Man Soup

“Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!”

I do wonder why it is always the male of the species who ends up in the stewpot (apparently, in this example, adding a bit of extra gas to the seasoning) of the ‘savages’.

More on soup:

Peas (Like Atoms) Split

Not Only Slow, But Delightfully Lazy, Split Pea Soup

On Not Being a Princess in a World of Pea Soups

Romancing the Pea in any Given Soup

Or the Golden Bowl be Broken – And Soup


One Little Piggy Went To Market

This card was addressed in pen-and-ink on the back to a ‘Miss Hatty Kehoe’, RFD #3 Sherburne, New York. On the front, in pencil on the left side, the sender has written ‘To show my generosity- ship’.

One little piggy went to market

One little piggy stayed home

One little piggy ate roast beef

One little piggy had none

And one little piggy went ‘wheeeee’ all the way home.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Piggies lead an exciting life!

More on the humble pig as edible bite –

The Branded Chef and the Fifteen Minutes of Fame Game

In a Pig’s Eye

Pigs Unblanketed

The Winged Pig


I thought this was corn meal (from maize) when I first saw this postcard. But it’s wheat. A friend said it looked like turmeric, another mentioned Bette Davis and Joan Crawford were the kids (just look at the faces, it’s so true!). I love their little outfits, but really. What part of Kansas is this? Maybe the one next to where Dorothy and Toto live . . .

Eastern Oregon appears to have strong teams of horses. Also it looks like a couple of ghosts are leading the team from the top of the harvester. I love the pointillism showing in the mountains in the background – it works well with the ghosts.

“Interior section of the largest wheat warehouse in the world, Tahoma Washington”

Is it still there I wonder? And is it still the largest?

Utah says this is their best crop.

“Just babies, babies, healthful, fair

From where the Wasatch lion leaps.

From sunless snows, from desert deeps,

Just babies, babies, everywhere;

Just Babies in arms, at mother’s breast,

And robust boys with girls at play,

With pounding fists, too full to rest,

As chubby, fat and fair as they.”

(Joaquin Miller in the San Francisco “Bulletin”)

My goodness, there’s ample opportunity for commentary on that poem! But I won’t go there . . . let’s see what the sender of the postcard says.

A very straightforward message, from Dick.

Crops. Always worth thinking about.

We Are What We Eat (?)

Obviously he will be nutty if he eats nuts. I can tell this by the way his mouth looks, anyway. But if I eat him (a squirrel) will I be squirrely? Or will it merely define me as being a huntin’-fishin’ (and possibly poverty-stricken or lower-class) type person?

The sender of the squirrel card writes, on October 19, 1949:

Potatoes all dug. Snow last night – ground white. Louie did some ploughing yesterday & we all got in apples this week – not many apples here – Hope business is good with you. Ella

Keeping with our squirrel and bird theme, here is a California quail. Will I quail if I eat it? Or will I be tiny and difficult to de-feather? Or will I just be considered elegant perhaps, and from the upper-class?

Seagulls are not considered good as food nor good around the farm. Horses apparently are more well thought of, but do we eat them? Not here, usually. There is a long history of eating horses in other places, though – and they are considered quite delicious. Would I be horsey if I ate a horse? I wonder.

I could be soft-boiled, scrambled, hard-boiled or freshly-laid if I ate an egg.

None of this matters to the sender of the egg card. He says, to his friend at John Hopkins Hospital:

We can beat you playing Set Back. Good Bye.

No signature. I’m not surprised.

Mice are not all that far away in thought, from squirrels or birds. But usually we don’t eat them. In Ancient Rome though, dormice with honey was considered quite a delightful dish. Were the Ancient Romans like mice?

The mouse on the card is trying to eat cheese. Obviously he wants to be cheesy. His wife is not allowing him, for she sees that there is danger in being cheesy.

And so it goes. Are we what we eat?