Jelly Roll No. 2, “Timely Tips for Bakers”


"Baltimore's rapid industrial progress is being reflected in growth of population... Allowing this city an annual increase of 16,500 the 800,000 mark will be passed during 1924. Apparently the 1,000,000 mark will be reached at the time of the next census in 1930." — George C. Smith, director of the Baltimore Board of Trade's Industrial Bureau, to the Evening Sun in May 1923

At first glance, “Timely Tips for Bakers” looks like any other corporate cookbook aimed at housewives. On the front of the tall thin brochure-sized booklet, a uniformed man holds up a perfect layer cake. The first page features a photograph of the headquarters of “The International Company,” producers of ingredients like “Velvet Egg” and “Eggrowhite” powdered egg products, Sunrise Baking Powder, and “Mex-Val-Ol” vanilla flavoring. Recipes, of course, can be found within.

On closer inspection the recipes call for two and three pounds of flour at a time for cakes and cookies. When I baked the recipe for this post, for “Jelly Roll No. 2,” I had to get out a calculator.

The ample text in the cookbook, most of which extols the benefits of the International Company’s product offerings, also contains some information about the School of Commercial Cake Baking, an experimental bakery where professional bakers from around the country were encouraged to visit to receive instruction in the latest technology and best techniques of cake baking. Presumably, the bakers were encouraged to familiarize themselves with the company’s product line.

In other words, “Timely Tips for Bakers” is meant literally. This is not a book full of tempting cakes for church suppers.

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Cinnamon Cake, Zelma T. Cole (a personal essay)

Fairly early in the pandemic, I moved to a new house.

I felt conflicted, leaving the 1880s rowhouse on Howard Street that I’d bought in 2009. But it had some issues that were becoming bothersome. The dining room was cramped and dark, and the kitchen small and awkward, making the increasing Old Line Plate-related press requests to film or photograph me there unfeasible. We’d filmed the 2019 Baltimore Sun bit in my cousin’s Medfield kitchen. Plus… I really wanted a porch.

When we went to view the house that would become our new home, we were nervous if it was even ethical to do so, but we couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Masked and gloved, we toured a spacious place not far from our own and we made an offer.

Real-estate boringness ensued. Suspenseful for us, dull to read about. Through luck, privilege, a little of my own savvy and diligence (if I do say so myself), and the help of our excellent real estate agent, we somehow ended up moving in May of 2020. We carried half our things on foot.

I soon learned that the model we bought was called a “Daylight Rowhouse.” Built to be wider rather than deeper, there was a window in each room. Many of these houses didn’t even require skylights. Builders began advertising this style to Baltimore’s upwardly mobile around 1915. “Why buy an old house with small dark and ill-ventilated rooms, when a house 20 feet wide, 7 rooms and bath… can be had for the same money?,” read one ad in the Sun. Hey! That’s how I felt, over a century later! Suffice it to say, we love it here.

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