Outdoor Cooking

Cooking out of doors in 1940 — bean holes, spits, clambakes and burgoo, from three food writers who thought a campfire was the best joke going.

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Odds and Ends

Besides impromptu feasts of pine nuts or haws or maypops, one may have squaw kettle parties of fresh gathered skookum oolalies, which one of our Michigan pioneer grandfathers learned, from the Indians, meant good berries. Dunking camp bread in a gypsy kettle of huckleberries will take some beating.

But nowadays it's just as well to take along a can of Pecano, ground pecans that are perfect on almost anything (toasted marshmallows, for instance) or stirred into the new fudge mix at the finish. A box of Floridian guava paste will come in handy, together with gingerbread mixes, and Danish Dessert you have only to heat and stir.

For a watermelon party try plugging a big one, filling it with all the good red wine it will hold, setting it aside to mellow and cool for a few hours before sampling.

For the Modern Kitchen

Most of this page is a shopping list of mid-century convenience products for the picnic basket; the only actual procedure is the wine-filled watermelon at the end. That part still works, and the rest is easy enough to translate.

A Little History

Skookum oolalie is not Michigan Ojibwe but Chinook Jargon, the trade pidgin of the Pacific Northwest, in which skookum means strong or excellent and olallie means berry — a reminder of how far such words traveled in campfire and scouting literature, often detached from the people and places they came from. Spiking a whole melon with wine or spirits is a familiar picnic trick, and is also recorded with rum or brandy, though the origin of the practice is not documented here. The rest of the passage is pure postwar outdoor cookery, when a chapter on woodcraft foraging could end by recommending packaged mixes in a single breath.

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