound so counterintuitive to us in 2010; I suspect many of you are thinking, “Ugh! Nasty! Jell-O ’n cucumbers ’n onions ’n vinegar!”

Yet these recipes were appreciated enough to appear in these publications. Someone paid good money to print these on paper. The first must have ranked extremely high on General Foods’ taste tests, since it appeared at the top of the salad section where they kick off the new Jell-O flavor—two whole pages before the spectacularly famous “Under-the-Sea Salad.”

And Miss Kielman must have had plenty of folks compliment her on her delicious Cucumber Mold, since she tendered it among her other contributions to her church’s cookbook. (Well, unless maybe it was dishes like this that “kept” her unmarried?)

So here’s the verdict. First, you have to let go of your ingrained notion that Jell-O is for sweet stuff. In fact, you need to let go of the common American idea that fruit flavors aren’t used in savory dishes. But try thinking along the lines of a mango chutney or pineapple salsa, where “savories” like onions and garlic walk down the aisle hand-in-hand with delicious sweet fruits.

Both tasted really good! Sue, in particular, liked them—but you have to realize that Sue is a nut for Jell-O. Always has been. She said it was a bit of a leap to get used to “salty Jell-O”—an exaggeration, I think, though it does kind of describe the effect. The flavors of the two are surprisingly similar.

We both agreed that if you were to pick one of these to serve to company, Ann Kielman’s is much better. First, the milkiness prepares you for something “different”—you know just by looking at it that it’s been modified somehow. The Jell-O cookbook version, by contrast, looks for all the world like “normal” green Jell-O. (Until you inspect it closely and see the cayenne flecks in there.) Unless you’re fully aware of the fact that the sparkling green blob before you is a salad, you might be really, um, surprised.

Another point in the Ann Kielman recipe’s favor: The chopped cucumbers do add a pleasant and welcome texture; their presence helps balance the whackiness of the overall concept.




Meanwhile, I found myself unable to finish my portion of Jell-O’s Sea Dream Salad, mainly on account of the mayonnaise, the garnish. I have to admit that I’m not a fan of mayo, anyway, and this is probably my least-favorite way of having it, ever. Bleah. More like Sea-Nightmare Salad. My sea doesn't have mayo in it.

Tomorrow when we have more of this (hey, it’s just the two of us, so there’s leftovers), I’ll try mashing an avocado and putting that to the side instead of mayo. I’ll bet that would be lots better. Or maybe sour cream. So many options.

I guess this is why there are a hundred thousand different Jell-O recipes, huh!




Bonus Fun Information, Just for You!

Maybe you’re wondering about this “Miss Ann Kielman” who submitted such a delightful recipe to the Faith Lutheran cookbook! Well, she was my Great Aunt Lyd’s BFF. They were both about the same age, so Miss Kielman was probably born around 1905 or so.

Oh! And it’s pronounced “Killmun,” not “Keelman.”

If you’re from around Jeff City and keep your ears pricked up for history, that surname might ring a bell: Kielman’s Pool Hall was opened in 1897 and by the 1930s was run by Ann’s father. It was located just south (uphill) of the ECCO Lounge—actually, the two buildings are attached. There’s a consignment shop there now.

My mom remembers going to Kielman’s with her dad when she was little; they’d sit at the bar together. He’d have a beer, and she’d drink a Dr. Pepper and eat a package of Planter’s Peanuts.

Ann’s mother, mom says, drove a car (which is remarkable for a woman of that vintage, and that’s why I’m relating it), and she was a good friend of my mom’s Great Aunt Maggie (Margaret Renner Burkel Jordan), who lived up on East Ashley. She also drove her own car!

The Kielmans were a longstanding Munichburg family, and Ann—who never married—lived in her parents’ house and continued to live there after they passed away.

So Aunt Lyd and Ann Kielman were lifelong best friends; they worked together for years at the Missouri Public Service Commission, and they both were members—charter members, I think—of Jeff City’s Faith Lutheran Church.

After Lyd got married, and before she and Adolf started having kids, they would take Ann with them on trips. Once (my mom says) they even went together on a trip to Colorado! You have to give Adolf some real credit here for being a nice hubby: How many other young married men would want to go on a lengthy motor trip with their wife and wife’s best friend?

Anyway. I never new Ann Kielman myself, but I sure heard her name a lot when we would visit Aunt Lyd. It’s nice to put these whacky pieces together, and to enjoy her tasty Jell-O salad!

Retro Jell-O Recipe No. 62,498

Here’s another recipe that’s just right for when summer temperatures soar, and it comes from my very own Great Aunt Lyd. It was published in her church ladies’ cookbook, Cooking with Faith, 1950 to 1975 (Jefferson City: Faith Lutheran Ladies Guild, 1975), p. 34. (Yes, I’ve mentioned this cookbook before.)

For me personally, it’s a “food of childhood,” something that links me to my great aunt (who was a real sweetheart; she passed away in 1999 at the age of 93) . . . but I encourage you to try this recipe if you find yourself “bringing a dish” to a potluck this summer.

Everyone will be tickled by the sweet creaminess of it; and the tartness of the pink lemonade and the crunch of the pecans keep it from wobbling over the edge into diabetic-coma territory.

And of course, the color is out of this world.

Here it is, in all its glory. Long live the church-lady Jell-O salad!

(Comments in brackets are mine.)

Red Raspberry Mold

1 (10 oz.) pkg. frozen red raspberries, thawed
2 (3 oz.) pkg. red raspberry Jell-O
2 c. boiling water
1 pt. vanilla ice cream
1 (6-oz.) can frozen pink lemonade, thawed
1/4 c. chopped pecans

Drain raspberries, reserving juice. Dissolve Jell-O in boiling water; add ice cream by spoonfuls, stirring until melted. Stir in pink lemonade and reserved juice. Chill until partially set. Add raspberries and nuts. Turn into [ca. 6-cup] mold. [Or casserole dish.] Chill until firm. Serves 10.

Mrs. Adolph Meyer (Lydia)