Victory food: A look back at wartime cooking

Chard, Zucchini, Potato Gratin and Fruit Crumble

“I was born during the war and grew up in a time of rationing. We didn't have anything. It's influenced the way I look at the world.” - Vivienne Westwood

A client at my hotel mailed me a copy of her self-published book of wartime recipes collected by her grandmother and her grandmother’s friends. Originally jotted down by hand in a notebook, the recipes covered a period from 1920 through 1950, just out of one world war and through another. My French husband has told me the innumerable wartime stories recounted by his own mother and grandmothers—stories of shortages, deprivations, and rationing. Stories of making do and feeding a family in northern France with what was available, grown, and foraged. Like Vivienne Westwood, it deeply influenced the way they looked at the world. And at food.

I started thinking about this a few weeks ago, right after French President Emmanuel Macron’s televised speech on the war in Ukraine, Russia’s multi-front aggression and impending threat to all of us, and the tariffs put on Europe by the United States. He called for investments, reform, choices, and courage. The following day, we went to a neighboring town for lunch and discovered the forest that lay in between was closed for military exercises. Military jets flew low over Chinon the following several days, as if in preparation. I must admit that it filled me with dread.

It was all extremely ominous.

I pulled out this little cookbook, “Le Carnet de Recettes de Ma Grand-mère et de ses Amies” by Adélaïde Chatelain, and the others in my collection that had wartime recipes, out of curiosity, both culinary and morbid. The 1943 edition of “America’s Cookbook,” recipes compiled by The Home Institute of The New York Herald Tribune, opens with, “The kitchens of America have gone to War.” Marie Mattingly Meloney, writing under the name Mrs. William Brown Meloney, journalist, magazine editor, socialite, and one of the first women allowed a seat in the Senate press gallery, wrote in the introduction, “Today every homemaker is drafted and the kitchen apron her uniform. In small towns, in big cities, and on farms, American women are standing up to daily battles as momentous as those on the military fronts—the battle of supply and demand, of food values against food shortage, of flavor versus monotony.” A homemaker’s role was not only to feed her family nutritiously, but deliciously, as well, always avoiding “monotony;” this was, above all else, a woman’s patriotic duty.

“Le Coin de la Ménagère,” published in Belgium in 1917, by Tante Colinette, “old maid, not surly, not maniacal, loving youth and laughter...and...as gourmande as a cat!,” was more about finding substitutes for ingredients that had become rarer and rarer, avoiding ingredients that had been tampered with (think Downton Abbey and Thomas Barrow’s efforts to sell what he thought was flour on the black market), and using ingredients one otherwise wouldn’t cook with (calf’s liver and prunes). Édouard Pomiane’s was altogether on a different scale. “Bien Manger pour Bien Vivre (Eat Well to Live Well)” of 1922 introduced his treatise on “theoretical gastronomy,” written “in short snatches in the army during the times when the sad work of the doctors at the front came to a halt and left a little time for meditation.” According to Pomiane, life and, apparently, parties went on—despite the necessity of thrift and economy. Those at home should be uplifted and inspired, almost as if there were no war happening at all. Elegance was de rigueur, gastronomy an art as much as a science. “To invite people to dine with us is to make ourselves responsible for their well-being for as long as they are under our roofs.” Pomiane quotes the great Brillat-Savarin on the importance of continuing the custom of a well-laid table, whether preparing a meal for one’s family, an old friend, or a dinner party, even during times of instability.

Wartime cookbooks in the United States, Canada, and across Europe, were a big business. And rightly so; as Pomiane explained, even in times of war, one must eat not only to live, to nourish the body correctly but also to lift up spirits and feel our humanity. “The public knows the causes (the machinery) of all its sufferings; few people, on the other hand, know the causes (the machinery) of their pleasures.” For Pomiane, those pleasures are found with friends around a thoughtfully prepared meal.

Out of necessity, the kitchen became a playground for experimentation, a place where ingredients were no longer just tools but now also became a canvas for invention. Periods of social and political upheaval leading to disruptions in food sources laid the foundation and gave rise to culinary practices and recipes that continue to shape kitchens today.

Whether or not everything happening in the world today leads to outright war, we do know that events, from bird flu to tariffs, are making some ingredients harder to find or so pricey they have become luxuries. We saw this throughout the Covid pandemic, and we’re beginning to see it again.

In other words, as we have learned from the past, one does not have to go without when certain ingredients are limited or hard to find. Chicory replaces coffee, soybean or almond flour replaces some of the white flour, whipped cream can be made from the liquid from canned chickpeas or white beans (during World War II, margarine whipped with sugar was used). And even eggs can be replace—in simple cakes, muffins, brownies, etc.—with yogurt, silken tofu, unsweetened applesauce, mashed banana, carbonated water, even with a mix of baking soda and vinegar. I know; I’ve tried most of them. In many post-war cookbooks, vegetable shortening is commonly used in baking where butter is used today. Some say that we started embracing and using “forgotten vegetables”—rutabaga, parsnip, turnip, Jerusalem artichoke, nettles—because of wartime shortages, and people learned how to use the parts of vegetables that were previously commonly discarded, like the whites of chard or the greens of beets and turnips.

In 1941, Henri-Paul Pellaprat, founder of the Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris, knew that the world was changing and cooking had to follow. His book “390 Recettes de Cuisine pour les Restrictions Alimentaires (390 Recipes for Cooking with Food Restrictions)” was a modified version of a previous edition, this one “adapted to the new mandatory rationing measures” because his earlier book was “no longer responding to the current needs.” His new recipes placed a greater emphasis on vegetables and on culinary combinations “in a practical and always economical spirit.” This included a selection of meatless main dishes, advice on recuperating and using scraps that previously had been considered waste, and “bizarre”—his term—substitutes such as horse fat in place of cooking oil.

And yet he understood that not everyone across “our beloved France” was suffering the same shortages as those in larger cities, and so he left the great majority of his recipes as they were. “It's fortunate,” he wrote, “for those who are lucky enough to remain immersed in the atmosphere of bygone cooking, and who will thus have the opportunity to preserve this tradition.”

During the pandemic, people came to me for recipes and inspiration in the face of shortages of many ingredients. I have a strange feeling it’s time to start doing the same, and those old cookbooks are a pretty good guide.

Chard, Zucchini, and Potato Gratin

A hearty dish that is perfect as a side dish or a main course. And a great way to use the white parts of chard that are usually discarded. I also make this dish using a head of cauliflower and a couple of peeled firm potatoes, precooking both together just until tender.

1 lb (500 g) small or fingerling potatoes—or any firm potato, cleaned, peeled and cubed into bite-sized chunks

1 small yellow onion, trimmed, peeled, and chopped

Olive oil

2 cloves garlic, trimmed, peeled and chopped

4 small or 2 large zucchini, trimmed, peeled, and cut into bite-sized chunks

One bunch Swiss chard, white stems only, trimmed, cleaned and cut into 1-inch pieces

Vegetable broth to cover

Béchamel (recipe follows)

2 cups finely grated Parmesan cheese (this can be replaced with a hard, nutty cheese such as Gruyère or Comté)

Butter a large (9x13-inch) baking dish.

Prepare the vegetables:

Place the cubes of potatoes in a large pot with a large pinch of salt and cover with water. Bring to the boil, turn down to a simmer and cook until the potatoes are fork tender, about 20 minutes or as needed. Drain.

Sautée the onion in a large frying or sautée pan in about 2 tablespoons olive oil until tender and just beginning to turn golden around the edges. Add the chopped garlic and continue cooking for about two minutes until the garlic is tender. Add the small cubes of zucchini and the small pieces of white chard stems and cook, stirring for a few minutes until starting to soften. Barely cover with broth and simmer until the stems and the zucchini are very tender, almost melting in the mouth. Remove from the heat and stir in the cooked cubes of potatoes.

Using a slotted spoon, scoop the zucchini, chard stems and potatoes into the baking dish, reserving the vegetable liquid broth for another dish (this is excellent in a meat stew).

Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C).

Prepare the Béchamel:

3 tablespoons (45 grams) butter

3 tablespoons flour

3 cups (700 ml) whole milk (you can use lowfat but it will not thicken as much)

¼ teaspoon or more cayenne or adobo chili powder

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Large pinch nutmeg

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium-low heat until bubbly. Add the flour all at once and stir or whisk until the flour is well blended into the butter. Cook, stirring or whisking briskly, for 2 minutes.

Begin adding the milk, a little at a time, whisking constantly, allowing the milk to thicken after each addition. As it thickens, add more milk; repeat until all the milk has been added and the sauce is fairly thick (it should at least coat a spoon). Add the chili powder, salt and pepper generously, and allow to simmer very gently, stirring or whisking continuously, for about 10-15 minutes. Stir in a pinch of nutmeg. Taste and adjust the seasonings.

Pour the hot béchamel over the prepared chard, zucchini, and potatoes in the baking dish and gently stir until the sauce is evenly distributed. Sprinkle generously with the Parmesan all the way to the edge of the dish.

Bake in the hot oven for about 20 to 30 minutes or until bubbly and the cheese is golden and browned as you like.

Fruit Crumble: Nectarine and Cherry

All the wartime cookbooks agree: Fruit desserts are adaptable to even the most unstable times, and this one doesn’t use eggs. This crumble is the perfect dessert as almost any spring, summer, or autumn fruit can be used.

6 cups total fruit, prepped—I use half nectarines (4-6), pitted and cubed, and half pitted cherries (1 pound/500 grams) (* see note)

¼ cup (50 grams) sugar (add more if the fruit is tart or not very sweet)

2 tablespoons cornstarch

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon, optional

3 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice

1 cup (140 grams) flour

1/8 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking powder

¼ cup (50 grams) granulated white sugar

¼ cup (55 grams) packed light brown sugar

½ cup (115 grams) cold butter, cubed

½ cup slivered blanched almonds, optional but good

• note: this crumble works with just about any fruit; I make it with mixed berries and rhubarb, apples or pears, plums and blueberries. Just prepare the fruit accordingly.

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Place 6-8 individual heat-proof oven-friendly ramekins on a baking sheet and set aside.

Place all of the fruit in a large mixing bowl; if using frozen cherries or another berry, they do not need to be defrosted first.

Sprinkle the fruit with the sugar, cornstarch, and cinnamon. Add the orange juice. Toss everything together until all of the ingredients are well distributed and the cornstarch lightly covers all the fruit. I found that the easiest method was simply pushing up my sleeves and using my hands.

Spoon the prepared fruit into the waiting ramekins, making sure that it is evenly divided.

For the crumble topping, combine the flour, salt, cinnamon, baking powder, the two sugars in a large bowl and toss to blend.

Add the cubes of cold butter and, using your fingertips, rub or work the butter into the dry ingredients until the butter is evenly distributed, there are no more chunks of butter and the mixture resembles rough sand or crumbs.

Toss lightly with the slivered almonds.

Divide the crumble mixture evenly between the ramekins, spooning it generously on top of the fruit, making sure that none of the fruit is exposed. Gently press the crumble topping down onto the fruit.

Bake the ramekins on the baking sheet for 35–40 minutes until the crumble puffs up and turns a deep golden color and the fruit bubbles up around the edges of the crumble.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool at least to warm before eating as boiling fruit can burn.

Jamie Schler is an American writer living in France. She owns a hotel and writes the Substack Life’s a Feast.

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