Humboldt High School - Life Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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I-IUMBOLDT LIFE The Love Apple RIGINALLY a native of Peru, the tomato was brought to America a long time ago, and for many years was used for ornamental purposes. People called it the Love Apple. In 1800, some- one--may he be more widely honored than the Unknown Soldier-discovered that the Love Apple was good to eat, and this Unknown Discoverer left to posterity an unexcelled treasure. The tomato-a much more appropriate name for a food than Love Apple, because no one can live on love-has strange fam-- ily connections. Who would ever guess that dirty brown tobacco leaves come from a plant closely allied to our rosy friend? The lowly white potato, also a native of Peru, is a relative. And likewise the glori- ous purple eggplant,-Nature is wise, she hides pleasant-tasting things like walnuts under drab coverings, and deceives men by clothing such as lowly food as the eggplant in royal robes. Smooth, light, creamy-white flour fthe chief ingredient of the staff of lifej stirred with fresh, sweet, rich lacteal fluid, beaten with that most wonderful of foods-an egg! What could make a better dressing to enhance the spicy savor of the tomato. When this red globe is cut into thin slices, dipped in the mixture of flour, egg, and milk, well-seasoned, and fried to a delicate brown, was ever ambrosia more pleasing to the gods of Greece than this? Could Jupiter himself have known the delight of fried tomatoes, he would surely have es- tablished it as the chief food on Mount Olympus. Crisp skin, browned shell, and underneath, flavor that tickles the palates of kings! In salads or stewed, in soups or as cocktails, tomatoes have a special flavor that appeals to me as nothing else can. But give me fried tomatoes and I shall scorn all lowlier food. Sarah Ball. Page Eight On Apple Pie OT apple pie-about two inches deep, covered with a flaky, crispy crust that melts in your mouth! Some sprinkle sugar on the topQsome cinnamon -some cheese, but none forget the nut- meg. Doesn't that make you hungry? Apple pie is the American man's favor- ite dessert. It tops off all church suppers, and completes every good steak dinner. In the country it is even served for breakfast, Show me any other dessert so nationally liked. Show me another dessert that tastes so good after a chicken dinner. Now, I'm no chef. I couldn't even be- gin to tell anyone how to make it or say why my grandmother's creations are so good. I can just tell you what it looks like and attempt to explain what the aroma of freshly baked apple pie always arouses in me. The pie itself is about ten inches in diameter and from one to two inches deep. Around the edge the crust is pinched care- fully by dexterous fingers to hold in all the juice and flavor. On the top crust is a flower design cut in to keep the crust from rising. Beneath this embroidered blanket lie the sliced apples tucked in with a cover of sugar, butter, and cinnamon, That is all. It is then put into a hot oven and baked until a delicate brown. When baked-what a world! John Kesting. - HHot Dawg OW does that quotation end that begins Oh, what is so rare as- ? I can't recall it now, but the author of it goes on to say that there is nothing so fine as a hot dog reclining between steam- ing hot buns overflowing with fragrant onions and dripping with luscious yellow mustard. Quite right. Who doesn't love to sink his molars into such a tender del- icacy? What if the mustard does spot

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As We Like It fThe After-effects of Reading Lamb's Roast Pig Q Un Potato Soup HE French may have their bouillon and consornme, But neither of these soups, though their names are imposing, has the rare distinction of potato soup, as anyone who knows his Greek history will tell you. Potato soup is not a soup of shallow background. Its high descent is apparent at one's first acquaintance with its smooth, slightly onionized texture. Nor am I the first notable to acclaim its virtues. Plato's Greek History will bear me out in my opinion. Demosthenes' pre- vious public speeches were almost obscured one afternoon in the Roman Forum when he gave his imrnortal Discourse on Po- tato Soup. Included in the work of Homer are The Iliad and The Odyssey, but his Essay on Potato Soup, the opening sen- tence of which begins, as you know, Tell of Potato Soup, O Muse, overshadows his other efforts. No other soup has such an authentic and distinguished background. While we can not declare surely its exact origin, we do know that Eve, when she and Adam were forced to desert the Garden of Eden, carried in her fig leaves the precious po- tato soup recipe. Now, in its making, do not insult its illustrious immortality by adding to it chopped parsley. No other vegetable but fresh, young onion, direct from the gar- den, will give its smooth texture the fill? flavor its background warrants. The potatoes themselves must be young and delicate-the kind known as New Potatoes. These innocent, young sprouts must be thoroughly mashed and lubricated with rich, fresh cream. The consumer of this priceless dish should be allowed to dash in the salt and pepper himself so that the taste of the soup will not be impaired by too much, or possibly too little spice. And now for a little toast to the most delightful of modern foods-a rhyme com- posed by Shakespeare in one of his strong- er moments. l'Potato Soup, thou aromatic thing! Thou temptor of palates, of thee I sing! Jean Horton. l,,li. - My Passion LIVES are my secret passion. I had to eat seven before I liked them, but every seven eaten since has increased my lust for them, Cake, pie, candy, and fruits of all sorts are pleasant, but olives make me happier than any of these. I call them my secret passion because when I'm alone I enjoy them most. I cannot say whether it's the olive itself or the suck- ing of the stone which is the best. Though olives cannot be enjoyed in company, yet that's where I usually get them. In public, I must confine my ap- petite to one, two, three, or possible four, and that's not enough for me. How much candy I eat is unnoticed because there is no evidence, but with olives there are al- ways the telltale pits trimming the edge of my plate. Moreover, I must take them in my fingers daintily, nibble a small piece, and be altogether too mannerly to satisfy my gigantic taste. Olives are best when I can take two or three and shove them in my mouth at the same time, thus I get the full benefit of this delicious viand. I like to sit on a chair with a bottle of olives in front of me, wait till my mouth waters so much I can taste them, and then eat of the fruit until some one of my shocked parents spies me, Finally, olives are best in their original form, not stuffed or tampered with. If olives are stuffed, they are not olives but stuffing. As for the taste of olives it is in- describable, elusive-the cause of my secret passion. Charles E. Phelps. Page Seven

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HUMBOLDT LIFE your lavender tie? What if the onions do give you an Uunforgivable social fault for a few hours? Would a hot dog be complete without them? Does the clerk ask, With or without? with any doubt in his mind as to what will be your answer? No. Again I say no. Not that he cares if you take it or not! I-Ie gets his nickel anyway. But it's part of his job. I always watch the clerk, though, to see that he puts on a sufficient quantity of everything he has from onion to tomato sauce. Is there anything so popular as a hot dog? Candy bars come and candy bars go, but hot dogs stay forever. Some bars are good: some bars are bad: some appeal: some don't appeal. But just try to name the time when hot dogs don't taste good! What do you long for, after an outing on the beach? What do you love to eat during a roller-coaster ride? At a ball game? Ice cream will pass, but a cone can't be clutched conclusively at a thrilling moment. Candy bars are good, but they get mushy with the heat, and ooze when you bite them. A hot dog stands all abuse. You may clutch it tight while the sun beats down with full strength. But the hot dog, and the onion smell, remain in- tact, unharmed by the wear and tear in- Hicted by its thoughtless owner. It tastes, and the onion smells, just as it did when you bought it. Therefore, I say, crunch a candy bar: lick a cone. But when you're really hun- gry, pass them by: scorn the candy, ice cream, peanuts, and all their relations, and look for the hot dawg stand. John Wentz. Robin Redbreast I saw a little bird That looked so sweet: I-Ie hopped along the grassy path Beneath my feet. Do you know the name of him? I wonder, can you guess? I-Ie is the queerest little bird, Robin redbreast. A long ways OH In the meadows one day, I saw him jump and And he was at play, run, Snatching at angle worms And crickets in the grass: So I said, Good morning, And went on past, MARY JoNEs. Page Nine