WE’RE ANXIOUS TO TRY IT [478]

My screenshot is in focus, but the picture is not.

After all the anticipation, the Blu-ray has finally arrived...

Drumming, tribal or jazzy in rhythm, begins as “Vincent Price Presents” appears in a red Futura Display font on a black screen. Cut to a steaming pot on a stove, the word “Cooking” appearing over it in the same font and colour. Expectations already countered, “Price-Wise” appears in fanciful hand-cut lettering, still red, in a yellow burst on a blue background. With expectations placed on his name having been broken, and after today’s potato-based menu is shown, the man himself appears on screen, wearing an apron over his own clothes: “Hello, I’m Vincent Price. in this series of programmes, I hope to take you around the world using your cooker instead of a jet plane.”

 

So begins the first episode of the six-part “Cooking Price-Wise” series, the same opening recreated each time with variations in pot use and font size. Each of the six episodes is delineated by both the main ingredient and where the recipes come from, the UK lining up with bacon. 

 

Everything feels slightly wobbly, and slightly giddy: Price is perfectly in command of his subject and each episode’s running order, the recipes having been gathered personally during his travels, his enthusiasm and curiosity fully on display, with a “hmm?” capping sentences after making certain points. 

 

Everything may be in place to ensure that pre-prepared food is ready at the right point to continue the demonstration – Price refers to “the marvels of modern television” several times – but I don’t feel a final script was used, or indeed needed, for example when an Ayrshire roll was instructed as being cooked “at 370 degrees, or mark 4 in gas”.

 

The show itself feels it was recorded in a hurry, and in one continuous take: a zooming in on Price as he introduces one episode’s main ingredient leads to the shot going out of focus, and the shadows of people behind the camera are occasionally seen. These flaws were either not important – having been broadcast in April 1971, many might still be watching in black and white, on older 405-line sets, making them less visible – or that time was constantly against the production, the entire series having been recorded over the course of a week in July 1970, with two episodes completed on the Friday.

 

It turns out the pastry dish I couldn’t remember from last time was “Fish Fillets Nord Zee”, which instead uses mashed potato and a cake icing bag to create a border and compartments on a dish, to tell the story of Dutch history through its dykes and sea walls, with the fish and vegetables representing the sea and land. I still won’t be trying it, but I enjoyed hearing Price talking about it. At the time, chefs were more willing to give up the recipes and secrets featured in this series, something that would be more closely guarded as “intellectual property” today. There was a garlic salad that sounded rather interesting...

 

Some curious decisions are made in the presentation: an episode centred around bacon refers to a cross-section model of a pig balanced on a kitchen cabinet above Price’s head, and the history of potatoes are illustrated with cartoons by an uncredited artist. The most bizarre moment of all was the creation of a fruit cocktail crocodile, using a cucumber as a starting point  - the lights dim to make the “monster”, and the close-up of the face was simultaneously terrifying and hilarious.

 

The kitchen is incredibly 1970s in look, with patterned cookware, woodgrain cabinets and red kitchen tops. At the same time, it is a modern kitchen: among the uses of a blender, garlic press and the fridge as cooking gadgets, a dishwasher resides in the back of the shot, never mentioned. A ledge in front of the kitchen tops is reserved for the end of each episode for Price to point out, with a wooden spoon, the ingredients used in each episode, in case you were too slow writing them down - later in the 1970s and into the 80s, teletext and home video made taking notes far easier, let alone the tie-in book. 

 

The series is intimate, with no audience, Price talking directly to the viewer, both he and the kitchen backed into a corner by the cameras. It is almost a YouTube video circa 1970: it is made by an independent production company, I.D. TV, and the show is copyright of the Vincent Price estate. It was filmed using Thames Television facilities, but was at its mercy as to when it would be broadcast, just as anyone uploading a video online is subject to the rules and regulations of the host site. Even YouTubers now have more capable and portable cameras, with image stabilisation, and perhaps even the luxury of reshoots, but the same time, a YouTube video would more likely cut out any hesitation, and break each episode into one video per recipe.

 

Shot today, “Cooking Price-Wise” would undoubtedly have a much larger budget, while also sending Vincent Price back to the places from where he found those recipes, making it as much a travelogue as an instructional cooking show – think Keith Floyd or Rick Stein. However, that would sacrifice the intimacy of one person enthusiastically sharing the knowledge they have gathered, which was my main takeaway from a TV show I have waited years to see.

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR IS CLOSE AT HAND [477]

I have anticipated this for a while, but I will need to continue anticipating for a few more days.

I was intending to discuss Vincent Price’s “Cooking Price-Wise”, a series made for Thames Television, and released on Blu-ray by the British Film Institute for its first public view since its original broadcast in 1971. I have only seen a few seconds of this show, played in another TV show from over twenty years ago, but I have been given a copy of the tie-in book, expanded and reissued by the Price family in 2017, subtitled “A Culinary Legacy”. I was looking forward to discovering what kind of experience is created when watching a cooking show hosted by an icon of horror cinema.

However, I ordered the disc via Amazon.co.uk, where messages of the package being out for delivery were replaced by an apology for its having been sent to Leeds, two hundred miles away from me. Therefore, I am taking the opportunity, created by misplaced logistics, to explore why I anticipate watching Vincent Price cook a turkey.

I don’t know if Vincent Price was typecast by his appearance in horror films, in both the United States and the UK, or by how effective his voice was in a horror context. To be absolutely honest, he was also so much of an Anglophile that I didn’t realise he was American, proving my apparent inability to place his accent – in an appearance on Thames’ “Today” discussion show in 1972, Price tells Eamonn Andrews that he is a great fan of British food, like steak and kidney pie, and beans on toast, “because I don’t have to eat it all the time!”

But Price had almost a parallel career as a gourmet cook, releasing three books of recipes in the 1960s with his then-wife Mary Grant Price. Like The Monkees’ Michael Nesmith’s mother inventing correction fluid, Price’s grandfather, Dr Vincent Clarence Price, invented baking powder – the expanded “Cooking Price-Wise” featured a few pages from this Vincent Price’s own cookbook, reminding you to “Use Dr Price’s Phosphate Baking Powder” at the top of each page. In the same interview with Andrews, Price said the aim of his series the previous year was “to tell the British housewife that there are very common things, like potatoes, that can be done superbly, and with just as little effort as they put into it ordinarily”.

In 1971, cooking shows were more on the fringes of TV schedules than is expected today – no landmark series with Delia Smith, no combined travelogues with Keith Floyd or Rick Stein. Confined to a kitchen set, the likes of Fanny Cradock will present instructional series that will be found on weekend mornings, alongside similar programmes on woodwork or learning a language, or just as TV channels reopened in the late afternoon, or before they closed down for the night. Cradock did have primetime series as early as 1968, but on the more deliberately specialist BBC Two – repeats on BBC One were again at the fringes of its schedule. “Cooking Price-Wise”, despite its presenter and its aim, was therefore relegated to about 11.15pm or 11.30pm on a Tuesday on Thames for six weeks in April and May 1971, again before closedown – I could not find any evidence that the rest of the ITV network ever showed it outside of the Greater London and Home Counties area.

I have never cooked a recipe from “Cooking Price-Wise”, but then I own a copy of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti’s “The Futurist Cookbook”, and I have never wanted to cook anything from that either. Perhaps it was that one clip of the TV show I have seen, which was of Price filling several pastry pockets with olives and other ingredients – I have been unable to find the clip since seeing it, or the TV show that included it. 

Time might be the problem, as British tastes have developed in the decades since the show was made – olive oil doesn’t have to be bought in a chemist anymore, and wine and hummus are actually consumed here now. What doesn’t help is the pictures provided of some recipes, practically screaming that they were from another time, when things were done differently – it may be that hearing and seeing someone explain them to you will make them more palatable. I will have to try one of them now – my copy of the book keeps opening at the minestrone for some reason, but Sardinian Gnocchi may be worth a go.

I hope watching “Cooking Price-Wise” will be as rewarding as I have built it up to be, when my copy of it arrives.

FERGUS-ON SINGS THE BLUES [42]

Once upon a time, televisions were made in our home town. We owned a few of them, but the most memorable, were two black-and-white portable televisions which, like the others, were made by Ferguson, a major employer in Gosport, Hampshire, and a division of the enormous Thorn-EMI corporation. The cathode ray tube in one TV gave up one day, but the other hung on for a very long time: when the on-off-volume switch fell off, it was replaced by the end of a used chapstick, jammed into the hole to serve for nearly a full decade. Colour television arrived in my bedroom when both progress, and a Christmas present, replaced the Ferguson with a portable Matsui TV.

It turns out that this coming Monday, 20^th February, is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the closing of the Ferguson factory, which has since become a business park. The US conglomerate Cyanamid, once owners of brands as disparate as Old Spice and Formica, had a pharmaceutical plant down the road, but it has since moved out, the factory knocked down. The remaining mass employer in Gosport, apart from the Royal Navy, is the Finnish company Huhtamaki, makers of food and drink packaging, and formerly known as the great-sounding Sweetheart International, whose base is big enough for them to sponsor the flowers on nearby roundabouts.

It is too easy to get sentimental about these things, especially the jobs that are lost – I have only worked in my home town for five months out of the last twelve years. However, the reason the last TV was replaced was the same reason the factory closed: competition. In 1987, Thorn-EMI sold Ferguson to Thomson, the French company that already shared production and designs with them, but they themselves pulled out of a market where Ferguson no longer fit.

Back when people rented TVs, because they were often too expensive to buy, Thorn-EMI not only made the TVs, you rented and bought from them too – their Radio Rentals, DER and Rumbelows rental businesses have since become Bright House. Thorn-EMI also made some of the programmes you saw, owning half of Thames Television, and all of EMI Records. Only Sony has gone as far as this since, owning Columbia Pictures and record labels, but they don’t keep their customers tied in to the same extent, as TVs have since become cheap enough to buy, and to throw away – no jamming in any chapsticks there.

If people are looking at bringing back industry the way we used to have it, so long as you are able to innovate and adapt as well as any other part of the world, and you know that the conditions are different from the way they were, then it is certainly possible. Whether it means anyone will buy up Gosport’s KFC drive-thru, knock it down, and build the Cyanamid factory on top of it, is another question all together… one that has the answer, “probably not,” unless plans for the future are being made over a bucket of chicken.