Where did the "discard the meat, eat the brick" recipe joke originate?

March 21, 2018 4:23 PM

You've probably heard a variant of the joke that goes, "How do you cook [insert some animal that isn't known to be especially tasty, i.e. a seagull]? Follow this old Plimoth Plantation recipe: prepare a large cauldron, put in the seagull, boil for 24 hours, throw away the seagull, and eat the brick." Sure, it's a cheesy and lame joke, but I've heard way too many variants over the years. Where did it originate?
posted by Seeking Direction to Grab Bag (11 answers total)

Best answer:

TRENDING INTO MAINE
by Kenneth Roberts
Boston: Little, Brown and Company
1938

Pg. 159: There's an old, old recipe in Maine for stewing coot; and that recipe, I suspect, originated in the dim, dim past, probably with the Norsemen who came to Maine in their little open boats a thousand years ago. To stew coot, runs this recipe, place the bird in a kettle of water with a red building-brick free of mortar and blemishes. Parboil the coot and the brick together for three hours. Pour off the water, refill the kettle, and again parboil for three hours. For the (Pg. 160--ed.) third time throw off the water, for the last time add fresh water, and let the coot and the brick simmer together overnight. In the morning throw away the coot and eat the brick.
State-of-Mainers, no matter how often they hear it, always find this recipe inordinately amusing. It used to amuse my grandmother, and I've heard her repeat that venerable recipe herself, with many a quiet chuckle; yet she served coot stew whenever coot couldn't be avoided.
She had the coot skinned, never plucked; and all fat was carefully removed. The bodies were parboiled fifteen minutes in water to which soda had been added. Then they were put in an iron kettle with a moderate amount of water and boiled three hours, at the end of which time as many sliced potatoes were added as the situation seemed to require. Dumplings were added as soon as the potatoes were done; and when the dumplings in turn were thoroughly cooked, they were temporarily removed while the remaining liquid was thickened with flour and water, and salted and peppered to taste. The dumplings were then put back, and the stew was ready to serve.

posted by lazuli at 4:45 PM on March 21, 2018 [10 favorites]

Response by poster: Thank you! It is definitely funnier in its longer, earlier form.
posted by Seeking Direction at 5:16 PM on March 21, 2018 [1 favorite]

Best answer: It reminds me of the nonsense recipes of Edward Lear from the 19th century, though they aren't such straightforward jokes:

TO MAKE AN AMBLONGUS PIE

Take 4 pounds (say 4 1/2 pounds) of fresh Amblongusses, and put them in a small pipkin.

Cover them with water and boil them for 8 hours incessantly, after which add 2 pints of new milk, and proceed to boil for 4 hours more.

When you have ascertained that the Amblongusses are quite soft, take them out and place them in a wide pan, taking care to shake them well previously.

Grate some nutmeg over the surface, and cover them carefully with powdered gingerbread, curry-powder, and a sufficient quantity of Cayenne pepper.

Remove the pan into the next room, and place it on the floor. Bring it back again, and let it simmer for three-quarters of an hour. Shake the pan violently till all the Amblongusses have become a pale purple colour.

Then, having prepared a paste, insert the whole carefully, adding at the same time a small pigeon, 2 slices of beef, 4 cauliflowers, and any number of oysters.

Watch patiently till the crust begins to rise, and add a pinch of salt from time to time.

Serve up in a clean dish, and throw the whole out of the window as fast as possible.
posted by The Great Big Mulp at 5:21 PM on March 21, 2018 [2 favorites]

Best answer: Going to the 18th century, it’s like Samuel Johnson: “It has been a common saying of physicians in England, that a cucumber should be well sliced, and dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out, as good for nothing.”
posted by FencingGal at 5:36 PM on March 21, 2018 [4 favorites]

Best answer: The short story about that most legendary of complex recipes, Farce Double by Harry Mathews, does have this message for the chef, at the end:

> (Do not be upset if you yourself have lost all desire to eat. This is a normal, salutary condition. Your satisfaction will have been in the doing, not in the thing done. But observe the reaction of your guests, have a glass of wine [see below], and you may feel the urge to try one bite, and perhaps a second . . .)
posted by Sunburnt at 5:37 PM on March 21, 2018

Best answer: In New Zealand it's the Pukeko:
HOW TO COOK A PUKEKO (or SWAMP HEN).
First, shoot or strangle your pukeko and then pluck it. Fill a large kerosine tin with water; drop in one large stone and the pukeko. Boil until the stone is soft.

Then throw away the pukeko and eat the stone. .
posted by slightlybewildered at 6:17 PM on March 21, 2018 [2 favorites]

Best answer: My great uncle, of Ukrainian descent, told the joke but it involved throwing out the carp (fish) and eating the cow manure.
posted by some loser at 6:45 PM on March 21, 2018

Best answer: For upstate NY I always heard it as carp and a cedar plank
posted by Ferreous at 7:08 PM on March 21, 2018

Best answer: From North Carolina: We have plank carp here, but it's an oak plank you're supposed to eat.
posted by cirgue at 7:59 PM on March 21, 2018

Best answer: My parents heard this sort of story while in Hawaii, involving a stone and any of the scrawny feral black chickens that infest Kauai. They both forage and scrounge, which is why they probably aren't safe to eat.
posted by Sunburnt at 10:59 PM on March 21, 2018

Best answer: Lutefisk recipe, from my paternal grandmother:

Lay fillets of cod on wooden shingles. Piss on the fish every day for two weeks. Then throw away the fish and cook the shingle.
posted by yesster at 1:16 AM on March 22, 2018