(This is a new Examiner feature. Normally, this would be a Friday feature, but since I’d written this one in the past, I’m simply going to reblog it now.)
You see, there was a time in America when all technology was new and confusing. Take the gas range for instance. Prior to the widespread usage of the gas range, everybody ate raw meat. People didn’t live far past 30. This fact has to be true, because it took an entire film to explain to people how to cook over an open flame, something history textbooks mention as taking place since antiquity. Thankfully, “Your Local Gas Company” cares about you, and made this wonderful film to teach you how to made a sandwich that sounds so horrible that God himself would vomit at the mention alone.
Yes, you can perfect your 1950s womanly arts by making TUNA RAREBIT. Jubilant fanfare welcomes us to this feature, and we are soon greeted by the young lads who are being catered to.
Notice the juvenile alcoholism. They must have been filled with epic trepidation after being warned ahead of time that young Sally Gasco is making her first foray into the kitchen today on some newfangled contraption called a gas range.
We are soon introduced to the kitchen in which the atrocities known to cooking are to take place, and to Sally’s mother, who, in my opinion, needs to spend more time at the beauty parlor and less time in the kitchen creating biological hazards.
After the narrator recovers from the shock at Sally’s moms dreadful hair, he announces that “This is a sandwich for forks.” Well fuck, why is it even a sandwich? Sandwiches are made to be eaten on the run. We don’t have time for cutlery and crockery Sally!!
Mother soon suggests that Sally use rye bread. Sally seems to have the utmost trust in a woman who gets a haircut by performing fellatio on a weed whacker.
As the film passes, more ingredients are added to the rarebit. The narrator gives careful advise to use a cheese that is “easy melting”, and Sally slices things up. Oddly enough, we are nearly halfway through the film at this point, and the range has yet to be used. Is this entire video a ploy made by the Tuna Canners of America to encourage melting all sorts of shit and throwing it on bread?? Did the Communists make this film in an effort to spearhead starvation in the post WW2 families of America?
Sally continues to cube velveeta, and then shoots her mother the bedroom eyes.
Ah yes, something magical is about to happen. Sally strolls up to the range, and the narrator waxes nostalgic for the ‘simmer flame’.
Yes, he tells us joyfully that the simmer flame “keeps the water boiling gently”. Maybe this is the man in me talking, but I thought all flames were either “GAHHHH, that’s hot” or “Hmm, the fire went out”. Sally Gasco knows better than I, and after putting her velveeta in a pot, moves towards other tasks.
As Sally does her best to cook a meal for her future suitors, mother manages to fuck the whole thing up. She makes a “salad dish” consisting of celery, radishes, olives, and pickles. Did you just vomit in your mouth a little bit?
Sally quickly does her best “Oh no you diii-iiiiint” and empties a bag of chips into a bowl. We are scolded by the narrator here, because potato chips “used to be picnic fare, but they’ve joined the host of useful accessory foods which make entertaining so much easier and more fun for teenagers” Remember, this is the sick bastard who is trying to tell Sally it is a good idea to serve TUNA RAREBIT.
Sally is either gagging at her mothers epic fail in all walks of life, from hairstyle to salad choices, or snacking on a potato chip.
The bread is now removed from the oven, having been toasted quickly in the broiler. Our sadistic narrator reminds us that the rarebit is “nearly ready to serve” at this point. Yeah, so is a pail of garbage, and you don’t have to use a gas range for preparing that dish.
Mother quickly decides on the beverage to be served, and we are again chided by the narrator. He tells us that “When you can offer guests a choice, it’s a gracious gesture.” Note that he didn’t offer the guests anything palatable to eat. Sally dutifully begins serving this atrocity, and Mr. smartass narrator chimes in again. This time our maniacal kitchen overlord is extolling the aesthetic graces of parsley, and lying about it being “good to eat, too.” Don’t trust anything this man says. He then mentions using Tabasco sauce for a touch of color and a “taste surprise”. Note the gleeful inflection of his words. He knows this is going to burn the fuck out of those little drunkards mouths we met at the first of the film.
The film ends with a summary about sandwiches in general, and the same clip of the boys eating and drinking from earlier. Perhaps they escaped the abomination of God that is Tuna Rarebit. One can only hope.
Remember children, if you ever see this in your kitchen, run like hell.