Boomers Still Argue Over the Best Way to Eat Cranberries at Thanksgiving

The Great Debate over which is the best cranberry preparation for Thanksgiving continues to rage on. In Mister Boomer’s experience, there were three distinct camps: those who made their own and refused to buy any cranberry product in a can; those who preferred the relish-style canned product with whole cranberries; and those who only wanted the jellied cranberry sauce in a can. Short of marrying into one tradition or another, boomers tended to keep the style they grew up with through the years, and passed it on to the next generation.

For the purposes of our nostalgia here, we can totally discount those who made their own cranberry sauce from scratch. Mister Boomer was a full-fledged adult before he came across anyone who spent the time doing that. He was in his 30s before he ever purchased fresh cranberries himself, and then, only for a baking recipe. This is a discussion of can vs. can.

The first record of canned cranberries claims it came out of New England in 1912. That would make sense on two fronts: cranberries are native to North America, and that area remains the largest growing region for the fruit. Canning the fruit enabled it to be eaten all year long, but to this day, the vast majority of cranberries are consumed between the Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year holidays.

It was 1941 before jellied cranberry sauce hit the shelves for consumers. So, it makes perfect sense that Baby Boomer families, starting out right after World War II, would be the target of marketing for the jellied sauce, setting the table for it to become a family tradition of boomers coast to coast.

Mister B and his siblings often fought over who would get to open the can of jellied cranberry sauce, an annual ritual. It was by watching their older brother perform the sacred can-opening rites that Mister B and his sister learned the “correct” way. First, the can was removed from the refrigerator. It was important in Mister B’s family to chill the product. Then, flip the can over, take the manual can opener and pierce the bottom once or twice. This would allow air into the can from the bottom when the top lid was fully removed. The idea, of course, was to get the entire contents of the can to slide out, pristine and untouched by cutlery or human hands. Besides, after a few shakes of the can, the contents would shift and produce a satisfying slurping sound as it kerplopped to a waiting dish. This sound factor was part of the annual ritual, welcomed by Mister B and his siblings.

If successful, the contents, thicker than Jell-O, remained standing on a plate. A quick flip on its side revealed the molded circular rings produced by the inside of the can itself. These rings were part of the preciousness of the process in that they provided a template for slicing. The perfect cranberry jellied sauce slice was about a quarter of an inch thick, maintaining its roundness. Mister Boomer and his siblings were allowed to cut their own, since it could be sliced with a butter knife.

Mister Boomer does not recall that jellied cranberry sauce made a return at Christmastime. In his household, it was strictly a Thanksgiving accompaniment. Of note with the technology of today’s cans, Mister B has noticed the bottom of the can has rounded edges, eliminating the straight-edge lip, making it much harder to pierce the bottom with a can opener. The can note claims this rounded bottom (or top for some manufacturers), contains a pocket of air that helps propel the product from its cylindrical home. Hmmm. Mister B is skeptical. He still uses his handy crank can opener; no fancy electric models for him. No matter, there is probably still an ice pick in the back of a drawer somewhere. Worst case scenario, there is always the Swiss Army knife. Traditions must be upheld!

How about you, boomers? Did your family prefer the whole berry relish, or the jellied sauce in a can? Or are you from one of those families who pass along homemade recipes using fresh cranberries?

Boomers Witnessed the Frozen Vs. Canned Debate

There was a deep divide growing among Baby Boomer households across the country at the dawn of the 1950s. Most parents of boomers grew up during the Great Depression, and were raised on a steady diet of canned foods. While Clarence Birdseye got his frozen food business going in the 1920s, it was the 1930s before his first frozen products became widely available. However, few grocers had freezers, or could afford them, so Birdseye supplied freezers to merchants on a lease basis. Still fewer people had freezers, so despite being affordable, the market for frozen foods languished until World War II.

The War brought tin rationing, which affected the canned goods manufacturers, and in the process gave a boost to frozen foods. Consequently, some parents of boomers, who had a refrigerator with a freezer, were served frozen fruits and vegetables during the 1940s.

After the War, several components came together at the beginning of the Baby Boom. Newly married couples were having children and establishing homes in the suburbs, and with them, the acquisition of refrigerators with freezers. Appliance manufacturers were expanding the size of freezers for these new families. Refrigerator sales were growing at a faster rate than that of television sets. It was all in the name of progress. Now these boomer households had a choice: canned vs. frozen. As one might expect, many factors figured into whether a boomer household was for or against one or the other, with most at least partially living on both sides of the debate.

In Mister Boomer’s experience, the major decision was economic. Most homes he knew of during those years — classmates, neighbors, relatives — had small freezers and limited budgets. Frozen food could cost more than canned goods, and was only a convenience if it was eaten within a week or two, lest it freeze solid, possibly locking the package into the ice building up on the wall of the freezer. Cans lasted what seemed like forever. Taste didn’t enter into the equation as much as cost and convenience, for Mister Boomer’s particular class. However, Mister Boomer’s spouse had the opposite experience. Her family was raised on frozen vegetables, simply because it was thought by her parents to be better tasting and more nutritious.

Consequently, Mister Boomer’s parents tilted heavily in favor of canned instead of frozen. Living in the Midwest, it was also prudent to have some food in storage just in case of tornadoes or blizzards. In Mister B’s house, the space below the basement stairs had been walled off and dubbed “the fruit cellar.” It was where cans of fruit and vegetables were stored, rotating upstairs into the kitchen cupboards whenever a huge sale happened at the supermarket.

In retrospect, Mister B finds it amusing to think that what the family regularly had on hand in cans during the 1950s and ’60s was very dependent on which parent requested the goods. His mother always had Libby’s or Del Monte canned fruit cocktail or peaches in the cupboard. For vegetables, she favored Del Monte green beans, corn or peas. There were other brands purchased, to be sure, but Del Monte was the default house brand. She also kept Contadina Tomato Paste and Tomato Sauce, and College Inn Chicken Broth. Mister B’s father was a real child of the Depression, and seemed to enjoy practically anything in a can. He loved Spam, so there was almost always a can on the shelf. Occasionally, he would purchase a can of cocktail wienies, which the kids found to be exotic “baby hot dogs.” There was a time when he was jonesing for Underwood Deviled Ham, in a can. Hormel Corned Beef Hash and Dinty Moore Beef Stew were also shelf regulars, as were Campbell’s Tomato and Cream of Mushroom Soups. His canned vegetable choices were a bit more expansive, though. He loved Green Giant canned asparagus and not only introduced Mister B to the vegetable, it was after his college years before Mister B tasted the vegetable fresh. Mister Boomer also recalls that he had not had a fresh green bean until the day in the 1960s when the family visited his aunt and uncle and she was canning a bushel of fresh green beans. Mister B helped his cousins prep the beans for his aunt, crunching a few raw in the process.

Mister B’s sister had a big influence on the canned products that were regularly purchased. For her, Campbell’s Pork & Beans and Chef Boy-Ar-Dee Beefaroni were two things she could not live without. She had a time when Franco-American Spaghettios were her major source of sustenance. The boomer brothers were more flexible on the subject, eating what their parents put in front of them. Nonetheless, Chef Boy-Ar-Dee Ravioli had a place on the shelf more often than not.

1954 was a big year for frozen foods, since that is when Swanson TV Dinners made their debut. Within a few years, TV Dinners accounted for nearly a quarter of all frozen food sales. Mister Boomer has written before that his family rarely got the Swanson TV Dinners, but did, on occasion, get the cheaper brand versions. His parents did buy Banquet Chicken Pot Pies, though. They were cheaper than Morton, and when they went on sale, they were ten for a dollar. It was an economical way to feed a boomer family of five.

How about you, boomers? What role did canned or frozen food play in your family’s meals?