Chapter 30
When the battles of World War I pinched food supply lines and turned farmworkers into soldiers, famine swept across Europe to such an extreme that even society ladies went from gossiping at high tea to having wrestling matches in food-ration queues. Between 1914, when the war first erupted, and 1917, enemy blockades and empty farm fields meant that entire countries were starving with no relief in sight. People in the United States were blissfully unaffected by the shortages, however, until U.S. troops joined the fray in April 1917 and found that military rations in Europe were as paltry as they were disgusting.
So the U.S. government formed the U.S. Food Administration, whose chief responsibility was to manage a food supply for soldiers and, as long as they were sending food anyway, maybe a little something for the bellies of American allies in Europe as well. To that end, politicians implored U.S. households to ease up on consumption of meat, sugar, wheat, and fats so products could be shipped overseas, which earned officials a baffled stare from people who wondered what, exactly, they were supposed to eat instead.
To get the creative kitchen juices flowing, the Illinois Council of Defense birthed the Patriotic Food Show in January of 1918, intending to teach fairgoers for the admission price of 25 cents how to prepare meals without the ingredients people were accustomed to using. But because the products in question were among the most basic commodities in food preparation, home economics gurus had to get a little inventive themselves to come up with ways to eliminate those items from a recipe.
The show floor at the Chicago Coliseum was divided into five distinct areas—proteins, fats, sugar, fruit, and vegetables and starches—to showcase products that could be substituted for each. More than 100 demonstrators from college home economics departments prepared recipes—322 in all—to show audiences how easy it was to make food without those boring staple ingredients that the troops needed. Cooks were being asked to use replacements such as soy beans instead of meat, molasses or corn syrup instead of sugar, cornmeal, rye, or rice flour instead of wheat, and varmints if any could be acquired. Tasty dishes like pigeon on toast and possum marinated in vinegar and lemon juice were crafted like Betty Crocker delicacies right before visitors’ eyes, and then served up as samples to any who were daring enough to try.
Organizers included all of the recipes in a cookbook called “Win the War in the Kitchen,” which sold for a nickel and boasted a statue of Lady Liberty wrapped in an American flag on the cover along with the tagline, “What to eat, how to cook it.” Inside, a forward preyed on the patriotism of readers to make the case for rationing, which was entirely voluntary, saying, “All the blood, all the heroism, all the money and munitions in the world will not win this war unless our allies and the armies behind them are fed.” To deepen the patriotic tug, military branches were on hand with displays and a food concession area that replicated an Army mess hall and served traditional mess meals for 35 cents.
More than 200 manufacturers and food-related associations and businesses bought exhibit space for the sum of $1.50 to $2 per square foot, but under the strict condition that their display adhered to the guidelines for food use that the Food Administration was trying to foist on consumers. Booths had to be policed during the eight-day event, however, because some opportunistic exhibitors sneaked in displays featuring discouraged products such as choice cuts of meat rather than the substandard or replacement meat items the wartime effort was promoting. Others were caught with signage that made extravagant, albeit doubtful, claims about products, which officials confiscated.
A national push for voluntary rationing extended far beyond the Patriotic Food Show, including the promotion of Meatless Mondays, Wheatless Wednesdays, and slogans like “Feed a Fighter” and “Food Will Win the War.” Marketing even targeted “Little Americans,” such as a poster that showed a little boy saluting, entreating kids to eat oatmeal or corn-based cereals and “Save wheat for our soldiers.” The American conscience was sufficiently nudged, and food consumption dropped by 15 percent in 1918, while exports to Europe of those commodities doubled during the same time.
As an anchor for the patriotic movement, the show was widely deemed a success, though it did fall short of organizers’ goals financially. The entire show was budgeted to cost $20,000, with officials expecting to make all of that back and then some with admissions and exhibit space sales. However, attendance was lower than organizers hoped, though they blamed a particularly bad blizzard rather than a cookbook featuring possum recipes as the culprit. In the end, it didn’t matter, as the war ended in November of that year and America was spared a regimen of road kill.