There's something special about fundraising cookbooks. You know what I mean. Fat books of typewritten recipes and hand-drawn pictures sold by the Junior League of Smalltown, USA or the First Presbyterian Church Ladies' Circle. Looking through one is almost like an archaeological dig, as you slowly piece together the lives of these people in this place at this time. Lucky for me (and for you too), the Los Angeles Public Library has one of the largest collections of culinary materials in the country, including a large number of fundraising cookbooks from California and the Midwest.

I've been looking for a new weekly feature for the blog, something that will inspire and delight me as much as Japanese candy once did -- and this is it. I'm pleased to announce Cookery Book Friday, in which I review one fundraising cookbook from long ago and attempt at least one recipe from its pages.

(Note: the recipe links below will take you to a picture of the recipe mentioned.)

The first book up: Kitchen Madonna, published by the St. Bronislava Rosary Society in Plover, WI. The typewritten recipes are divided into sections, with ballpoint-pen drawings adorning each page. It kicks off with beverages, most of them alcoholic, the only contributions to the book from the husbands in this town. My favorite drink recipe, however, comes from a woman, one Darlene Starosta, who is also one of the few women in the book not titled "Mrs. Husband's Name." I don't think this is a coincidence. A woman whose contribution to her church cookbook is "GIN & WATERMELLON COOLER" -- simply a fifth of gin poured into a "watermellon," which is left to sit for 24 hours, scooped out with a melon baller and served -- is way too fun to be known only by her husband's name. Also, she misspelled "watermelon" multiple times. Clearly a lush.

From there, the recipes move on to food, or dishes resembling food. Judging from the last names of the contributors and the section devoted to "Polish Favorites," Plover is a town filled with Polish immigrants. So there is an odd dance in the book between the typical American post-war fare of meals assembled from boxes and cans, and the traditional hearty Polish food the women have inherited and most likely grew up eating. There is, for instance, Salad Supreme, a particularly perplexing combination of warm applesauce, gelatin and 7-Up, topped with diced marshmallows, crumbled cream cheese and heavy cream which has steeped together overnight. I don't understand if you are supposed to eat it or use it to clear out a stopped-up drain.

But there are also, tucked among the cream of mushroom soup horrors, recipes like the intriguing Duck Blood Soup. Or Sauerkraut, which includes the instruction "Remove scum as it forms and wash and scald cloth often to keep it free from scum and mold." (Mmm...scum and mold. It's actually more appealing than Salad Supreme.) And there is the entire Polish Favorites section, which I am tempted to try a recipe from, but too many of them start out with lines like "Remove eyes and teeth from pig's head" or call for, like, snouts.

There are a few surprise ingredients that show up throughout the book. One of them is prunes which, along with raisins, show up in desserts, soups (Tasty Prune Soup!) and wine. Another is crumbs. I know that's not really an ingredient, but tell that to Mrs. Adolph Brillowski and her Crumb Soup, a puzzling concoction of flour, egg and...wait. Let me just show you the recipe and you'll see for yourself.

Thanks, Mrs. Adolph. For some reason, the milk added at the end is the most horrifying part. I imagine the crumbs themselves would be kind of like spaetzle or weird noodles.

It's hard to pinpoint when this book was printed. The LAPL website lists it as 197-?, and indeed there are quite a few cheese fondue recipes, but somehow the book feels older than that. Maybe I'm just baffled by this triptych of "Chinese" recipes and their accompanying illustrations. It's strange and somehow sad this was produced in the same decade as my birth.

First, Baked Chop Suey, with a picture of what seem to be three mushrooms:

Next, Chop Suey, with a picture of some sort of Chinaman cook:

Finally, Cantonese Casserole and its odd hybrid -- three mushrooms with Chinese faces?

Let's just be happy we've come a long way since then.

The recipe I decided to try is Prune Cake, contributed by the coy Mrs. Jerome Iwanski. Her recipe is merely a list of ingredients with an oven temperature and cooking time -- even the GIN & WATERMELLON COOLER came with better instructions, and that was written by a probable drunk. But I assembled the cake in a way that made sense, guessed at the pan size and ended up with a light, tender spice cake, speckled with small pockets of prune. It's lovely, especially topped with sweetened whipped cream. And eaten for breakfast.

Prune Cake

3/4 cup pitted prunes
1 teaspoon vinegar
1/2 cup butter, softened
1 1/4 cups sugar
2 eggs
1 cup milk
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and grease your pan of choice. (I used a 13 x 9" rectangular pan, but a bundt pan would be even better.)

Place the prunes in a small saucepan and cover with water, plus the vinegar. Simmer over medium-low heat for 10 minutes. Let prunes cool in the pan, then drain and chop. Set them aside while you assemble the batter.

In a large bowl, beat the butter until smooth and creamy. Add the sugar, eggs and milk, beating until smooth in between additions. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and spices. Gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, mixing with a wooden spoon until fully incorporated. Mix in the chopped prunes and pour batter into the pan. Bake on the middle rack for 15-20 minutes (for a 13 x 9" pan), or until a tester poked in the middle comes out clean.