30 Forgotten Betty Crocker Recipes Your Southern Grandma Always Served

Do you remember the days when dinner came from the pages of a well-worn Betty Crocker cookbook? Those red-and-white classics weren’t just cookbooks — they were a guide to everyday family life. In this video, we’re bringing back 30 forgotten Betty Crocker recipes that once filled kitchens with warmth, flavor, and a whole lot of nostalgia.

From hearty casseroles in Pyrex dishes to quick suppers made with simple pantry staples, these recipes remind us of a time when meals were homemade, shared around the table, and flavored with love. If you ever flipped through those spiral-bound cookbooks or spotted one on Mama’s counter, this trip down memory lane will feel like coming home.

🍳 Join me as we rediscover the flavors of the past — and maybe inspire you to dust off your own vintage cookbooks!

#BettyCrocker #ForgottenRecipes #VintageCooking #NostalgiaCooking #OldCookbooks #SouthernCooking

Chapters:

0:00 Intro
00:20 Frosted Meatloaf
01:39 Pimento Cheese Spread
02:14 Chicken a la King
03:24 Egg Foo Young Sandwiches
04:04 Cornbread Waffles
04:44 Ham Salad Surprise
05:22 Baked Pork Chops with Apples and Onions
06:23 Hamburger and Onion Gravy over White Bread
07:16 Chicken Pot Pie
08:04 Sloppy Joes
08:58 Creamed Chipped Beef on Toast
09:50 Meatloaf with Ketchup Glaze
10:38 Macaroni and Tomatoes
11:19 Salisbury Steak with Brown Gravy
12:06 Stuffed Bell Peppers
12:54 Hot Dog and Potato Hash
13:38 Tuna Stuffed Tomatoes
14:20 Cold Spaghetti Salad
15:05 Deviled Egg Plate Dinner
15:43 English Pea Salad
16:27 Cucumber and Onion Soak
17:08 Chicken Salad with Grapes and Pecans
17:49 Lemon Ice Box Pie
18:33 Tomato Soup Cake
19:11 Velveeta Cheese Fudge
20:09 Salmon Patties
21:35 Mock Apple Pie
22:33 Cheese Dreams
23:34 Shrimp Wiggle
24:30 Cucumber and Cream Cheese Tea Sandwiches

📺 Thank you for watching! This video was written, voiced, and produced with care by Nostalgia Calling. Every episode is crafted to bring back the flavors, stories, and comforts of the past—one nostalgic bite at a time.

✨ WATCH NEXT:

21 Forgotten Recipes Your Southern Grandma Made That Need to Come Back → https://youtu.be/kfw1knAs-1k

25 Forgotten Side Dishes Your Southern Mama Made (That Deserve a Comeback) → https://youtu.be/Jq4AJ0E20b4

12 Forgotten Recipes Your Grandma Made That Need to Come Back → https://youtu.be/E2BuIRwc5JY

👋 About Nostalgia Calling:
Nostalgia Calling is a warm and heartfelt celebration of vintage food, Southern traditions, and 20th-century life. All videos are original creations, thoughtfully scripted, voiced, and edited with care.

Each video takes 3 to 4 days to produce—from writing and narration to visuals and editing—because I believe stories from the past deserve to be told with love and attention. I use a mix of modern tools and old-fashioned storytelling to bring these memories to life.

🎨 Everything you see—from the voiceover to the visuals—is handcrafted to honor the past and spark sweet memories.

🔔 Subscribe for more nostalgic recipes and retro food history: https://www.youtube.com/@NostalgiaCalling

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⚠️ Content & Copyright Notes:
This video may include historical imagery, vintage cookbook references, and educational commentary in accordance with YouTube’s Fair Use guidelines. All media is used with transformative intent for commentary, storytelling, and historical preservation.

Remember those comforting recipes that only seemed to live in the pages of a Betty Crocker cookbook? The ones that turned an ordinary Tuesday into something worth setting the good dishes out for even when the budget was stretched thin. Somewhere along the way, we closed those pages. But why did we ever let them slip away? Frosted Meatloaf. If you grew up flipping through an old Betty Crocker cookbook, you probably remember the day you first saw a frosted meatloaf. You’d turn the page expecting cake and instead find a meatloaf wearing a thick coat of mashed potatoes. It was part sandwich, part layer cake, and 100% the kind of thing only mid-century hostesses could pull off with a straight face. It started like any other meatloaf. Ground beef, breadcrumbs, a good shake of onion powder, and maybe a squirt of ketchup mixed in for color. You’d pat it into a neat loaf, bake it until the kitchen smelled like Sunday supper. And then, well, that’s when things took a turn. Once cooled just enough to handle, the whole loaf was slathered, frosted, really, with a thick layer of creamy mashed potatoes. The smoother, the better. Betty suggested piping the potatoes along the edges in swirls or rosettes, just like a birthday cake. Some hostesses even tinted the potatoes pale pink or green with food coloring because apparently the 1960s didn’t believe in subtlety. Pimento cheese spread. Pimento cheese was the South’s answer to everything. Sandwiches? Sure. Crackers? You bet. Celery sticks? Why not? Every family had their own version, but the basics were sharp cheddar, mayo, and those little jars of pimentos that always seemed to multiply in the pantry. Some folks added a pinch of cayenne, others a splash of worershure. The result was a creamy, tangy spread that could turn a plain lunch into a party. It was the original house special, and it’s still the only food that can unite a room faster than a winning bingo card. Chicken Ala King on toast. This dish made every home cook feel a little bit fancy, even if the closest they got to royalty was a deck of cards. Chicken Al King was the ultimate way to dress up leftover chicken. Just toss it in a creamy sauce with mushrooms and peas, then ladle it over toast points. The whole thing came together in a flash, but looked like you’d spent all afternoon at the stove. In the 70s, this was the go-to for surprise guests or company nights. If you wanted to impress, you’d add a sprinkle of paprika or a splash of cherry. It’s proof that sometimes a little sauce goes a long way. Tuna noodle skillet. Before one pot meals were a trend, tuna noodle skillet was already winning hearts and saving time. canned tuna, egg noodles, peas, and a can of cream of mushroom soup. Stir it all together and dinner was done before the commercials ended. The best part, topping it with crushed potato chips or buttery breadcrumbs for a little crunch. It was comfort food at its finest, and every bite tasted like home. Egg fuyong sandwiches. Egg fuy young might sound like a takeout order, but in the 1970s south, it was a clever way to jazz up eggs and leftovers. Whisk up eggs with bean sprouts, green onions, and whatever veggies were on hand, fry into little patties, and sandwich them between slices of soft white bread. A drizzle of soy sauce gave it just enough exotic flare to make dinner feel special. These sandwiches were quick, filling, and just different enough to break up the meatloaf monotony. Plus, they were a great way to sneak vegetables into picky eaters. Call it omelette surprise and watch the plates clear. Cornbread waffles. Waffle irons weren’t just for breakfast in the 70s. They were the secret weapon for turning cornbread into a crispy, golden treat. Cornbread waffles took just minutes to whip up and were perfect for sapping up chili, stew, or even a drizzle of honey. The outside was crunchy, the inside tender, and the whole thing was ready before you could say, “Suppers on.” Some folks added jalapenos or shredded cheese for an extra kick. If you wanted to impress, serve them stacked with barbecue pork or fried chicken. It was southern ingenuity at its tastiest. Ham salad surprise. Ham salad was the original clean out the fridge recipe, and the surprise was always what you’d find inside. Chopped ham, sweet pickles, celery, and a generous spoonful of mayo made the base. But after that, anything went. Hard-boiled eggs, olives, or even a dash of hot sauce. Spread on crackers or between slices of bread, it was the ultimate lunchbox solution. The real fun was in the mixing. Every batch was a little different, and every bite was a little adventure. If you had leftover ham from Sunday dinner, you knew what was coming for Monday lunch. Baked pork chops with apples and onions. Now, this was a school night dinner that smelled like autumn and tasted like home. Mama would sear thick cut pork chops in her cast iron skillet, then layer them in a baking dish with sliced apples and onions, sometimes even a spoonful of brown sugar or a splash of apple juice if she was feeling fancy. She’d cover the whole thing with foil and slide it into the oven, letting it bake low and slow until the pork was tender and the apples had practically melted into a sticky, savory sweet glaze. The house would fill with that warm cinnamon and skillet scent that made you forget all about the pop quiz you flunked. She’d serve it with buttered rice or instant mashed potatoes, maybe some green beans if she had time. This was a quiet, comforting meal that wrapped around you like your favorite quilt. It wasn’t the cheapest dinner, but it was one of the most loved. And when the whole family showed up at the table, no one needed to be called twice. hamburger and onion gravy over white bread. This was southern survival food at its finest. Mama would brown up a pound of ground beef with sliced onions, maybe toss in a bouan cube or two, and whip up a quick gravy using flour and bacon drippings. The whole thing got poured right over plain white sandwich bread, Sunbeam or bunny if you were lucky. The bread soaked up all that rich, salty gravy like a sponge, turning into a soft, savory pile of comfort. It wasn’t pretty, but it sure was filling, and it was ready in under 20 minutes, which meant more time for book reports and long division tears at the kitchen table. This was the kind of dinner you made when payday was 2 days off, and you still had mouths to feed. We never thought of it as a struggle meal. It was just what folks did. And the funny thing is, we’d probably still eat it today if someone else made it for us. Chicken pot pie. Usually made from leftover Sunday chicken. Pot pie night was a crowd-leaser. That golden crust puffed up just enough to hide the bubbling center of creamy gravy, diced carrots, peas, and potato cubes. If it was homemade, mama might stretch a little roast chicken with canned soup, and a Pillsbury crust. But even the banquet ones hit the spot when you were nine and hungry. It came out of the oven piping hot, and you’d poke at it with a fork until the steam cleared and the center wasn’t hot enough to blister your tongue. There was something so satisfying about breaking that crust open. It felt like uncovering treasure. It was the kind of dinner that looked special, even if it only cost 50 cents a person. And on a Wednesday night in September, that was more than enough. Sloppy Joe’s. You could hear the skillet sizzling from the driveway. Mama would brown the ground beef, then stir in ketchup, mustard, and just enough brown sugar to give it that tangy kick. She’d spoon it onto soft hamburger buns, sometimes toasted under the broiler, sometimes straight from the bag, and serve it up with a scoop of potato salad or corn chips on the side. Sloppy Joe’s were, well, sloppy, and that was half the fun. You’d bite into it and the filling would slide out the back end of the bun down your wrist and maybe onto your math homework. They were quick, messy, and wildly satisfying. If you were really lucky, there’d be enough left over to make one for lunch the next day. Wrapped in wax paper and tucked into your lunchbox with a thermos of milk in a world of neat casserles and tidy sides. Sloppy Joe’s were a joyful kind of chaos. Creamed chipped beef on toast. Some folks called it SOS, but Mama just called it Tuesday. Thin slices of salty dried beef straight from the glass jar got chopped and stirred into a white gravy made from butter, flour, and whole milk. She’d serve it spooned over hot toast or biscuits, and it had spread like warm wallpaper paste in the best possible way. It was salty, creamy, and simple. A little bland maybe, but comforting as a hug. No vegetables, no sides, just plates goodness that filled you up and knocked you out. It was the kind of dish that felt like a throwback even back then. A depression era recipe that stuck around because it worked. And when report cards weren’t great or the furnace started making that noise again, creamed beef showed up to say, “It’s going to be okay.” Meatloaf with ketchup glaze, the midweek masterpiece. Mama would mash together ground beef, breadcrumbs, eggs, onions, and maybe a dash of woristershure if she had some on hand. She’d pack it into a loaf pan, slather it with ketchup, or a brown sugar glaze if she was feeling extra, and bake it low and slow until the top started to crisp. The smell alone could make your mouth water from the driveway. She’d serve it with mashed potatoes and green beans, and if you cleaned your plate, maybe a pudding cup afterward. Leftovers made for the best sandwiches the next day. Cold and sliced thick between two pieces of white bread. Meatloaf was a staple. Not glamorous, not trendy, just solid, comforting, and always there when you needed it. Macaroni and tomatoes. A true southern classic. This was comfort food on a dime. Elbow macaroni boiled until tender, stirred into stewed canned tomatoes and finished with a big old pad of butter and a sprinkle of black pepper. Some folks added sugar, others a little onion or bacon grease. Either way, it was warm, simple, and soothing. The kind of thing you didn’t even need a recipe for. Served as a side or sometimes as the whole meal with a slice of cornbread, it stretched a dollar farther than most dishes could dream. And on a chilly school night when nobody wanted to run to the store, this dish came through like an old friend. Salsbury steak with brown gravy. This was mama’s way of making hamburger feel fancy. She’d form patties from seasoned ground beef. Sometimes adding breadcrumbs and onion soup mix, then pan fry them and simmer them in a thick brown gravy made from pan drippings and a bouan cube served alongside mashed potatoes and peas. It felt like a TV dinner, but better because it was homemade. The gravy soaked into everything on the plate, and you’d use your last bite of rule to mop it all up. It was hearty and rich and just the kind of meal that made you forget your long division meltdown or the scab on your knee from recess. Salisbury steak night felt special, even when you were eating off chipped Carell plates at a sticky for mica table. Stuffed bell peppers. This was Mama’s attempt at gourmet, though nobody in the house knew what that meant. She’d slice the tops off green bell peppers, usually the ones on sale at A&P that week, and stuff them with a mix of ground beef, instant rice, ketchup, and a sprinkle of Lowries if she had it. The peppers would get a little wrinkly in the oven. But that filling, hot, tangy, and strangely satisfying. We’d cut them up with our forks like civilized folks, though every kid secretly wished mama would just make meatballs instead. Still, it felt like a grown-up meal, especially if it came with a little sprinkle of cheddar on top. Fancy in a someone’s coming over kind of way, even if it was just the school librarian returning your overdue book. Hot dog and potato hash, also known as whatever’s left in the fridge hash. Mama would chop up hot dogs like she was mad at them. Toss them in a skillet with diced potatoes, onions, maybe a green pepper if one was rolling around in the crisper. Add a splash of oil, some salt, and a little sizzle, and boom, you had dinner. It was smoky, starchy, and had a rebellious charm. You’d eat it with ketchup, of course, because back then ketchup was basically a food group. We might have called it dinner, but really it was an edible shrug. Still, it stuck to your ribs and bought mama a little piece while she tried to sew a button back on your school coat. Tuna stuffed tomatoes. Forget the casserole. This was cold, clever, and halfway fancy. Mama would hollow out big red tomatoes from the garden, then fill them with tuna salad made with star-issery. Served with saltines or on a bed of iceberg, it looked downright gourmet for something made from a can. And you didn’t dare let the juice run. It was an unspoken rule that the tomato had to hold its shape like a good church hat. It was cool, filling, and made you feel like you were eating something classy, even if the only thing in the fridge was shasta and a halfeaten jello- mold. Cold spaghetti salad. This wasn’t your usual pasta salad. This was leftover spaghetti. Yes, actual spaghetti. Rinsed cold, tossed with Italian dressing from Good Seasons and loaded up with cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, olives, cheese cubes, and whatever else hadn’t expired. Mama served it in a Tupperware bowl with a missing lid, and it always tasted better on day two. You ate it straight from the fridge while standing barefoot on Lenolium, trying to decide if you were still hungry or just bored. Some folks added pepperoni slices. Others added miracle whip. Either way, it was light, tangy, and summery in that we didn’t want to cook anyway kind of way. Deiled egg plate dinner. This wasn’t a side dish. It was the whole meal. Mama would make a mountain of deiled eggs using Duke’s mayo, yellow mustard, and a sprinkle of paprika. Then lay them out like fine art on the Carell platter with the green flowers around the edge. She paired them with saltines, pimento cheese, maybe a pickle spear if she was feeling generous. Cold, creamy, salty, and slightly mischievous. They disappeared faster than you could say, “Don’t double dip. If someone brought them to a picnic, you got yours early or you didn’t get any.” English pea salad. It wasn’t fancy, but it was cold, creamy, and showed up like a loyal friend all summer long. Mama made it with canned lassur peas, chopped boiled eggs, diced cheese, onion, and a whole mess of mayonnaise. Sometimes she tossed in crumbled bacon or pimentos, depending on the day. Served straight from the fridge, it was cool, tangy, and somehow always better after sitting for a few hours. You’d scoop it next to a sandwich or just eat it out of the bowl with a longhandled iced teaspoon. These days, peas go into risados and pasta primmavera. Back then, they wore mayo like a badge of honor. Cucumber and onion soak. This wasn’t a recipe. This was a lifestyle. Mama would slice cucumbers paper thin, throw in a sliced onion, and soak the whole thing in vinegar, sugar, salt, and water. It sat in a pickle jar in the fridge all week, getting more intense by the hour. You’d pile it on a plate next to whatever else was cold or leftover. Meatloaf slices, pimento cheese sandwiches, or saltines with nothing but butter. It was sharp, refreshing, and cleared your sinuses like a polite slap. These days, people call it a quick pickle. Mama called it supper. Chicken salad with grapes and pecans. This was about as close to a southern summer luxury dish as we got, especially if pecans were in season and someone had a coupon for helmans. Mama would use leftover chicken or canned if she had to mix it with mayo, chopped celery, red grapes and peacans and let it chill till supper time. Served on a croissant if company was coming or on saltines if it was just us. It was cool, crunchy, sweet, and nutty, and somehow felt fancier than most anything else we had in the fridge. If it had a paper doily underneath, you knew someone was trying to impress the neighbor lady. Lemon ice box pie. You want to talk about summer magic? Lemon ice box pie was cold, creamy perfection in a Keebler graham cracker crust, chilled until it could cut clean with a butter knife. Mama made it with condensed milk, bottled lemon juice, and whipped topping, stirred together in under five minutes, and hidden in the back of the fridge like a family heirloom. The best part was sneaking a slice before dinner, assuming she didn’t catch you. It was tart, silky, and sweet, like a southern lemonade and pie form. These days, folks over complicated with zest and meringue. But the classic, unbeatable tomato soup cake. Whoever decided to bake a cake with tomato soup deserves a medal or maybe a psych evaluation. But this cake is actually good. It’s moist, spiced with cinnamon and cloves, and has a subtle tang that keeps you guessing. In the 70s, it was the ultimate secret ingredient dessert. Moms would serve it at the PTA bake sale, grinning as people tried to figure out what made it so good. The recipe was a favorite for after school snacks. And if you told someone what was in it, you’d get looks like you just admitted to putting ketchup on ice cream. But trust me, it works. Velvita cheese fudge. Let’s talk about Vita cheese fudge. Now, before you run for the hills, hear me out. The first time I saw this recipe, I thought it was a typo. Like someone meant to write velvet and got confused. But nope, this is real life. In the 70s, home cooks were all about experimenting, and Velvita was practically a food group in the South. The idea was simple. Melt that orange block of cheese with chocolate, sugar, and butter, and you’d get a fudge that was oddly smooth, creamy, and not at all cheesy in flavor. The first bite was always met with skepticism, but the second bite usually sealed the deal. This recipe was a favorite for holiday trays and church bake sales, partly for the taste and partly for the conversation. Guess the secret ingredient became a running joke at every family gathering. It’s proof that Southerners will try anything once, and sometimes it’s actually delicious. The real fun was in the reactions. People would scrunch up their faces, take a bite, and then ask for the recipe. If you’re feeling adventurous, give it a try. Just don’t tell anyone what’s in it until after they’ve tasted it. Salmon patties. Salmon patties were the weekn night answer to what’s for dinner when payday was still a few days away. Canned salmon, cracker crumbs, an egg, and a sprinkle of Old Bay. Mix, shape, and fry until golden. These little patties were crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and perfect with a squeeze of lemon or a dollop of tartar sauce. They were a sign of resourcefulness and a little coastal flare, even if your nearest ocean was a thousand miles away. Some folks added a dash of hot sauce or a handful of chopped onion for extra flavor. Serve them with a side of green beans or mashed potatoes and you’ve got a meal that feels special without breaking the bank. Kids loved them because they were fun to eat and adults loved them because they were quick and filling. There was something comforting about the smell of salmon patties frying in the pan, filling the kitchen with the promise of a good meal. If you’ve never tried them, you’re missing out on a southern classic that’s ready in about 10 minutes. Mock apple pie. No apples, no problem. Mock apple pie was the depression era miracle that stuck around for decades. Ritz crackers, sugar, and lemon juice worked kitchen magic to create a filling that tasted just like apple pie. The first time I saw this recipe, I thought it was a joke, like someone was pulling my leg. But one bite, and I was a believer. The crackers soften and absorb the flavors, creating a texture and taste that’s eerily similar to real apples. This recipe was especially popular when apples were out of season or out of budget. The best part was watching guests try to guess the ingredients. Most never did. It was a sweet slice of culinary history that still surprises today. Some folks added cinnamon or a splash of vanilla for extra flavor. Serve it warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and you’ve got a dessert that’s ready in no time. Cheese dreams. Open-faced sandwiches topped with gooey cheese and a slice of tomato broiled until bubbly. What’s not to love? Cheese dreams were the midnight snack of choice for many a southern teen and the perfect quick lunch for busy moms. Sometimes a slice of ham or a sprinkle of paprika joined the party. The beauty of cheese dreams was in their simplicity. Just bread, cheese, and whatever else you had on hand. In the 70s, they were a staple at slumber parties and after school gatherings. The cheese would get all melty and golden, and the tomato would soften just enough to release its juices. Some folks added a dash of woristersher or a sprinkle of herbs for extra flavor. Serve them with a side of pickles or chips and you’ve got a meal that’s ready in about 10 minutes. If you’re looking for a quick, comforting snack, cheese dreams are the way to go. Just don’t blame me if you start craving them at midnight. Shrimp Wiggle. Shrimp Wiggle was a name you either laughed at or leaned into. A creamy concoction of shrimp and green peas in a white sauce spooned over toast or rice. It wiggled on the plate and it jiggled in your spoon. But it always delivered warmth in a way only vintage meals can. It came from military cookbooks and made its way into American homes during the post-war years, lingering well into the 70s. This was not just a meal. It was a testament to what you could do with a can of shrimp, a handful of frozen peas, and a dream. Eventually, it slipped away into obscurity, replaced by boxed dinners, and microwavable trays. But there is something defiant about a dish like shrimp wiggle. It asks you to remember a time when food could be strange, honest, and still make you feel whole. Cucumber cream cheese tea sandwiches. A nod to southern hospitality, these dainty sandwiches were a staple at bridal showers and garden parties. Thinly sliced cucumbers, herbed cream cheese, and soft white bread. Simple, refreshing, and ready in minutes, these sandwiches were the epitome of elegance. Perfect for any occasion. The cream cheese was often mixed with a sprinkle of dill or a dash of garlic powder for extra flavor. The real fun was in the presentation. Cutting the sandwiches into fancy shapes or trimming off the crusts. Serve them with a side of tea or lemonade. And that’s our look back at 30 recipes you could only find in those old Betty Crocker cookbooks. They weren’t just instructions on a page. They were the meals that shaped family tables, school nights, and Sunday dinners for generations. Each dish carried with it a story, a memory, and a reminder of how much love went into cooking from scratch. If this brought back memories of your own family’s kitchen, I’d love to hear about it in the comments below. Don’t forget to subscribe if you’d like more walks down memory lane with the foods that raised us. Thank you so much for spending this time with me today. And until next time, keep those recipes and the memories they hold in your heart.