1942 was Bananas

Untitled_bMrs. Gottlieb needs bananas, STAT. She’s frantically roaming the streets of Brooklyn in search of the elusive fruit. The police eventually come to her aid, and are able to scrounge up twenty-four ripe ones.

Can you imagine? It’s 1942 and there’s a wartime banana shortage. Bananas are the only thing keeping your baby alive. You suspect your neighbors may be storing a few. Your baby will die without them, because she has celiac disease and duh, everyone knows, the only thing you can do for that is molto bananas.

The neighbors are all, no, no we don’t have a single banana in the house. But you kind of know they do. You return with the police. (Guns drawn?) This is my post-apocalyptic insulin nightmare (I detect the fragrance of bandaids on you, Neighbor. LET ME IN.), but with bananas.

These are all from articles from 1942 editions of The New York Times. (Subscribers can search all the news that has been seen fit to print since 1851. It is F-U-N.)




To celebrate Mrs. Gottlieb, baby Helena, and the tirelessly banana-seeking Brooklyn police, I’ll be making the banana soft-serv today. I wish I could give that worried terrified Mrs. Gottlieb a heaping dish of it to calm her nerves. Your banana portions are so bountiful, she’d say, in awe of me. Also she’d be so amazed by civilization’s new Cuisinarts. Shhh, shhh Helena. Eat your banana. I want our guest to tell me more about her koozinart. The pictures in this link are fantastic and a great reminder that you’re doing banana soft-serv perfectly.

I find whirring in a giant glob of almond or peanut butter makes this dessert less of a BG shitshow, and also more delicious.

More on bananas and 1940s celiac disease here.

Bigfoot say other thing


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