Reviews -- No Man Knows My Pastries



	No Man Knows My Pastries: The Secret (Not Sacred) Recipes of Sister Enid Christensen

Associated Press
Roger Salazar emerges from two hours in make-up ready for another book appearance. In his arms is an enormous, multicolored, molded Jell-O. "I never thought I would parlay my theater degree into book promotion," says Salazar, author of No Man Knows My Pastries: The Secret (not Sacred) Recipes of Sister Enid Christensen. In nylons, permed wig, and press-on nails, Salazar has become Sister Enid Christensen, the quintessential Mormon housewife.

Elaborating on the spiritual aspects of Jell-O sculpting, Salazar hints that his new cookbook published by Signature Books is a tongue-in-cheek parody of life in Utah. He is quick to brag that he knows hundreds of ways to prepare Jell-o, zucchini, and spam— "three prerequisites to any successful suburban Utah meal."

"I'm so proud to come from the Jell-O Belt," jokes Salazar, "which you may know stretches all the way from Burley, Idaho to Snowflake, Arizona. West Valley City (a suburb of Salt Lake City) is, of course, the Jell-O capital of the world!"

Sister Christensen considers her recipes the height of haute cuisine. "These days people are tired of steak and potatoes," she says. "they crave more sophisticated dishes like casseroles." She breaks into a husky, contra-alto rendition of "Casserole-serole" to the tune of "Que Sera, Sera."

"It's time for Martha Stewart to move over," laughs this self- proclaimed 'post-feminist icon,' "because people like me are coming out of the kitchen. It's the nineties, after all." No Man Knows My Pastries, with over 100 recipes and 50 photographs, bridges the gap between easy and edible, fast and fashionable.

"It liberates housewives and house-husbands from kitchen drudgery, allowing them to focus on basic family values like sitting around the T.V." She adds, "Fast foods are glorious technological advances brought forth to assist in spreading the good word from the good book. Cooking from scratch leaves little time for church and family."

"At first I was reluctant to share my special recipes," Sister Christensen explains. "It was not until God told me I was hiding my light under a bushel, and my dear friend Roger promised me advanced royalties, that I agreed to part with my sweet family's favorite recipes."

Sister Christensen's creations include such mouthwatering temptations as "Sweet and Sour Spam," "Fig and Orange Jell-O Mold," "Sausage Souffle," "Tomato Soup Cake," "Processed Cheese Dip," "Bologna Angel Wings" (for the holidays), "Lumpy Dick" (a dumpling delicacy), and "Irish Postum" (Mormons don't drink coffee).

"There may actually be some recipes in this book that can be used to make something edible," says Salt Lake Tribune's book reviewer Paul Swenson, "but mostly it should be kept out of the kitchen. You need a room with plenty of space to lie down and roll around in spasms of hilarity, away from hot surfaces and sharp objects."

Ogden Standard-Examiner, Janelle Biddinger
Only Sister Enid Christensen would consider fast food a technological advance brought forth to assist in spreading the gospel.

After all, she would say, cooking from scratch can consume hours—hours that might be better spent on LDS church jobs or with your family.

Not to worry, though. Consider such speedy meals as Quick Mock Lasagna (Ritz crackers topped with cheese and ketchup) or Spamway Multi-Level Casserole or Tuna ala King of Kings.

These dishes are contained in a new cookbook from Signature Books, in which Sister Enid has thoughtfully shared her "testimony-strengthening culinary experiences with...those weak in things of the kitchen."

Here in "No Man Knows My Pastries: The Secret (Not Sacred) Recipes of Sister Enid Christensen" ($8.95), we're offered the Jell-O Matrix, a chart that lists the proper flavor to serve with each occasion, and any number of fast, yummy recipes to cook up for ward dinners or Eagle Scout courts of honor—recipes like A Marvelous Work with Wonder Bread, Mauve Wedding Punch, even Joy Peach Salad.

This proper and fun-loving Mormon matron has made us privy to the secrets that keep her idolized in her ward and her man securely at home. They're grouped under such chapter headings as "Miracle Whip of Forgiveness Salads and Salad Dressings," "Cheeses of Nazareth: Appetizers and Dips," and "In-Breads." ("It is important," Sister Christensen explains, "to know which breads are in and which breads are out. We in the church are mainly concerned with in-breads.")

In writing the book—which was inspired by all of those "brethren and sisters who have not discovered the joy of Jell-O salad or the wonder of diced Spam casserole"—Enid was assisted by her "special half," husband Lamar Christensen. Lamar, according to the biographical notes on Enid, just happened to be at the right college at the right time. It was at LDS Business College that their eyes first met; "they felt all tingly and knew that in the pre-existence they had committed themselves to each other. They solemnized that promise three days later." The rest is, well, history.

Sister Enid, history and all, is the creation of Salt Lake City resident Roger Salazar, who co-wrote the book with Michael Wightman, also of Salt Lake City. Technically, Enid is simple fiction. But in Salazar's mind, she lives, breathes, whips up mayonnaise cakes, bears her testimony tearfully and offers nuggets of motherly advice: "Oat kwiz-een is one of nature's little whisk brooms," she admonishes in the book, "and we could all use a little cleaning from time to time."

"Over the years, she's actually become a personality," says Salazar, who dressed in heels, hose and fake hair to pose for the book's photos. Wightman, by the way, portrays Lamar. "There are things that Enid would do and wouldn't do. And we wrote the book from Enid's personality: 'Oh, Enid would never say that.'"

The collection of recipes, says Ron Priddis, Signature's director of marketing, is in line with the publishing house's 10-year tradition of releasing a humorous book for the holiday season.

Beyond humor, however, Salazar describes the book as a gentle, affectionate look at that glue of Mormon society—food. There's no mean-spiritedness here, said Salazar, since Enid herself possesses none. If anyone thinks otherwise, Salazar refers to a quote by the apostle Paul: "To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are defiled and unbelieving, nothing is pure."

Ok, there are satirical recipes meant more for belly laughs than the belly itself. After all, only Sister Enid would actually construct the Sugar Cube Temple, made with 26,000 sugar cubes and a Salt Lake Temple plan obtained from church archives.

But most, Salazar says, are actual recipes, dressed up with puns pulled from Mormon and Utah culture. So, we have Pearl of Great Spice cracker dip, Gold and Green Balls made with lime and pineapple sherbet, Peach Magna and Endow Mints.

Salazar was a fresh convert to the LDS Church and a brand-new missionary when he met the woman who was to become the inspiration for Enid Christensen. During a sacrament meeting, this large, effusive woman stood up to perform a solo; Salazar watched in amazement. "You never knew where in the universe she was going to start. But wherever it was it didn't matter because she would scoop until it resolved and ended on the right note."

Once home, Salazar surprised a friend with a singing telegram, using the persona of Sister Enid Christensen. From that point on, Salazar was busy doing gigs throughout Salt Lake City.

Friend Michael Wightman got into the act, accompanying Salazar on the piano.

Some three years ago, Wightman came up with the idea of a cookbook focusing on dishes from Mormon culture. First came the mock recipes, then the variations of Jell-O and Spam. Before long, even Postum was figuring in, with the addition of a recipe for Postum Frosting—don't laugh, says Wightman, "My mom really made it."

The pair began writing in Enid's voice. "To me," adds Salazar, "it just seemed natural that Enid would do the book."

Salazar, a hairdresser by trade, says he understands and appreciates women like Enid, who possess a certain naivete and selflessness. In fact, he adds, "She's how I would like to be."

"Enid is happy. She loves her family, she thinks she got the right kids, she thinks she has the right life. And it is right for her," says Salazar. "She's a person who if you asked her how she was doing, she would tell you what she's done so far this morning, what she has left to do the rest of the day, and wouldn't even have a clue of her own barometer. She's doing the right thing, so she must be happy.

"She's not a stupid woman," he adds. "She's a very bright woman, but she's so trusting and believes in the system so much that she doesn't have a clue."

Lamar is even less street-wise. A pencil-pusher by profession, Lamar is treated by Enid as just one of the children: "He's the kind of person who would honk while she's getting everyone ready for Sunday school, instead of get out of the car, get in there and wash faces and tie shoes," says Salazar. "It's not that he won't help; he will. But he doesn't know."

The recipes may be a parody of Mormon cooking, but the authors make some legitimate points. Enid, for instance, uses food to pull her family together. In her mind, says Salazar, "Food is equal to comfort."

And Wightman, who has five brothers and five sisters, understands the economic dynamic of Mormon cooking: "If you can't afford pecans for pecan pie, you use oatmeal for a mock pecan pie."

As Enid explains in the book, "Poverty is the mother-in-law of invention."

Enid's sister Eunice—portrayed by Becki Mecham who stars as Elthora in "Saturday's Voyeur"—is now appearing in Salt Lake Acting Company's production of "Salt Lake, Salt Lake." (Enid was restrained by copyright restrictions with this book.)

And Enid herself is likely to appear in future books. Says Salazar, "I would love to see her come into her own and stand up for herself" on women's issues and weight issues.

Will Lamar be threatened by that? Wightman chuckles: "When Enid takes her stand, it might be a couple of years before Lamar catches on."

"The thing is," Salazar adds, "He's such a gentle soul, he'll just wonder why he's doing the dishes."