Residents of Midwest like treats that wiggle
Lisa Abraham
I have often argued that there is such a thing as Jell-O salad season.
We are, in fact, in the middle of it. You don’t believe me? I’m sure that people would believe me in Salt Lake City, whose residents hold the record for highest per-capita consumption of lime Jell-O.
Your doubt forces me to make my case. Let’s begin with our location. Ohio marks the eastern border of the Midwest, a region that has proudly embraced Jell-O for the past 100 years or so.
Think of every potluck and every church social you have attended: The food offerings, no doubt, included a Jell-O salad.
New York has its bagels and haute cuisine; and California, its Pacific fare and fad diets.
Ohio has strawberry, cherry and orange.
I know that some people would say high season for Jell-O actually runs from Halloween to New Year’s, but I disagree.
Thanksgiving (with its cranberry molds) and Christmas (with its maraschino-cherry rings) might cause spikes in Jell-O consumption for a day or two — and might give Kraft Foods a cheery fourth quarter.
But they don’t compare to the stretch from St. Patrick’s Day (green Jell-O shots) to July Fourth (the only day, I am
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convinced, that anyone eats blueberry Jell-O).
Spring means a time for lighter desserts, and Jell-O fills the bill.
The season encompasses all of the occasions for which Jell-O salad performs best: Easter, Mother’s Day, First Communion parties, bridal showers, graduation parties and year-end potlucks for every club and team imaginable.
It peaks on Independence Day, when folks will blow up Pinterest searching for new ways to show their American pride with blueberry and strawberry wiggles and giggles.
Add Cool Whip, and you have one very American holiday. But don’t believe just me. Believe Lynne Belluscio, director of the LeRoy Historical Society in New York and founder and curator of the Jell-O Gallery there. (Jell-O was founded in LeRoy and manufactured there until 1964.)
When I asked her whether we were in Jell-O salad season, she replied: “Oh, I love that. Yes, we are.”
Belluscio pointed out that the Thanksgiving-to-Christmas corridor might have the edge in Jell-O sales (a detail also noted by a Kraft Foods official), but she didn’t argue with my logic.
Belluscio might be Jell-O’s biggest fan.
Every year, she said, visitors from all 50 states (she tracks them) stop by her gallery. She distinguishes between Midwestern Jell-O lovers, who associate the dessert with happy times and holidays, and Jell-O lovers from the coasts — who are embarrassed to admit they eat it.
“We can tell the people from the Midwest as opposed to the East Coast and West Coast,” Belluscio said. “They (from the coasts) almost whisper to us that they like Jell-O. They aren’t quite sure they want people to know they like it.”
Belluscio doesn’t care that Jell-O often becomes the butt of jokes; she celebrates its commoner status.
“Jell-O may be more American than apple pie,” she said.
Until it came along, only the rich partook of jelled desserts.
One had to have enough servants to boil animal bones to extract the gelatin and enough money to afford the sugar and the fancy molds in which to make it.
“It was very hoity-toity food,” Belluscio said. “That’s why they put it on a cake stand, on a platform, in the center of the table. It was the centerpiece.”
The prosperity of households — particularly in Europe at the time — was often judged by the number of food molds in a kitchen, she said.
Jell-O was not an overnight success.
Gelatin products were introduced as far back as 1845 but didn’t catch on. In 1897, LeRoy resident Pearle Wait, while experimenting with gelatin, came up with the fruit-flavored combination that his wife, Mary, named Jell-O.
Unfortunately, Wait lacked the money or skills to market the product — so, two years later, he sold the name and formula for $450 to fellow LeRoy resident Orator F. Woodward. Jell-O sold slowly — and, a year later, Woodward offered to sell the brand to one of his employees for $35.
Eventually, Woodward devised an advertising campaign to capitalize on the name. By 1902, Jell-O sales had reached $250,000; and by 1910, the multimillions.
Jell-O, Belluscio said, represents the classic American success story because it owes its popularity to a marketing campaign. Other gelatin products were on the market at the time, but none was as successful as Jell-O.
“Nobody wants a dish of Trifosa,” she said, “And Knox had a picture of a cow on its box. Nobody wanted to see that.”
Jell-O’s name recognition is even stronger today.
Surveys have shown that 97 percent of Americans know the name, Belluscio said.
“That’s way more than the number of people who can name the president.”
She loves the way Jell-O sparks our creative side.
“When you have a box of Jell-O,” she said, “you want to do something with it.” Make a Jell-O salad, perhaps? For those who agree with me, I have a Jell-O salad recipe for you.
It’s the season for it.
Recipe adapted from www. kraftrecipes.com:
Bring cranberry juice to a boil. Stir boiling juice into gelatin in large bowl for 2 minutes until completely dissolved. Stir in cold club soda and lemon juice. Refrigerate about 11⁄ hours or until thickened (spoon drawn through leaves definite impression).
Toss berries gently. Stir berries into Jell-O. Spoon into 6-cup mold or bowl coated with cooking spray; cover. Refrigerate 4 hours or until firm.
Unmold. Garnish with additional berries.