Disposable Lit Reviews

Crown Publishers, 2001
192 pp.
ISBN 0-609-60782-0

Buy it from Amazon.com or
eBay or Half.com

If you’ve explored my links page at Cold Fusion Video Reviews, then waaaaaaaay down near the bottom, you’ve seen a link to the Institute of Official Cheer, beside which I have put the following notation:

(The Page For Which the Internet Was Created)

I stand by that assessment. With the possible exception of eBay (world’s largest flea market), The Institute of Official Cheer is the website of which God was thinking when he extended his index finger and said, “Let there be Cyberspace!” It’s a gut-busting collection of images from kinder, gentler decades of the twentieth century, complete with ever-so-polished ironic captions and sidebars. From interior decorating in the seventies, to cookbooks in the fifties, to men’s fashion thoughout the century (somehow, it’s always been a focal point of a particular madness), the Institute “bring[s] pop culture history back to life so we can cruelly beat it to death again.”

I’ve always felt guilty, in a way, that proprietor James Lileks offered so much enjoyment to so many without any remuneration, not even banner ads (especially guilty because, dammit, I like getting a little pocket change back for my work!). So the publication of The Gallery of Regrettable Food in book form evoked from me two reactions: relief that when showing Lileks’ genius to others I no longer had to have them congregate around my monitor, waiting for my pissant dial-up connection to deign to show us the images; and vindication, that he too has felt the irresistible call of capitalism!

And oh, what fruits it has borne. With an acerbic wit that I can only hope to approach sometime before my dying day, Lileks has poked well-aimed ridicule at the cookbooks that populated most of the century, from which no neophyte cook or well-meaning housewife ever derived an edible meal. The images demand that you launch your own punchlines; then you read the caption and realize that James beat you to it, and did it better, to boot. That’s because he’s a professional. From giveaway pamphlets hawking the ingredient integral to all of the recipes contained (I’m sorry, there is no elegant way to serve canned salmon) to Great Big Publishing Houses That Should Know Better (Good Housekeeping, I’m looking at you), James¹ regales us selections from You’re Really COOKING When You’re Cooking With SEVEN-UP! (thanks for reassuring us), Better Homes & Gardens Salad Book (how did “jell-o mold” become a category of “salad”?), Uses and Preparation of Maine Sardines (”They’re Not Just Cat Food Anymore!”), and the book that started it all, Specialties of the House: Cook Book of Durum Wheat Main Dishes (the company that touts “bland” as part of the appeal of its noodles). Along the way, there’s plenty of of post-war optimism, sexual politics, and piquantophobia (fear of excessive spices and flavor).

I still recommend everyone check out the website, and to buy the book, but listen: Buy the book through me, okay? He’s already getting the royalties; he doesn’t need the Amazon.com commission too.

Nathan Shumate

1. I’ve read so much of his prose, I feel we’re on a first-name basis by now. [back]