Last week my husband and I went to Shipley, Iowa (estimated population 766) to attend the wedding of a dear friend we’d known since childhood. The event was held in the old high school and following the ceremony there was a buffet dinner that included typical Iowa fare: buns with a choice of ham, shredded beef or chicken in gravy, carrot and celery sticks, boiled green beans, and a Fluff salad.
When my husband saw the giant bowl of orange whipped confectionery, he was delighted. He plopped a giant scoop on his plate. “Look!” he said, “Fluff!”
For those of you unfamiliar with this dish, Fluff refers to a creamy salad, generally made with whipped cream, mayonnaise or sour cream, sometimes cream cheese or cottage cheese, and generally some sort of canned fruit. These concoctions were popular in my youth and continue to be Midwestern favorites. However, the word “fluff” can connote something of little substance or consequence – far from the substantial meat and potatoes reputation associated with our region. So it got me thinking about Iowa and where we’re headed as a state.
Fluff was never on the menu at my home growing up, literally or figuratively. While my home economist mother loves a molded Jello salad even today, she tends to stick to fresh food. On the other hand, my Aunt Emily could always be counted on to bring her famous Cherry Fluff for Christmas dinner. This was a dish requested by my grandfather that included a carton of Cool Whip; cans of sweetened condensed milk, cherry pie filling, and crushed pineapple; chopped pecans and a bag of mini-marshmallows. With its glossy Pepto Bismol pink appearance, this smooth mixture was tasty in a blood-sugar spiking sort of way.
When I moved back to Iowa after decades away, I had all but forgotten about Fluff and many other Midwestern delicacies like ham balls and pickle roll ups. But Fluff salads were going strong; local potlucks and buffets featured versions of Aunt Emily’s Cherry Fluff plus Orange Creamsicle, Pumpkin Fluff, Cranberry Salad, Watergate Salad, 7 Up Salad and Snickers Salad.
Snickers Salad was new to me, and confusing. I first spotted it at a graduation party of a friend of my younger stepson. On the way home from the event, I asked out loud why Midwesterners insisted on calling these sweet concoctions salads; I asserted that a salad involves either fresh vegetables or fresh fruit and the Snickers combination was dessert – a vile one to boot. My husband vehemently disagreed, countering that Snickers Salad was scrumptious, and a salad is just a combination of various foodstuffs held together with some sort of dressing.
We argued lightly.
I looked it up. While Miriam Websters had one definition that suggested fruits and vegetables, there was also a more generic meaning: a mixture containing a specified ingredient served with a dressing. My husband was right.
“You’re right,” I told him. He just nodded, a gesture reminding me how fortunate I am that he does not gloat about such victories. Now, I accept that a salad can be just about anything. But that doesn’t mean I want a salad with Marshmallow Fluff.
Marshmallow Fluff is actually a product, consisting of egg whites, sugar, corn syrup and vanillin. According to Fluff: the Sticky Sweet Story of an American Icon, a Massachusetts man named Archibald Query invented it in his kitchen in 1917. Eventually he sold the formula to two men named Durkee and Mower, whose eponymous company renamed it Marshmallow Fluff and developed the now wildly successful brand.
Marshmallow Fluff and gelatin became key ingredients in the whipped salad boom that dates back over a century. In a National Public Radio interview, food historian Susan Benjamin said that instant gelatin allowed for marshmallows, gelatin molds and types of picnic fare to be made at home much more easily than before. “From this, fluffy, jiggly new desserts — called "delights" and, later, "salads" — took shape in America's kitchens.” says the piece. Apparently, part of the appeal was simply that these side dishes were something different: colorful, light and fun.
A few days after the wedding, I mentioned the topic of Fluff as a sidebar at a women’s business leadership group I belong to. Immediately, this group of high powered female executives expressed delight and began rattling off the names and ingredients of whipped salads from their youths. Everyone offered up a favorite with a bit of a disclaimer along the lines of: “I know it’s not good for you, but it tastes great!”
It's true; these salads are not for the health conscious, at least not in great quantities. Most are loaded with saturated fat and sugar (“A bowl of empty calories,” I could hear my mother saying). But many people love them; not only do countless Midwesterners enjoy the taste, the nostalgia factor is high.
Which brings me back to fluff versus substance. When I lived outside the state, most people had a neutral or slightly dismissive opinion of Iowa and the Midwest. East and west coasters are unsure exactly where Iowa is located and often confuse us with other vowel-y states like Ohio and Idaho. I frequently heard the same stereotypes. People asked me if we all wore overalls all the time - seriously. Others mentioned the meat and potatoes farm practicality, the perceived stoicism of the population, and a general lack of sophistication.
After gently informing the person where Iowa is on the map, I’d explain about our high literacy rates and commitment to education, our welcoming spirit. I’d talk about our role in feeding the world, our healthy population and our nutritious, hearty farm produce. Even if I’d left Iowa voluntarily, I felt a sense of pride in my home state. People were often shocked and pleasantly surprised to find out that Iowa was a place of true substance.
Yet today, many of those time-honored bragging rights are in jeopardy. Our high school graduation rates have declined and according to a recent U.S. News & World Report, we ranked number 48 of 51 on quality of high schools. Higher education budgets have been cut year after year. Our state’s health status is in a free fall, with mental health issues and chronic disease skyrocketing. Iowa Department of Health data shows we rank #7 in the nation for rates of obesity, with 36.5% Iowans defined as obese in 2020. Like most of the country, our once generally wholesome diet is now loaded with fat-and-sugar laden convenience foods. Iowa’s once robust population is not thriving. Our population is also not growing. All of these things are contributing to a workforce crisis.
On many fronts, our substance has flip flopped and we risk being inconsequential. We must ask ourselves if are focusing on making sure everyone has what they need to be successful, or if are we just providing the equivalent of empty calories to our population. In the past, Fluff had a place in a potluck, but it wasn’t the main dish. Nostalgia is fine for a salad, but it doesn't grow a healthy population, nor nourish a workforce. There is work to be done for Iowa to remain a relevant and substantial place with a strong future.
These reflections aside, I was a bit nostalgic after the wedding last week, so I pulled some of my favorite church and community cookbooks down from the shelf to investigate Fluffs. These spiral bound, typed cookbooks included the Heart of Iowa Cookbook from my hometown of Huxley, and offerings from the Izaak Walton League of Des Moines and the local Holy Trinity Methodist Church. Sure enough, they were chock-full of whipped salads.
But the recipe that caught my eye was in the desserts chapter: Happiness Cake. That recipe called for 1 cup good thought, 2 cups sacrifice, 3 cups forgiveness for others, 1 cup kind deeds, 1 cup consideration, and 2 cups of own faults well beaten. The instructions said to mix thoroughly add tears of joy, sorrow and sympathy, flavor with love and kind service. Fold in 4 cups prayer, faith and enthusiasm. Spread all into your daily life. Blend well with human kindness. Serve with a smile at all times and it will satisfy the hunger of many people less fortunate than yourself.
I paused on that one, and felt hopeful. That’s real substance, I thought, right there in the Heart of Iowa cookbook. That’s what I hope people from around here truly stand for. And if we want to throw in a side of Fluff occasionally to surprise and delight, I can get behind that.
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I remember Jello salads as a kid, mainly at Christmas and Thanksgiving. I remember green jello with carrots in it, in particular. I think the fluff came later, if I remember correctly. Thanks!