March began with a pleasant surprise in my e-mail box: a lovely little note from reader, Gail Hopkins, sharing the story of how she received her Penny Powers cookbooks. This got me wondering about the biography of this author and before long I was devouring more cookbook history tidbits rooted out on the internet and dreaming of sinking my teeth into a new recipe book.

The fictional cookbook author, Penny Powers, was the corporate spokeswoman for the SaskPower Corporation. Her home economist persona was invented in 1956 during the company’s program of rural electrification. Her role was “assisting rural women with choosing, using and maintaining electric appliances through the use of cookbooks, articles, pamphlets and demonstrations.” She had the enviable ability to be in up to four places at once, being played by that number of actual women, presumably because the country fairs at which she gave instruction all tended to be held during the brief prairie summers.

This tireless matron was still going strong by the 1970s when she broadcast a Saturday morning children’s cooking show; the associated cookbook was the one I mentioned in last month’s article. In all likelihood, I was the one who ordered the recipe book, though I have only the dimmest memory of those by-gone days. My mother attests to the fact that I had a hunger for the tasty variety of giveaways offered by comic-books, cereal boxes, and magazines. Perhaps I’d seen Penny’s television demonstration of what would eventually become our family’s standard birthday dessert: Wacky Cake, a luscious chocolate treat that magically begins to bubble and rise during the mixing phase, due to the combination of baking powder, baking soda, and vinegar.

While following the trail of breadcrumbs through the online forest of information, I also discovered that my little Penny Powers cookbook is classified by those who study such things as a cookbooklet, being bigger than a folded pamphlet yet smaller than an actual bound book. Cookbooklets served as promotional materials for various companies producing all manner of food ingredients and kitchen appliances. As it turns out, this is an area of collectables unto itself. People have even examined particular product cookbooklets in great detail, comparing subtle variations in recipes to analyze geographic differences related to perceived national and ethic identities.

Recognizing the advertising potential of food, some companies created full-fledged cookbooks. In 1913, the Lake of the Woods Milling Company gave rise to the Five Roses Cook Book, which promoted the use of flour of the same name. This is probably the best-known promotional cookbook in Canada; the 1999 reproduction announces that the 1915 printing was used in half of all Canadian homes.

When I discussed the ethnic and regional significance of cookbooks last month, I was unaware of a new trend for studying this aspect of history. In 2014, Amy Jo Ehman’s book, Out of Old Saskatchewan Kitchens, was published to great acclaim. She combines history book and cookbook in this chronicle of Saskatchewan food for the period up to 1920. As I searched for a hardcover edition (apparently sold out) I discovered this study has whipped up such enthusiasm for the topic that there is a new Manitoba book in the same format. Indicative of its popularity and merit, Ehman’s book, fresh out in paperback, has been chosen by the Saskatchewan Library Association for this year’s One Book One Province campaign. With fond memories of my family’s Saskatchewan kitchen, I’m on the quest for my own copy of this crackerjack volume. To fulfill my craving for it, I have requested it from my local library, and am looking forward to getting a taste of it very soon.

Thanks to Gail for stirring up my appetite for a second-helping of research into cookbook history. I hope I have egged you on to sift through your cookbook cupboard for your own family history delicacies.

This article was originally printed in the BERGEN NEWS and is being reprinted with permission.