Welcome (back) to the blog! To everybody reading from the Pacific Northwest, I hope you are enjoying a reprieve from the brutal heat. The next few days are looking much more typical on that front.
During my long absence from the blog, I happened to become the owner of even more northwest cookbooks! I won’t say how that happened, as I definitely don’t have a cookbook problem, but I thought I would try something a little different and make a recipe-centered post featuring a recipe from one of my new acquisitions.
Something else, something far less exciting, also happened during my absence: my trusty printer bit the dust. So, until I invest in a successor, please bear with me and my aging digital camera.
With all of that said, I present to you Rhubarb Custard Pie!
Today’s recipe comes to us from “Tektronix Employees Cookbook” from 1965. This comb-bound, community-style cookbook was compiled by the Beaverton, Oregon-based company’s Ceramics and 3D Advanced Materials Departments “for the benefit of [their] 1965 Christmas Project.”
It features 93 pages of recipes, along with an index and “helpful” cooking information from the publisher.
Why this recipe? Rhubarb season is here and I found myself in possession of more than 6 pounds of free rhubarb! Secondly, while looking through this book, it became apparent that rhubarb custard/cream pies were very popular with the folks at Tektronix, and perhaps in the entire region. Four different recipes for this type of pie made it into the book, and I later found another rhubarb custard pie recipe in a vintage newspaper clipping from Wenatchee.
Most of the United States’ rhubarb crop is grown in Washington and Oregon, making its ruby-red stalks plentiful here during the vegetable’s April to June growing season. Native to China and Russia, rhubarb was brought to Europe in the 1600s. It became popular in what would become the US and Canada not much later, in the early 1700s. The climate and soil in Washington and Oregon make the Pacific Northwest the perfect place to grow this unique crop.
While there’s not much to be found about the history of rhubarb farming in the good ol’ PNW, I did find that farmers in Oregon’s Willamette Valley formed a co-operative in the 1970s to bolster rhubarb production. Farmers in Washington’s Kent Valley formed their own co-operative for this purpose in the 1930s.
But back to the pie! In choosing which recipe to try, I decided first upon Esther Reiss’ recipe for “Rhubarb Custard Pie” because it used 4 cups of rhubarb. Although Esther’s recipe was tasty, it was faulty. After guessing my way through cooking temperature, cooking time, and meringue preparation, I was left with a meringue-capped pie crust filled with delicious rhubarb soup.
The lessons learned from Esther’s pie encouraged me to try again with Muriel Cimino’s “Rhubarb Custard Pie.” This time, I was met with delicious success! The pie featured a strong rhubarb flavor in a very wet custard (it thinned out after baking). There were a few pockets of undissolved sugar, but I think mixing the custard and sugared rhubarb prior to filling the crust would cure these ailments.
Part of this pie’s success is owed to Bill Mason’s recipe, from which I borrowed the baking instructions.
Do you have some rhubarb waiting in your backyard or refrigerator? Why not bake it up Tekronix-style?
First, I hit rock bottom at my job. After nearly three years of trying to decide, “Do I like this job?” the answer seemed to be a resounding “NO!” and every day was a chore to stay focused and stay calm.
Second, I rediscovered my love of Paul Revere & the Raiders. It wasn’t that I had ever really stopped loving their music, but my level of devotion had waned significantly from the all-encompassing fan-girlhood I had experienced from ages 13 to 17.
Third, I found my Wikipedia password. In the early days of the Pandemic, I had gathered the nerve to join and author my first page, but in the ensuing years, I had lost my password and couldn’t be bothered to make a new one.
While on Wikipedia one October night, a quick search proved that the Beaverton, Oregon page did not know that Raiders drummer Mike “Smitty” Smith was from there. While that was an easy fix, it cued the discovery and horror that he did not have his own Wikipedia page! The other four members of the classic lineup had their own Wikipedia pages, but not Smitty! This had to change.
So my desire for something better, my rediscovered appreciation for the Raiders, and my located password cumulated in the start of a Wikipedia page that soon grew and grew, thanks to other authors who were faster at research than me! But while Wikipedia is a useful and often factual resource, it didn’t feel like it did justice to who Smitty really was beyond the professional accomplishments and basic biographical details.
Today, in honor of what would have been his 83rd birthday, I offer you what I hope is a slightly more personal, and complete, look into the life of Mike “Smitty” Smith.
Early Life
An article from 16 Magazine gives a glimpse into Smitty’s childhood
Michael Leroy Smith was born on March 27, 1942 at Emanuel Hospital in Portland, Oregon. He was the second son born to Howard and Mildred “Midge” Smith, arriving two years after his brother, Jerry. Howard worked as a truck driver, and Midge was likely a homemaker. Smith’s parents divorced sometime in the 50s or 60s and both remarried.
Smith’s mother was also born and raised in Oregon, as were both of her parents. She was one of six siblings born to James and Lulu Milligan. Crabtree, Oregon was named after Lulu’s grandparents’ family, who crossed the U.S. from Virginia to Oregon Territory in 1845.
The Smith family resided in the Portland suburb of Beaverton, which boasted a mere 2,512 people in the 1950 Census.
In the band at Beaverton High, 1956-1957 school yearSmitty and brother Jerry on the Beaverton Varsity Wrestling Team, 1957-1958 School Year
Information about Smith’s childhood is scarce. He was a boy scout. He received his first drum set at age 11, and received an upgraded set two years later. While a student at Beaverton High School, he participated in many of the same activities as his brother, including Winged B (a service club), Boys’ League, General Council, and wrestling. He must have been a good wrestler, as he played Varsity as a freshman. He also played drums in the school band during his freshman year.
Around 1957, he met Susan “Susie” Moore, who would eventually become his first wife. She was his classmate at Beaverton High School and, interestingly, was a member of the same school literary club as Al Dardis, Smith’s friend and eventual business partner.
Dardis was, in fact, the friend who reportedly gave Smith the name “Smitty.”
After High School
Yearbook photos from Beaverton High School
Smith graduated from Beaverton High School in 1960. Two years later, he and two friends – Al Dardis and Ross Allemang—became owners of a teen club in Portland. The Headless Horseman, as it was dubbed, operated as a members-only, not-for-profit club. From all accounts, it was an immediate success.
Smith and Allemang played in the house band, Gentleman Jim and the Horsemen, with Smith on guitar and Allemang on bass. The band had formed in 1961 from the ashes of The Royal Notes. Although the band did not have the most polished sound, they attracted crowds of young people eager to dance. One night in ’62, the club and its band attracted two people who would change the course of Smith’s life and career.
Smith, Revere, and Lindsay c. 1966
Paul Revere (organ/piano) and Mark Lindsay (vocals/saxophone) had played in a band together in Caldwell, Idaho. The band had cut an LP and even had a hit record (“Like, Long Hair.”) Their musical ambitions were placed on hold for a year while Revere, who avoided the draft by citing his Mennonite faith, completed mandatory community service as a cook in an Oregon mental hospital.
By 1962, Lindsay and Revere had reunited in Portland and were scoping out musicians to round out a new incarnation of their band, Paul Revere & the Raiders. They heard about the popular Headless Horseman club and its famed band and decided to see it for themselves.
There was one caveat: The Headless Horseman was an under-21 club and Revere was too old to enter. The 20-year-old Lindsay was sent in to scope out the band, although he was too embarrassed to wear his thick eyeglasses inside the club and too nearsighted to see the band clearly. His uncorrected eyesight drew him right up to the stage. Much has been written about his fateful meeting, but I think Smith himself described it best:
[Mark Lindsay] couldn’t see, so he leaned over the stage and looked at me real close as I was playing guitar in front. So close that I thought, “What is this? Somebody wants to fight me.” I don’t fight, I just don’t like it. I was real paranoid that this strange-looking person wanted to pick a fight with me.
After the band finished their set, Smith’s fears were put to rest. Lindsay introduced himself and explained that he and a friend were looking for musicians to join their band. Smith followed Lindsay out to Revere’s car where the three men chatted.
Smith playing guitar, c. 1966
“Revere wanted to put a band together and he wanted me to play lead guitar for the group—I declined because I only knew a few songs,” Smith said. “We were sittin’ out in the car and I said, ‘Well, I can’t play guitar, but I’ll get you a guitar player.’”
Smith recommended Portland guitarist Steve West, and Revere invited Smith to join on drums. Allemang was added as the band’s new bassist. Revere rented a cabin on the Willamette River, and the five musicians gathered to play together for the first time.
“I had a set of drums and the first time we got together it sounded good, and I knew that it was gonna go places, and so did everybody else,” Smith said. “I was excited that first moment we sat down and played.”
Lindsay agreed with this assessment. He said in an interview with Sundazed:
it was like, really apparent that [Smith] was a great, natural rock n’ roll drummer, so he became our drummer. Smitty, he may not have been the fastest cat in the studio, but if he had it down, he had it down, and it worked.
The Smith Family, 1967
Something else big happened in Smith’s life around 1962: he and Susie became engaged. They married on June 7, 1963 in Stevenson, Washington. As the story goes, their marriage was officiated by a barber, who was the only justice of the peace in town. They welcomed their first child, son Rory, in January 1964.
Paul Revere & the Raiders
Smith had a long career with Paul Revere & the Raiders, drumming with them from October 1962 to May 1967. He performed on six of their albums: Paul Revere and the Raiders (1963), Here They Come (1965), Just Like Us (1966), Midnight Ride (1966), The Spirit of ’67 (1966), and at least part of Revolution! (1967). The group consistently had hits in the Top Ten, and all three of their 1966 albums went gold.
A few lineup changes produced the “classic” lineup by 1965: Paul Revere (organ), Mark Lindsay (vocals/saxophone), Phil Volk (bass), Drake Levin (and later Jim “Harpo” Valley, guitar), and Smith (drums). Their “house band” status on Dick Clark’s new music TV program Where the Action Is! propelled the band into stardom almost overnight.
“Smith was, for a time in the United States, probably the most well-known drummer in rock & roll after Ringo Starr of the Beatles,” claims his biography on AllMusic.com. At the height of their fame, Smith even had his own fan club.
Smith offered much more than just a killer drumbeat to the band. He sang lead on three Raiders songs, one of which he wrote (“Our Candidate” from Spirit of ’67) and another of which he co-wrote (“There’s Always Tomorrow” from Midnight Ride). His first lead vocal was an outrageously fun cover of Barbara George’s “I Know” on the Just Like Us! album.
Smith’s voice can also be heard during the intro of the Raider’s version of the Northwest standard, “Louie, Louie”:
“Grab your woman: it’s a-Louie, Louie time!”
Another of Smith’s talents was his ability to throw a well-timed scream or two into a song, especially in the early days. For a man with such a low voice, he had a ridiculously high scream. While his most prominent scream can be heard on the bluesy “B.F.D.R.F Blues,” you can also hear him all over the songs on original albums Paul Revere & the Raiders and Here they Come, as well as the songs on the fantastic two-CD set Mojo Workout! He had a way of always sounding like he was having a great time.
But the cherry on top of his musicianship and his screams were his outlandish humor, jokes, and pranks. While known to be quiet and shy offstage, his stage persona was wild and somewhat mentally unstable. Episodes of Where the Action Is! showcase Smith’s antics, often performed in tandem with Revere. According to multiple sources, he was a pro at faking heart attacks—and not just onstage. Reportedly, he once climbed on top of a table at a restaurant and faked one right there. I wouldn’t want to be their waitress!
Navigating what’s truth and what’s embellishment in teen magazines is difficult enough, but Smith’s often outlandish answers make it even harder to guess what’s a serious fact about him and what’s just him goofing off. It would appear he played his role of madman all too well.
In one tour book biography, for example, he mentions that his favorite foods include “…French Dip sandwiches and Chili Burgers and Catsup, straight.” Believable, perhaps—at least for the first two—but then things take a turn in a magazine article where he’s asked what are his favorite foods and he replies with “paper, mostly. Sometimes I eat pieces of metal and plastic spoons.” His final sentence is perhaps the most believable of them all:
“But you don’t get much chance to eat on tour.”
Paul Revere & the Raiders had a nonstop schedule. In 1966 alone they played 311 one-nighter concerts across the U.S. and Canada. Their schedule was so unrelenting and grueling that few clear stories stuck in the memories of those who were there. I did find a few tales about Smitty on tour that I think are worth sharing, as they speak equally to the pandemonium of fame and to Smith’s character.
Revere recalled a story from the early days when the band was performing in San Francisco. Revere was holding out an organ chord at the beginning of “You Can’t Sit Down,” same as he always did. A member of the audience wasn’t amused and yelled for Revere to stop. He also threw an ashtray at Revere, who ducked.
“But it hit Smitty right in the head,” Revere recalled. “He fell right off his stool. But, man, he was right back up, going right into the song—although, I don’t think he could see anything but stars.”
Another story recounted by Revere involved a rowdy group of fans who pulled Smith offstage during the performance. The band didn’t realize he was gone until they could no longer detect his drumming.
When the Raiders added a roadie to their tours, Smith tried to warn him of the chaos that would follow after a performance. After announcing the last song to the audience, Smith told the roadie, “Mark, when the song ends, run for your life!” As soon as the song ended, the crowd rushed the stage like a human mudslide. While the band scrambled for the exit, Smith and the roadie were cut off from the rest of the group.
Despite their significant height difference (Smith was 5’7” while the roadie was well over 6’), Smith grabbed the roadie and rolled both of them up in the stage curtains to hide. It worked, and they remained undetected until the band’s bus returned to pick up the equipment.
Smith seemed like the type of guy who didn’t let fame go to his head. He was in it for the enjoyment of playing music and for making crowds happy. Despite appearing on national television every week and his ever-growing popularity in fan magazines, he never seemed to forget that he was just a regular person.
After Smith’s passing, fellow Raider Phil Volk wrote that “[Smith] never wanted to miss an opportunity to jump into another person’s world and find out what they were all about.” In one teen magazine article, bandmate Jim “Harpo” Valley wrote that Smith was insecure about his curly hair. In another teen magazine, Smith was asked to describe Harpo’s personality. His assessment about Harpo’s personality, to me, says a lot about his own:
…In the music business, especially in the big centers like Los Angeles and New York, young people are easily corrupted. When Jim came down to Hollywood to join us, he knew very little about “the big-time.” I was afraid it might go to his head and really screw him up.
…As I say, he’s become even kinder—to animals and people. It’s a part of his attitude toward life. Maybe it’s because he’s seen how mean some of the other music people have become.
Anyway, I’m overjoyed that he hasn’t become hard and callous and cruel. I hope he can stay that way.
Across multiple interviews and articles, it’s clear that Smith greatly valued people and genuineness. In an interview with Dick Clark, Smith stated that he liked all people, but especially the people in Hawaii because they were “relaxed, more themselves. You know, basically more friendly.” When later asked where was his favorite place in the world, he replied, “Hawaii—so far!”
Mark “Hoss” Amans, the Raiders’ longtime roadie (or Band Boy, as the job was called then) recalls many memories of Smitty in his 2010 book, Where the Action Was. “Smitty was a strange duck,” he wrote, “but we all loved him. He was definitely one of a kind.” He further illustrates his point with several stories where Smitty wanders away from the group without telling anybody. The reason? Either to get up to some unthinkably random hijinks (from riding on the top of a hotel elevator and pretending to have a fight in an airplane bathroom) or to connect with the common man.
Perhaps my favorite story in the book is when Smith was discovered missing one hour before the start of a performance in a small Southern town. Revere sent Hoss out to find him.
…So I got into one of the rental cars, drove down the main drag going toward the hotel, and I looked over at the front of a country grocery store, the kind you used to see in movies where there is a porch with a few rocking chairs. There were three good old boys sitting in the rocking chairs, whittling on sticks with their pocket knives. I looked again, and Smitty was in the middle of them, whittling on a stick with his pocket knife. I stopped and backed up the car, rolled down the window on the passenger side, and yelled, “Smitty, what the h*** are you doing?” [Smitty] stood and yelled back, “Just hanging out with the boys!” I said, “Come on, get in the car. We’ve got to go to the gig.” The three good old boys stood up, and Smitty shook hands with all of them. He got in the car and we took off for the gig. He was telling me he liked to talk to the locals especially in small towns, maybe because he was from Beaverton, Oregon, west of Portland.
While to the world he was a wild, wacky, wonderful musician in a three-cornered-hat and a tailcoat, I would guess he saw himself just as a regular guy from Oregon who loved playing music.
Art Raz(z)
One cannot write about Smith without mentioning Art Raz (spelled in at least one article as “Art Razz.”) In reality, I believe that Art Raz, full name Arthur Raz, was simply one of Smith’s buddies from Oregon. Smith was reportedly good friends with both Art and his wife, Vicki, and attended the birth of the Razes first child in 1960. Art passed away in the early 90s, which was reportedly very hard on Smith.
But Art Raz was so much more than just a regular guy in Raiders lore. He was some sort of running joke, popping up where one, perhaps, least(?) expected it. Consider a 16 Magazine article of Smith’s loves and hates. What was last on his list? Nothing other than, “I love Art Raz.” In an interview with Smith on Where the Action Is!, Dick Clark inquires “Who is your best friend in the world, outside of the group?” Smith’s response? “Outside of the group? Why, Art Raz.” In another magazine, Smith vows to share a photo of Art Raz to satisfy readers’ curiosities. A photo was printed, but it was backlit and ambiguous. I suppose a running joke is only funny as long as it’s off and running.
Mentions of Art Raz were not confined to magazine articles and video interviews. His name shows up in two songs on the Just Like Us! Album, shouted by none other than Smith himself.
Brotherhood
Smith and Volk play their “pawn shop finds” in a teen magazine
It was 1967 when Smith and fellow Raiders Drake Levin and Phil Volk decided to leave the group. Levin’s stint in the National Guard gave him time to think about who he was and what he wanted. Volk’s brother had recently died in Vietnam, causing existing misgivings about his future with the group to bubble over. Smith, like the other two, was presenting his songs to producer Terry Melcher only to have then deemed “not commercial” and turned down for inclusion on any Raider albums. Revere and Lindsay’s drive to keep a clean pop group image felt tone-deaf to the band’s rock n’ roll roots and what was going on in the news.
In a magazine article from 1967, Volk recounted a trip that he, Levin, and Smith took to Olympic National Forest in Washington during a two-day break on tour. They played guitar and talked all night, eventually sleeping overnight in the woods. Volk continued:
We didn’t talk about leaving the Raiders when we were in the forest. What we discussed was peace of mind. When you have to work seven days a week for so long you don’t realize what’s happening to you. All of a sudden you realize what you’ve been missing. We had so much fun that day, we wanted to have more fun.
A hectic work schedule and a world in chaos, coupled with their young ages (Smith would turn 25 in 1967, Volk would turn 22, and Levin would turn 21) sounded like the perfect storm for an identity crisis of sorts, and a search for answers and meaning.
Another driving factor in the decision to leave may have been the gradual use of studio musicians on the Raiders’ albums. While Volk remains adamant that he, Levin, and Smith played on all of the Raiders’ records, Mark Lindsay tells a different story. In an interview with Sundazed, he revealed the following:
[Levin, Volk, and Smith] had two or three records that they weren’t used on. You know, I went to them and explained ‘Look guys, its strictly an economic thing, Terry, he only has so much time to produce the Raiders, and we only have so much time in town, and quite frankly, we’re just not fast enough.’ Drake and Phil were a little more skilled. Smitty was a great drummer, but he wasn’t tremendously versatile and he couldn’t take direction. Even if you said ‘O.k., Smitty, on bar 42 I want you to do a two-bar roll, and then go into ¾ time for another four bars, and then come back into four’… he didn’t know what that meant, so Terry just started using session guys. It was basically a communication and a skill-level thing.
The interview above is just one of several places where Lindsay commented on Smith’s drumming skills. In an interview with Stereo Embers, he gives this insight to how the Raiders’ tracks were recorded in the studio:
Usually I was somewhere near Smitty with a tambourine kinda keeping time. He was a great drummer and he had a great groove but he had some trouble in the studio with tempo. So I’d play along with him and that’s why on “Kicks” and “Hungry” and all that stuff you’ll hear a tambourine with the drums and it wasn’t overdubbed — it was on the track.
Smith, Volk, and Levin’s final task as Raiders was a performance on the Ed Sullivan Show (Revere had already replaced Levin, who watched from the wings). After the final applause, they hung up their three-cornered hats for what they figured would be the last time.
An unusual photo of the Raiders, featuring both Levin and Valley
It was time to get back to a musical vision that was theirs and not only somebody else’s. Out went the colonial uniforms and on went the paisley and floral dashikis. Smith even appeared to embrace his naturally curly hair, likely breaking from whatever perms or curl relaxers he had used in his Raiders days. He also began using the name Michael Smith on records, rather than Mike Smith, which he had gone by since at least high school.
Not long after their departure from the Raiders, Levin shared the following about the new group in a teen magazine article:
Our music won’t be protesting, the destructive criticism-type thing, but it won’t be trivial lyrics either. Mainly, we want to tell people to look at life. We want to open people to the search that we’re on. The more you find out about life, the more you know there’s so much more to find out. We’re on a search, and we would like to tell other people to open up and look around!
They initially wanted to call their group Phil, Drake, and Smitty, but decided that title may not give them enough “brand recognition” to Raiders fans. They eventually settled on Brotherhood.
A rare mention in a teen magazine
While all of the songs on Brotherhood’s eponymous first album are credited to Smith, Levin, and Volk, there are a few lyrics that I suspect really encapsulate Smith and his thoughts at the time. The first is from “Doin’ the Right Thing (The Way),” which also features some killer drumming:
Things that I’m seein’ depress me so much They’re swimmin’ deep in my soul
The second is from a song not recorded by Brotherhood, but by Barry McGuire (yes, of the “Eve of Destruction” fame). Two songs penned by members of Brotherhood ended up on McGuire’s 1968 album The World’s Last Private Citizen. It’s easy to hear how these songs could have been performed by Brotherhood themselves; they actually played on this album, and others, to make money as studio musicians while their band remained unsigned to a record label.
“The Grasshopper Song” is credited solely to Levin, but the lyrics to the barroom-tinged “Top O’ the Hill” sound, to me, very Smith-influenced:
Think I’ll climb to the top o’ the hill I’ve been wondrin’ ‘bout the other side I might stay if I like what I see And I hope you’ll come and visit me
These words are reminiscent of a story recounted on Smith’s “official” fan site, where Smith was moving away from Oregon and went to say goodbye to his good friend, Vicki (wife of Art Raz – remember him?) Vicki wasn’t home at the time, so he left a note on her door and left town without another word, simply because their timing didn’t line up.
The band was high on the excitement of their newfound freedom (and, as with many bands in the late 60s, some illicit substances) and excited to write songs with meaning and weight. While they had often seen their contributions to Raiders songs go uncredited, they decided that all Brotherhood songs would be credited to all three members. But despite the excitement and the good intentions, the group was struggling to get off the ground.
“Once we left the Raiders, the s*** hit the fan,” Volk recounted to Ugly Things Magazine. “We had an injunction filed against us. Our money from the last [Raiders] tour was frozen, and we didn’t have anything to live on.”
The three bandmates were hit with lawsuits from Paul Revere, Columbia Records, and even Allen Klein. Volk hypothesized that Columbia Records may have been unwilling to let them go and sign on elsewhere until they were “old news,” to purposely thwart their future success and to punish them for leaving the Raiders. It took over a year to settle the lawsuits, and even then, settling meant giving up “a lot of rights.”
Smith from an early Brotherhood magazine feature, 1967
While the lawsuits were wrapping up, Volk, Levin, and Smith felt a strong need to get away and relax. Although strapped for cash, the three men booked a trip to Oahu, Hawaii on Smith’s credit card. Upon arrival, they rented a pickup truck, drove to the far side of the island, and slept under the stars (sounds a little like their visit to Olympic National Park, doesn’t it?). Eventually boarding with some of Levin’s “hippie friends,” the trio wrote songs, played a few gigs, and just enjoyed life. However, the money ran out and they returned home to their wives and families.
Volk described this time with the band in a memorial message after Smith’s passing:
When, Smitty, Drake & myself left the Raiders to form Brotherhood, we became like brothers. It was a very special bond, hard to describe here. We practically lived in the studio together, around the clock, and if not the studio, at one of our houses, or up in the mountains playing guitar and writing our music. Very special times indeed.
Sometime in 1967 or 1968, the band finally signed to a label: RCA Records. By this time, they had added an organist to the fold, a friend of Levin’s named Ron Collins. The band had already recoded some songs at a studio in Hollywood, which they presented to RCA as a partial album, a head-start. But just when things were looking up for the band, they hit another obstacle: the album took eight months to finish. The group’s desire to innovate and experiment led to them going about $30,000 over their $50,000 budget. The label kept asking when they’d be finished.
Levin had to step away for a while to fulfill obligations to the National Guard, which left Volk and Smith to finish up some of the tracks without him. Volk recalled, “In Drake’s absence, Smitty got a chance to step up to the plate, to be a little more of a decision-maker.” One such song was the solemn “Seasons.”
At long last, Brotherhood’s first album, also called Brotherhood, was released in May 1968. With very little promotion from RCA, the band focused on self-promoting through occasional magazine content and through tours, neither of which seemed to generate much interest.
Around this same time, Smith and Susie welcomed their second child, daughter Alexandra.
Smith and Susie at the Monterey Pop Festival, summer 1967
While Smith reportedly played organ on at least one song, he is credited on the record cover as only a drummer. According to Volk’s recollections, there were a few tracks where the drums and percussion were provided by musicians other than Smith. It’s hard not to speculate if consternation was already building for Smith, with the wounds of Melcher’s song rejections and use of studio musicians still so fresh.
Out of the 12 songs on Brotherhood’s first album, all lead vocals are provided by Volk or Levin. Although a few songs are credited as a “group vocal,” to my ears this group sounds like Levin, Volk, and probably Collins. I can’t detect any voice that sounds like Smith’s. While it’s entirely likely that Smith did not contribute vocals by choice, it seems strange that he wouldn’t have sung something, especially considering that he reportedly liked to sing and contributed lead vocal numbers to three Raider albums.
In an interview with Ugly Things Magazine, Collins likened his situation with Brotherhood to the situation the other three members had found themselves in with the Raiders: he had little say in the music, and his inputs were not welcomed. In other words, Brotherhood was hardly as egalitarian as advertised, and more or less the “Phil and Drake (and potentially Smitty) Show.” Volk and Levin both had strong personalities, and I wonder if the gentler, peacemaker Smith found himself fading into the background of the group, much like Collins did.
While Brotherhood’s first album featured an eclectic mix of genres, their second endeavor was even more experimental. Eventually released as Joyride under the name Friendsound, the album was part jam-session, part music-concète, and featured Brotherhood and many of their friends. Just as he had with the first Brotherhood album, Smith played more than just drums on this project. He is credited with playing the following instruments on Joyride: drums, tambourine, celesta, control console effects, and shovel. Yes – you read that right—shovel.
Volk explained the shovel to Ugly Things Magazine. “I was building a swimming pool, and a concrete/gunite mixer was parked in front of my house. It had this perfect rhythm. So I set up the [portable] recorder close to the truck and scraped a shovel onto the sidewalk in time with the beat.” Smith joined him.
“Because of our assertiveness and our dominance over the project, the friends that we brought in started to feel, ‘Well, this is a Drake-and-Phil deal,’” Volk recounted to Ugly Things Magazine. Undoubtedly, Smith probably felt that way, too. Gone were all of the band members’ names on every song. Of the six songs on the album, Smith is credited on only five of them.
The final song on the Friendsound album, “The Empire of Light,” featured solely the four members of Brotherhood. In that way, it was the last song recorded by the original Brotherhood lineup before Collins and Smith left the band. Although Smith was soon replaced by Pacific Northwesterner Joe Pollard, his leaving the band was never really advertised.
“Smitty left because he was moving to Monterey,” Volk recalled in Ugly Things Magazine, a reason which, to me, sounds like the ultimate cop-out of somebody too kind or too avoidant to share the real reason for leaving.
“And he was starting to feel conflicts in the lifestyle, with smoking grass and living that life,” Volk continued. “And Brotherhood was floundering; I think he got tired of me and Drake arguing so much. He would just sit there while we would lock horns and have these fights about the music, the lyrics, the production.”
Volk also recalled Smith’s typical response to he and Levin’s arguments: “You guys are nuts. You make me sick. All this time you’ve been arguing, and we could have been playing music!”
Levin’s wife at the time, Lynnette, recalled that Smith never involved himself in these arguments. “He’d roll his eyes and walk away.” As Smith himself said about his first glimpse of Mark Lindsay, he didn’t like fighting.
Whatever the reasons, Smith left the group in 1969 and did, indeed, move to Monterey. He went on a journey of self-discovery, living in Big Sur; Hawaii; and Portland, Oregon.
Smith never mentioned his time spent in Brotherhood to his second wife, who he married in 1978.
While Smith reportedly left the group before work on the second Brotherhood album, Brotherhood Brotherhood, began, I can’t help but wonder if he also contributed to a few of the tracks. Some of the screams on “Don’t Let Go” sound a little too familiar.
Re-Raider
When Raiders drummer Joe Corerro, Jr. left the band, Revere knew just the man to call. Smith rejoined Paul Revere & the Raiders, now called just The Raiders, in March 1971. He stayed until the end of 1972, touring with the band and playing on their final album, Country Wine. He also appeared on the cover of 1971’s Indian Reservation album, even though Lindsay was the only band member to actually play on that album. That album’s namesake song, “Indian Reservation,” became the band’s only #1 hit.
While the Raiders had been struggling to maintain the level of popularity they had in the 60s, “Indian Reservation” brought them a much-needed boost. The band started performing in nightclubs and lounges again and were looking to strengthen the band’s sound by adding additional musicians, including a second drummer. Omar Martinez joined the group around August 1972, drumming alongside Smith for more than four months.
Feeling that The Raiders was no longer the place for him, Smith gave notice that he would leave the band at the end of the year. He played his last gig as a Raider in Hawaii in December 1972.
I can’t help but wonder if bringing in a second drummer felt a bit like déjà vu to Smith, both from the Raider glory days when Lindsay and Melcher brought in studio drummers, and then from Brotherhood, where Volk and Levin brought in their buddies to create Joyride.
After the Raiders
While there’s not much to be found about Smith’s early life, there’s perhaps even less to say about his life after the Raiders.
He moved often, frequently residing in both Hawaii (Maui and Kona) and Oregon. He spent time dabbling in film production in Denver, Colorado in the 80s. At some point in the late 60s or early 70s, his marriage to Susie ended.
After leaving the Raiders for a second time, he moved to Hawaii and was involved in a serious car accident. While recovering, he lived in Brookings, Oregon, where he played in several local bands and met his second wife, Brenda. Smith and Brenda married in 1978 and had two children, Rio and Jenna, in the 1980s.
In 1979, Paul Revere & the Raiders reunited as part of “The Good Old Days” with Dick Clark. It was the first time that the “classic” lineup had played together since 1967. When Clark asked Smith what he had been doing for the last five or six years, he replied that he had “just tried to catch up for a lot of time that [he] didn’t have when [the band was] so busy.” He also shared that he had lived in multiple places in Hawaii and was currently living “up in the woods” in Brookings, Oregon.
When Clark showed old footage of the band goofing off on Where the Action Is!, Smith couldn’t help but make a joke that showcased his famous dry humor: “The drum’s real; the drummer’s fake, though.”
Smith and Brenda had a shared love of music. In Smith’s obituary, Brenda shared her happiest memory of Smith was riding around Hawaii with him on a motorcycle, their guitars on their backs. “He loved the islands and the island people,” she said. Brenda described Smith as “always creative,” and said that he was always writing down song ideas.
“And he had such stories!” Brenda shared. “The kids always wanted to hear stories.”
Later Life
Smith and Brenda divorced in 1996. He met his girlfriend, Mia Kiemele in 1994 in Lincoln City, Oregon. Smith and Kiemele moved to Kona, Hawaii in 1997, which, after a lifetime of frequent moves, seems to be the last move he made.
The same year he moved to Kona, the Raiders, sans Paul, had a reunion in Portland, Oregon. Mark Lindsay, Phil Volk, Drake Levin, and Smith played several shows and participated in a radio interview. Smith’s apparent tendency to step into the background around more domineering personalities, reminiscent of his Brotherhood days, was on full display during the radio interview. Volk had to help him get a word in amongst Lindsay’s ruminations.
Smith never stopped playing music. Wherever he moved, it seemed that he was always part of a band. In addition to drums, guitar, and piano, he played several other instruments. He loved the outdoors, and enjoyed fishing, sailing, and painting.
Smith struggled with alcohol addiction for many years, and it eventually claimed his life. He passed away in 2001, just three weeks shy of his 59th birthday, after being found unconscious in his home. At the time of his death, he worked at a lumberyard by day and played in a band by night. He also ran a company called Hot Lava Productions on the side.
And sadly, it was after his passing, in the myriad of obituaries and eulogies, that Smith’s character was described most.
The Raiders’ former manager, Roger Hart, described Smith as “quiet, introspective and somewhat shy out of the spotlight.”
“Offstage, he was a gentle man and a gentleman. He was very kind to people,” Hart said. “Smitty was our little peacemaker. He was very concerned about world conditions and wishing that somebody could straighten out the rest of the world.”
A friend in Hawaii, Shelley Minnick, described Smith as “the most fun-loving person.”
Roadie Hoss Amans shared in his book that he often roomed with Smith and sat next to him during tours, always enjoying the ensuing conversations. Jim “Harpo” Valley recounted memories of playing guitar with Smith in their hotel room after performances with a towel shoved under the door as to not disturb anybody.
Bandmate Phil Volk described Smith as “a peacemaker, somebody who could not understand why people were mean.” He further shared his thoughts on Smitty’s “official” fan site:
He was such a gentle soul with such a wonderful sense of humor. I personally think that Smitty was the “peacemaker.” He usually would wait patiently while everyone else in the band had their say, then with a stroke of genius timing he would calmly insert a few well-chosen words of wisdom – wisdom beyond his years like that of an old bearded man he often depicted on “ACTION,” disarming the rest of us, and bringing good old common sense back into the equation. Sometimes he would just do something really funny out of left field leaving us in a heap of laughter, scratching our heads and wondering: “Who was that guy anyway?”
Yes, Smitty had many interesting dimensions to himself. He was probably one of the most colorful, amusing guys I’ve ever met. He was also very kind to people, even strangers.
Smith was cremated and his ashes were scattered in Hawaii, his favorite place on Earth.
In Closing….
Thanks, as always, for reading! I cannot tell you how many hours went into this post, but it was all worth it to bring some much-deserved attention to this well-loved, but not well-biographed, drummer from the Pacific Northwest music scene of the 60s. I really think Smith could be summed up as the famous guy who didn’t necessarily want to be famous – he just really loved playing music! If you have memories of Smitty you’d like to share, please do so in the comments section, or reach out to me via the “contact” form.
I hope to return—actually return—before too long with some more PNW history content. Stay tuned!
While the Food Fair series officially wrapped up last week, there is still much more that could be explored and mentioned. In my countless hours of researching everything related to food at the ’62 World’s Fair, there were some items that, although technically relevant, did not really fit into the series’ formula. I would like to share some of them with you now.
First off is an incredibly interesting magazine I acquired for many times the original sales price of fifty cents. The May 19, 1962 edition of “Amusement Business” featured a two-page spread on the food served at the fair. This was a niche magazine for those in the entertainment business (we’re talking carnival owners and hot dog peddlers, here.) In amongst features of the latest rides installed at America’s amusement parks and a feature on vending machines at Miami Sequarium are ads for things like plush poodles, beer can hats, and tilt-a-whirls. This issue’s opinion piece asks, “Should Acts Use Safety Nets,” and help wanted ads abound for the likes of “arcade mechanic” and merry-go-round operators (“must be sober.”)
Included within this fascinating read are multiple mentions of the fair, but its crowning jewel is a three-page spread on the food one could purchase there. I was excited to see photos of Stewart’s In-Fra-Red Toasted Sandwiches, Hazel’s Candies, and Little Luigi’s Spaghetti, alongside many other vendors that were mentioned in official fair publications but not featured during the series. You can view the entire feature below.
When I was planning out this series, I kept thinking it would be so much easier if there was a Seattle World’s Fair cookbook. The 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair had a cookbook, as did the famous 1939 World’s Fair in New York. There was even a World’s Fair cookbook published in 1893! With the smorgasbord of unique foods available at the ’62 fair, how could it be that there was never a cookbook? Resigned to this reality, I discovered about midway through the series that there was indeed a Seattle World’s Fair cookbook–
It’s just exceedingly rare!
It’s so rare, in fact, that I can only prove its existence with the information available online through the University of Michigan, which supposedly has one. I am only a little bit desperate to see it, and should I ever succeed, you can bet there will be a post!
This cookbook (or rather, cookbooklet) is 19 pages long and was published in 1962. The title is “Seattle Worlds’ Fair Cook Book: International Recipes of the World’s Fair,” and it was prepared by Chef Gino, who I can find absolutely no information about. Supposedly the U of M digitized it, and you can bet I’ve been researching how to view the digitized version.
If you know anything about Chef Gino, this elusive book, or if you happen to have a copy, please reach out! It is such a curiosity, and I would love to know more.
Enjoy the article above, and please, if you have any World’s Fair food memories, share them in the comments!
Well, folks, we made it! 60 years ago today (October 21, 1962) was the last day of the Seattle World’s Fair. Today will be the last post in the Food Fair series, but there is no way it can end without acknowledging what was undoubtedly the largest food at the fair:
“A Sight and Taste to Remember:” Check that Triple XXX Root Beer Keg to the right
In the Food Circus, near the Darigold booth, across from Fisher Scones, and kitty-corner from Triple XXX Root Beer, stood a 23-foot-tall fruitcake. According to the postcard above, it was the world’s largest birthday cake, celebrating the 128th birthday of Paul Bunyan.
The cake was covered in icing and decorated with truly American symbols. Tier one featured the Seattle skyline. The seals of all 50 states adorned the second tier (the first time all 50 seals were displayed together, according to an advertising pamphlet). Tier three depicted scenes from Bunyan’s adventures, and tier four displayed symbols representing religion, government, trades, industry, agriculture, and progress. On the very top stood Mount Rainier (done in sugar, of course) and the birthday boy himself. 128 specially-made candles (each three feet high) were strategically placed on tier one.
Although Bunyan had been a folk legend in the US and Canada for decades, the first written stories did not appear until the early 1900s. I’m not sure how his age was determined, but this cake was clearly more of an advertising vehicle than an actual birthday cake.
While the cake was sponsored by Clark’s Restaurants, you can bet there were other companies involved. This postcard mentions Van de Kamp Bakery and C&H Sugar, but at least eight others, including Carnation Milk and Fisher Flour, were implicated in an advertising pamphlet you can view in full here.
Souvenir pieces of the cake could be purchased both at the fair and Clark’s restaurants. They could be mailed anywhere in the world and ranged in price from $0.15 to $2.00. For a while, I doubted that these souvenirs were pieces of the actual cake, but after reading the advertising pamphlet, it seems that they could have been. Supposedly, the wives of 60 Seattle Jaycee Club members packaged around 300,000 portions of the cake.
An amateur slide online showed a staircase leading up to the rear of the cake and what appeared to be a door, so I suppose the core of the cake could have been turned into souvenirs!
While fruitcake does seem to be rather polarizing now (any other Sims players here?), it was much more popular in the past, including during the midcentury decades. I suspect fruitcake was selected for this marvel due to its durability and long shelf life. I have read stories of people who still have their souvenir fruitcake, unopened, today!
While the postcard and the pamphlet both tempt you to scale down the recipe with their massive ingredients lists, it is in no way a comprehensive list. I was able to locate a photo of a souvenir box, and the ingredients were as follows: raisins, glace fruit mix, flour, fresh eggs, cane sugar, pecans, shortening, whole milk powder, salt, lemon flavoring, mace, rum oil. Sodium propionate added to retard spoilage.
So, what did I do for the recipe? Originally, I planned to scale down the listed ingredient quantities and find a recipe that was similar, but that proved to be next to impossible. Since I do not possess the baking prowess of Ann Reardon, I selected a recipe that was similar and made a few tweaks:
Old-Fashioned Light Fruitcake Adapted from a Food.com recipe submitted by Chef Mariajane
1/2 cup butter 1 1/8 cups sugar 3 eggs 1 tablespoon lemon extract 1/2 tablespoon rum extract 2 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon baking powder 3/4 teaspoon salt 3/4 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg 3 cups chopped pecans 2 cups mixed candied fruit and peel 7.5 ounces raisins
1. Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after additions; stir in brandy flavoring. Combine dry ingredients, pecans, candied fruit, and raisins; mix well. Add fruit to creamed mixture, blending well. 2. Spoon batter into a well-greased loaf pan. Bake at 275F for 2 1/2 – 3 hours. Remove from oven when cake tests done; when completely cool, wrap cake tightly, or store in an airtight container.
I had never had fruitcake before and didn’t know what I’d think of it, so I cut the original recipe in half. I also used both lemon and rum extracts, and regular raisins rather than golden. All of these adjustments are reflected in the recipe above.
In the spirit of souvenir fruitcakes, I made four small loaves rather than one big one. I also covered the tops (or in the case of one, everything but the bottom) in royal icing.
The finished product was delicious! While I’m not sure how much it tasted like the original, I would definitely make it again. The icing is definitely not required, but I think it added a nice touch.
Thank you for venturing along with me through the last six months of World’s Fair food! I hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed putting it together. It will be back to the usual content here, and I fully intend to post again before 2024…
Until then, enjoy this picture of the Paul Bunyan birthday cake in the Food Circus before the rest of the booths were fully installed.
Next week Friday will mark 60 years since closing day of the Seattle World’s Fair! When I look at all of the foods that haven’t been featured here, I find it hard to believe that this is the last product spotlight in the series! While we looked at dairy products before with Darigold, today’s milk manufacturer was once at the height of food research and had its start in Washington State.
If you have been following this series, you may recall the part of the Ore-Ida story where one manufacturer’s decline (Bridgford Company) became an enduring brand’s (Ore-Ida’s and the tater tot’s) start. The history of Carnation Milk began in a very similar fashion.
In 1880s Switzerland, Johann Baptist Meyenberg worked at a condensed milk company. At the time, the accepted method for preserving milk was by adding sugar and making sweetened condensed milk. Meyenberg discovered a method for sterilizing and condensing milk without also sweetening it, but his employer was not interested in this idea.
Meyenberg (eventually known as “Cheese John”) immigrated to the United States and ended up in Washington, where he teamed up with Tom Yerxa and grocer E.A. Stuart to form the Pacific Coast Condensed Milk Company.
In 1898, the Washington Condensed Milk Company established a milk condensing plant in Kent, Washington, but it went bankrupt within 18 months. The plant and machinery were purchased by the Pacific Coast Condensed Milk Company, who rolled the first cases of Meyenberg’s invention, then called Carnation Sterilized Cream, off the production line on September 6, 1899. Those 55 cases, made from 5,800 pounds of milk, were the first cases of Carnation evaporated milk.
Meyenberg taught local farmers that high quality evaporated milk could only be made from high quality milk. What was the key to high-quality milk? Happy, or in this case contended, cows.
In 1908, only 5 years after the Pacific Coast Condensed Milk Company. first turned a profit, Stuart purchased 360 acres of farmland in the Snoqualmie Valley and populated it with Holstein cows. With the goal of increasing milk production, Stuart began a selective breeding program, and established a strict standard of care for his herd. In the main barn hung a sign reading:
“The RULE to be observed in this stable at all times, toward the cattle, young and old, is that of patience and kindness….
Remember that this is the home of mothers. Treat each cow as a mother should be treated. The giving of milk is a function of motherhood; rough treatment lessens the flow. That injures me as well as the cow. Always keep these ideas in mind in dealing with my cattle.”
Treating the cows as mothers also meant that people were not permitted to swear in their presence.
Stuart believed that for maximum milk production, the cows needed to be paired with the finest workers. That winning combination was found in 1921 when milker Carl Gockerell was paired with a cow called Possum Sweetheart. While the average cow produced around 1,500 -1,900 pounds of milk per year in the early 1900s, Gockerell and Possum once produced 37,000! When Possum Sweetheart died, Stuart and Gockerell were both devastated and dedicated a Holstein statue in her honor.
Carnation cows were prized wordwide, and many cows today are their descendants. In the late 1920s, the Carnation farm began experimenting in animal feed. These experiments would eventually contribute to a number of commercial animal foods, including the Friskies brand.
Other products, including ice cream and baby formula, soon joined Carnation’s portfolio. In the 1960s and 70s, Carnation added fat free and 2% evaporated milk to their product line. Carnation brand sweetened condensed milk was added in the 80s.
Carnation remained in the Stuart family until 1985, when the brand was sold to Nestle. In 2008, the original Carnation farm (located in the aptly-named Carnation, Washington) was sold to a nonprofit. Eight years later, the Stuart family started a new nonprofit on the site: Carnation Farms. You can buy produce and other goodies at the farm’s stand. Occasional tours are offered, where visitors can see the barn sign, the Possum Sweetheart statue, and much more.
Carnation ice cream was the “Chosen official ice cream” of the ’62 World’s Fair. Carnation was also an exhibitor in the Hall of Commerce and Industry. You can view a Carnation Milk souvenir from the fair here.
See you next week for the final recipe, and final installment, in the Food Fair series!
October already, and only three weeks remaining in the Food Fair series! Once again, it’s time for a food fair recipe, and we’re heading south of the border with some guacamole.
While 1962 was also the year Washington state got its very first Taco Time, Mexican restaurants were far less commonplace then than they are today. While enchiladas, salsa, and tamales may feel familiar to today’s American, the various Mexican food establishments at the fair certainly seemed exotic to many fairgoers in ’62.
La Fiesta, located at the corner of Boulevard West and Freedom Way, was a restaurant and cocktail lounge serving “prime roast beef dishes” and “Mexican specialties.” Also offering Mexican foods were Uso’s Place and Gordo’s.
As has been far too common during this series, I have been unsuccessful in finding which exact “Mexican specialties,” were served to hungry fairgoers. However, with the popularity of finger foods at fairs, and the relative exotic status of the avocado back in the early 60s, I figured guacamole was a good guess for a Mexican food that may have appeared at the Century 21 Expo.
Guacamole dates back to the Aztecs, but it was the 16th century Spanish explorers who spread it to other parts of the world. It’s likely that what the Aztecs ate was simply mashed avocado, while the dish we enjoy today originated in Central America with the aid of European and Middle Eastern influences.
Today’s recipe yet again comes from Pan American’s Complete Round-the-World Cookbook by Myra Waldo (1959 edition):
Avocado Mix (Guacamole) 1 small onion 1 tomato, peeled 2 avocados 2 teaspoons chili powder 1 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons vinegar
Chop the onion and tomato very fine. Mash the avocados with a wooden spoon, and add to the onion-tomato mixture. Add the chili powder, salt, and vinegar. Mix lightly until well-blended. Serve on lettuce leaves as a salad. Guacamole may also be served in a bowl, with crackers, potato chips, or tortillas, as a cocktail dip.
I will say, I was skeptical of a guacamole that didn’t contain lime juice or cilantro, but this recipe was actually really good (albeit a bit salty). It goes together quickly, but be warned that it does taste best fresh: the onion taste becomes a bit overwhelming if refrigerated for later.
Enjoy making this for yourself, and I’ll see you next week for the series’ final product spotlight!
Yes, I know that Triple XXX has a not-nice meaning in today’s world, but there was a time when it was a very popular brand of root beer. Think of those “little brown jugs” thoroughly enjoyed by happy-drunk mountain men in the old cartoons: they all have three big XXX’s on them. I believe that was the idea behind the brand’s name.
Reportedly, the X’s were indicative of an old rating system used for a variety of goods, with each X signifying an extra layer of excellence. Think of it as an outdated way to say that the root beer was rated 3/3 stars, and was therefore of the highest quality.
Triple XXX had a presence at the World’s Fair selling “soft drinks.” One can only surmise that they sold root beer, and possibly only root beer.
The origins of Triple XXX date back to Galveston, Texas, circa 1908. Its popularity spread in the following decade, and by the 1920s, Triple XXX root beer stands were popping up nationwide. The first drive-in restaurant in Washington State, offering hamburgers and sodas, was a Triple XXX location that opened in Renton in 1930. Several more followed suite, including locations in Seattle, Issaquah, and Tacoma.
Chiang’s Gourmet on Lake City Way in Seattle is a former Triple XXX (Rutherford’s Triple XXX). See the rooftop barrel?
Over time, the drive-ins closed, and so did the Galveston Brewing Company (now called the Triple XXX Corporation). However, there are two independently owned Triple XXX locations still thriving: a location dating to 1929 in West Lafayette, Indiana, and a 1968 incarnation in Issaquah, Washington.
Issaquah Triple XXX Restaurant, and only other Triple XXX building left in Washington. Big Daddy’s Drive-in (Auburn) was demolished c. 2016
The Indiana location bought the Triple XXX name, rights, and recipe when the Triple XXX Corporation went under in 1985, and continues to produce the soda in Chicago. Although not the original recipe, it is the Triple XXX Corporation’s last incarnation of the recipe, reformulated in the 80s to remove the sassafras.
A former Triple XXX in Auburn, as seen in 2012 (RIP). A statue called “Crow with Fries” sits here now.
About 10 years ago, Triple XXX could be found in many grocery stores in the “nostalgic sodas” section. It’s not nearly as easy to find now, but can still be purchased from the West Lafayette location or online (I bought mine here). Be prepared to empty your wallet for shipping costs, though…
Welcome back! Today is the first day of autumn, and week 23 of the Food Fair series! The number of weeks left could be counted on one hand, but there are still plenty of cuisine types and brands that have not been covered.
Today’s recipe hails from Europe, more specifically, France. Multiple vendors at the fair featured French foods. La Balcone, a restaurant located on the balcony of the Food Circus building, served French and Creole cuisine (including frog’s legs!) Located on the fair’s Boulevard West was French café, Amar. On the same walkway was Madame Carsignol-Perves (called The French Corner in some sources), selling French food and “merchandise.” One location that shows up in many fair photos and even in “It Happened at the World’s Fair” is Paris Bagatelle, a festive storefront serving French foods and pastries.
While I could find a menu for La Balcone, its dessert menu didn’t seem particularly French (apple pie with cheddar or mint-chocolate chip ice cream, anyone?) With no menus to be found for any of the other French restaurants, I decided to turn to my vintage French cookbooks and decided upon Tartes au Citron, or lemon tarts.
The recipe I used came from a very cool publication put out by Habitat (the once-thriving British home goods store) in the late 1960s. Called “Paris a la Carte,” it features a selection of menus and recipes from many of France’s famous restaurants. The tarte aux citron recipe came from La Coupole, a 1920s brasserie that continues to operate today.
Tarte au Citron La Coupole, Paris (via Paris a la Carte) Makes 10-12 little tartlets
Make a pate brisée with 1lb sieved flour, 8 oz of butter, 1 1/2 oz sugar, a teaspoon of salt, and a little cold water to work the dough–about 8 tablespoons. Make the pastry the day before, cover or wrap, and leave in a cool place.
For the filling: the juice of 6 lemons, the zest of one lemon, 1lb of caster sugar, 6 eggs, and 4 1/2 oz of melted butter. It is rather liquid and should be cooked very slowly at the same time as the pastry. Roll out the pate brisée and press into little tart tins. Fill with mixture and cook for about 40 minutes in a slow oven (about 325 F).
This recipe is both easy and delicious! It takes a little time to line all of the tart tins and juice the lemons, but the finished product tastes like a delicious lemon curd on a buttery shortbread. I took some to work, where they were a big hit with colleagues.
I can’t find proof that lemon tartes were served at the fair, but with the multitude of pastry shops located around the fair grounds, I think it’s safe to say that they may have been (along with, we can assume, croissants).
Catch you next week for a product spotlight that has been a long time in the making!
Welcome back for another food fair spotlight! Today, we’re going to look at a Washington invention that recently celebrated it’s 100th birthday.
In the early 1900s, two Armenians met in Seattle. Armen Tertsagian had immigrated through Ellis Island, and Mark Balaban was visiting from England. The two became fast friends and decided to go into business together, opening an Armenian Restaurant and a yogurt factory. Both enterprises were a bit ahead of their time and were not very successful. To add to these failed businesses, the young Armenians found Seattle’s weather much too gloomy for their taste. They soon set off across the mountains to Cashmere, purchasing an orchard they named Liberty Orchards.
During World War I, times were tough for everybody, especially orchardists. Looking for a unique way to use up surplus fruit, Tertsagian and Balaban began producing dried fruit and Applum, a apple-plum jelly. They soon added a cannery, Wenatchee Valley Foods, to their portfolio.
While the cannery was hugely successful, the friends brainstormed other ways to use excess fruit and thought of Rahat Locoum, a candy they had loved as children. After much experimentation at the stove, an apple and walnut variety was developed, and Aplets were born! The candy was an instant success, and Tertsagian traveled around the Pacific Northwest, selling this new product. A few years later, Cotlets were added to their product line.
Before long, a popular Aplets & Cotlets mail-order program was established, allowing residents of the Pacific Northwest to send the candies to friends from far and wide.
During the sugar rationing of World War II, Liberty Orchards focused on its canned food business. Aplets and Cotlets were only produced on occasion. After the war ended, the cannery was sold and production efforts focused on the popular candy.
Tertsagian passed away in 1952, and Balaban passed in 1956. Balaban’s nephew, John, and Tertsagian’s son-in-law, Dick (both longtime Liberty Orchard employees), assumed leadership of the company. Liberty Orchards continued to grow under their lead.
Their booth at the 1962 World’s Fair introduced Aplets and Cotlets to a global audience, causing sales to soar. Washington’s next World’s Fair, Expo ’74 featured a new product, the Grapelet, which was named “the official candy of Expo ’74.”
Liberty Orchards continued to promote its products at fairs and with parade floats. When John and Dick were reaching retirement age, they brought one of Tertsagian’s grandsons, Greg, on board to take over the company.
After serving as Liberty Orchard’s president for over 30 years, Greg announced his plans to retire. Younger generations of the family were not interested in taking over the company, and a buyer was sought. With no deal in place, Liberty Orchards announced that it would close in June 2021.
In the nick of time, a deal was reached with KDV USA, which kept production, and over 100 local jobs, in Cashmere. It also saved the “Confection of the Fairies,” which has been enjoyed for 101 years.
It’s officially September, and the State Fair (or the Puyallup Fair as I still call it) is in full swing. That means that now through the 25th, you have the opportunity to enjoy a slice of 1962 World’s Fair history firsthand:
The 76 Skyride from the World’s Fair has been at the Puyallup Fair since 1980, and it offers a great view of the grounds. Since the skyride turned 60 this year, I had to ride it for myself. A round-trip ride will set you back $9.60 and is slightly scary at first, but it really is a fun and retro experience. Just be warned that the 60-year-old windows don’t make for clear aerial photographs, especially at night.
Now on to this week’s recipe! Located in the Food Circus was a place called Luigi’s, which served up ravioli, meatballs, and spaghetti. The fair’s official press book called the restaurant Little Luigi’s and stated that it specialized in $1.50 spaghetti dinners (nearly $15 in today’s dollars). Whatever the name of the restaurant, there was indeed spaghetti at the fair, which is what we will look at today.
While it has long been associated with Italy, the origins of spaghetti, especially pasta, are unclear. Pasta was likely invented in the Middle East thousands of years ago. The first version of spaghetti likely emerged in the 1150s, the same century in which pasta production is believed to have begun in Sicily. A recipe for pasta with tomato juice first appeared in the 1870s.
Today’s recipe comes from Pan American’s Complete Round-the-World Cookbook from 1959.
Tomato Sauce for Spaghetti (Salsa di Pomodoro) 1/4 c olive oil 3 onions, chopped 3 cloves garlic, minced 3 tablespoons chopped parsley 2 No. 2 1/2 cans Italian-style tomatoes 3 tablespoons white wine 2 teaspoons salt 1/2 teaspoon pepper 1 teaspoon oregano 1/4 cup chopped spinach (optional) 1/4 cup chopped mushrooms (optional)
Heat the olive oil in a saucepan. Add the onions and garlic and sauté for 10 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the parsley, tomatoes, wine, salt, pepper, and oregano. Stir well. Cover and cook over low heat for 2 hours. Add the spinach and mushrooms. Cover and cook over low heat for 2 hours. Force the mixture through a sieve. Correct seasoning. Serve over spaghetti or other Italian macaroni. A glass of Chianti, Barbera, or Bardolino wine is excellent with this sauce.
Note: The sauce improves with flavor as it cooks. If possible, make the sauce the day before it is used, and reheat before serving.
This sauce was pretty easy to make (once the onions were chopped!) A no. 2 1/2 can translates to approximately a 27-29 oz can today. I used Private Selection canned tomatoes that included basil. While I agree that the sauce tastes better the next day, it was too acidic for my taste. I’m not sure that I’d make it again. Perhaps my biggest tip is to skip the sieve: use a food processor or blender instead.
I should hate to end this post without acknowledging today’s sad news: the passing of Queen Elizabeth II. She was truly one of a kind, and will be remembered for her grace, dignity, service, and strong faith. The Queen actually visited Seattle with Prince Philip in 1983 (and even rode the Monorail!). King 5 News released an article about her visit that you can read here.
thenorthwestpast 