Blushing Chicken

A 1964 Culinary Competition

On a table in my bedroom is a framed black and white photo of my grandmother, my siblings, and me standing around my grandparents’ dining room table in Madison, Connecticut. (I am second from the left.) The photo appeared in her local newspaper. I am about six years old and am looking up at my grandmother with admiration. The table is covered with shiny just unpacked from the box Sunbeam appliances. She is grinning ear to ear looking at her bounty of two blenders, two multi cooker fryers, a hair dryer, two different sized saucepans, a knife and scissors sharpener, a deep fryer, a waffle maker and grill, a broiler cover, and a deluxe mix master. She was especially excited, she told my mother later in a letter, about the hand mixer.

My grandmother won all these appliances for her first place finish at the sixteenth annual Delmarva Chicken Festival’s national chicken cooking contest. (Delmarva stands for Delaware, Maryland and Virginia, the birthplace of the broiler chicken industry.) Entered in the portable appliance division, her recipe for Blushing Chicken beat out thirty-eight other finalists. In the recipe, chicken breasts are dusted with Ac’cent, browned with margarine in an electric skillet, and then poached in wine and currant jelly. At the end, sour cream is swirled in.

My grandfather (who three years earlier had received second place in the same competition for his Royal Chicken Hash recipe) put together a scrapbook commemorating her big win. Embossed on the cover of the blue three ring binder is a map of North America and a planet in orbit and a rocket ship. From the chicken festival literature my grandfather had cut out and glued over them a chicken wearing a chef’s hat and the dates and location of the competition- June 13-15, Salisbury, Maryland. On the back cover he inscribed THE CHAMP! with a thick black marker.

Included in the scrapbook, is my grandmother’s winning recipe, handwritten on her letterhead stationery in blue fountain pen ink. Festival documents, glued onto paper, explain the contest rules—my grandmother had to bring everything except the chicken, oleo, flour, salt, and pepper with her. She was to be at Table 4 in the cafeteria at Wimoco Senior High at eight o’clock in the morning, her numbered badge (P4) pinned on her shoulder. She had two hours to make and present her dish. A stick tag with her number was to be put into her chicken dish when it was presented to the national food editors and home economists who were judges.

Glued on to subsequent pages are a souvenir program, a list of town tips for tourists, matchbooks from Howard Johnson’s Monticello Motor Lodge and The Sandman Motel and Gift Shop, a food ticket redeemable at local restaurants-Johnny & Sammy’s, English Grills, Bill’s Seafood, Polar Bar, Martini’s, Ayer’s Diner, or the Wicomico Hotel, embossed blue and white invitations to both the Friday night dinner for all cooking and Miss Delmarva contestants and the following evening, the reception and Dinner Dance both which were held at the Salisbury Armory.

A brochure boasted that throughout the festival, the 60,000 visitors could enjoy one of the 10,000 pieces of chicken cooked daily on the “world’s largest frying pan”. Ten feet across, it held 80 gallons of oil which was “generously donated” by the Delmarva Gas Association. Festivities over the three days included a beauty competition, an art show, boat displays, a chorus, an industry show, and an antique car show. Multiple copies of press releases and Tucked in the back are newspaper clippings, numerous letters and telegrams congratulating her on her victory.

On the last day my grandmother rode on a parade float (route map included in the scrapbook) with the other division winners. There’s a photo of my grandmother, adorned with a velvet cape over her shoulders and a glass tiara on her head, being congratulated by Maryland Senator Glenn Bealle. She is beaming up at him as he kisses her cheek. On the left is the wife of the Salisbury, Maryland mayor who is also trying to congratulate her, but my grandmother is ignoring her, completely focused on, and relishing that kiss.

As someone who doesn't enjoy competing in culinary competitions, I would have loved to know more about her experience first-hand (Was she nervous? Did she think she would win?) but I was too young to remember when it happened and never asked when I was older. Several years after she died, I made her recipe hoping it might give me insight. Not surprisingly, I came up shorthanded and I wasn’t very impressed with the dish. But I can still brag about her win and wonder if perhaps it is one of the reasons I ended up as a chef.