I bought these crazy cookbooks at Costco... the same way you'd find yourself buying frozen lima bean ravioli with curried raisin sauce at Costco. You don't intend to, but somehow you do.
There are four volumes of these, for desserts, salads, meats, and of course, casseroles. They're basically reprints of cookbooks from 1967 -- collections of Home Ec. teachers' favorite recipes.
Well, yesterday Stinky insisted on dragging me to the Asian market, for fish to grill. Unable to decide, we ended up with a fish steak "sampler" -- hake, salmon, cod, and barracuda. Needless to say, we had leftovers.
What to do with leftovers? "Seafood salad!" said Stinky, but fish alone doesn't count as "seafood," in my book. Fish is just fish.
In 1967 though, they knew their leftovers. These are the people who grew up in the depression. "Shoeleather Surprise" could be in that cookbook.
I decided to rise to the challenge and make supper, which means he has to stay away until it's done. Sure enough, there were plenty of recipes for fish casseroles in that cookbook. I settled on:
Hot Halibut Salad Souffle! I glanced just enough to know I had the ingredients. Here we go!
So first you cube bread and put half of it in a casserole dish. Then you literally make a sort of fish salad -- onion, celery, peppers, and a ridiculous amount of mayo (even skimping a bit), with the fish. Spread that over the cubed bread, then top with the rest of the bread cubes.
Are we done yet? Nope. You beat eggs and milk, and pour it over the whole thing.
Cover and "chill" one hour to 24 hours. Looking a little further down the recipe, I realized it had to bake for an hour after the "chill." So after 15 minutes, I got it back out of the frig. What's the point of "chilling" when it's going right in the oven soon anyway? I think it's about the days of exploiting the awesomeness of having a refrigerator at every possible opportunity. (That would explain the 50 pages of jello creations in the "Salad" volume.)
It definitely looks done now, right? Nope. You take a can of condensed cream of mushroom soup and, without diluting it (I checked three times, thinking, "really?!"), you "spoon soup over top." I worked on this "spooning" and found it was more like "glopping" it on there, and if glopping isn't a verb it should be, from this experience.
Then I discovered that once it's completely glopped, it starts to spread like frosting. You can swirl it around, adorning that thick cake of bread, custard, and mayonnaisey fish salad with undiluted cream of mushroom soup, oddly fascinated, until you come to your senses and wonder what the hell you're doing and how you ever got into it in the first place.
(Leftover fish flakes, oh yeah.)
You bake all that an hour at 325.
Is that enough? Nope! Near the end, you put shredded sharp "process cheese" on top. (I had to leave out the "process" part.) That gets melted.
It's like a nightmare of a concoction, but the fish taste came through enough that Stinky Jr. politely made no comment, and I went for a lemon wedge. Stinky, however, called it sensory nostalgia.
It was kind of cool the way it came together and made this thing to cut and serve with a spatula. With a green salad and a glass of wine, it wasn't so bad... And it led to a discussion with Stinky Jr. about our Depression-Era Parents, and how we grew up with leftovers... He might as well learn now!!
(P.S. I must thank Mrs. Meryl R. Fishback of Franklin Jr. H.S. in Yakima, Washington, for the recipe. :) )