The Stag Cook Book: Written for Men by Men

In Short

This book is a curated anthology of favorite dishes provided by a diverse group of early twentieth-century American luminaries—including actors, politicians, writers, and businessmen. It functions as a culinary manifesto for the "stag," blending practical, if somewhat idiosyncratic, cooking instructions with humorous commentary about the domestic capabilities of men. By framing cooking as a masculine pursuit requiring skill and speed rather than domestic drudgery, it offers a fascinating snapshot of American social attitudes and dietary habits at the close of the Gilded Age.

The Story

The volume opens with a spirited defense of male cooking, setting a tone that is equal parts instructional and defiant. It positions the man in the kitchen not as a guest, but as a master, capable of producing culinary "chef-d’œuvres" that far outshine the efforts of those who might mock his presence at the stove. The introduction by Robert H. Davis frames the act of eating as an art and cooking as a gift, warning against the pitfalls of both excessive luxury and the "incendiarism" of poor technique.

From this foundation, the book unfolds into a vast, eclectic menu. It is structured not as a conventional guide for beginners, but as a series of personal dispatches from successful men. Each entry reflects the specific tastes and temperaments of its contributor. Some, like Charlie Chaplin or President Warren G. Harding, offer straightforward, hearty comfort foods like steak and kidney pie or waffles. Others, such as Julian Street or the French Ambassador, gravitate toward the sophisticated, complex techniques of European fine dining. The narrative arc moves from these relatively simple preparations into more labor-intensive, ritualistic dishes, including elaborate stews, game meats, and delicate pastries.

Interspersed throughout the recipes are the "Editor’s Notes," which serve as a running commentary on the various disputes of the day: the proper way to dress a waffle, the tragedy of the Eighteenth Amendment, and the fierce debates over what truly qualifies as a proper mince-pie or chowder. The voices range from the professional to the deeply sentimental, with some contributors admitting they have never cooked a day in their lives, while others describe the act of preparing a meal—like morels sautéed in butter—as a near-religious experience.

The book concludes by returning to the core philosophy of the project: that cooking is an essential masculine skill. It leaves the reader with a sense that the kitchen is a space of experimentation and pride. Whether one is preparing a humble egg dish or a marathon-length tripe stew, the book maintains that the quality of the result is worth the effort, provided the cook approaches the stove with the right "stance" and enough enthusiasm to ignore the skepticism of others.

How It Unfolds

The declaration of independence The text begins by dismantling the notion that cooking is exclusively a feminine domain, celebrating the man who can create a perfect dish in a "small kitchenette" or at a campfire. It invites the reader to embrace his role as the master of the range, regardless of the teasing he might face from others.

The culinary hierarchy The editor introduces a series of reflections on historical figures like Lucullus, contrasting their extravagant, dyspeptic tendencies with the more grounded, artful approach encouraged here. This sets the stage for a collection that values good taste and technique over pure, unearned luxury.

The parade of personalities The middle section presents the recipes themselves, organized by the specific tastes of its contributors. Readers encounter everything from the high-brow complexities of French cuisine to the rugged, straightforward appeal of Southern ham and turnip greens.

The debate over the details Throughout the recipes, the editor provides corrections and context, engaging in a dialogue about the correct ingredients for a proper chowder or the best way to handle a piece of steak. These interventions transform the book from a mere list of instructions into a lively, argumentative conversation between men who care deeply about food.

The final testament to the art The book concludes with a series of advanced techniques and personal anecdotes. It ends on a note of camaraderie, encouraging the reader to experiment with his own "style" and to derive genuine pleasure from the act of feeding himself and his guests.

The People

The book features a wide cast of contributors, each reflecting the values of their era. President Warren G. Harding represents the traditionalist, favoring hearty, classic American staples like waffles served with creamed chipped beef. In contrast, Douglas Fairbanks brings a dash of Hollywood flair, offering a "Bread Tart" that speaks to a more refined, perhaps cosmopolitan, palate.

Will Irwin and Charles W. Chessar ("Beefsteak Charlie") provide the pragmatic, blue-collar perspective, focusing on the essential techniques for cooking meat, emphasizing that the secret lies in the quality of the ingredient and the precision of the method. Booth Tarkington serves as a humorous outlier, admitting he can only make corn flakes while jokingly describing an elaborate, gargantuan clam bake. Finally, the French Ambassador, Jules J. Jusserand, embodies the diplomat’s refined, minimalist approach, suggesting that a simple radish salad, perfectly prepared, is the height of sophistication. Together, these figures represent a society in transition, moving from rugged self-reliance toward a more conscious appreciation of culinary artistry.

In Its Own Voice

The book’s attitude toward male cooking is best summarized by its opening poem, which highlights the transition from domestic mockery to actual skill:

A man can make things that you’ll never forget— That will put any cook on her mettle.

The editor’s pragmatic, no-nonsense approach to the kitchen is further illustrated by his instructions for handling a steak:

After cutting the steak from the piece, have him separate it into portions, each about the size of your hand. Don’t try to cook the steak all in one piece.

Finally, the contributor Chick Evans captures the playful, athletic spirit the book applies to even the most mundane kitchen tasks:

Use the can opener at the first tee and with luck you’ll be on the dinner table in an easy three.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this is a book about the reclamation of the kitchen as a site of masculine agency. It argues that cooking is not a matter of temperament or gender, but of attention, speed, and the confidence to master a craft. The book explores the tension between "civilized" dining and the rugged, camp-fire origins of masculine food preparation. It asks: what does it mean to be a provider? The answer provided is that the ability to prepare a meal—whether it is a simple omelet or a multi-day tripe stew—is a fundamental component of self-sufficiency. It celebrates the "art of eating" as a collaborative, intellectual pursuit where personal taste and the pursuit of perfection are the only true requirements for success.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy historical curiosities and the voices of early 20th-century American celebrities will find this a charming, if occasionally eccentric, read. It feels like stepping into a private club where the conversation is loud, opinions on seasoning are held as articles of faith, and the kitchen is the center of the universe. It is not a modern cookbook; it contains no nutritional information, and some of the recipes—such as the fifteen-hour tripe stew—are impractical for the average home cook today.

Furthermore, the period attitudes regarding gender roles—specifically the frequent, dismissive references to "feminine raillery"—are a product of their time and may strike a modern reader as dated or unnecessary. However, if you can look past these attitudes, you will find a warm, precise, and often humorous exploration of how men in the 1920s viewed the act of feeding themselves. It is a book about the joy of discovery and the satisfaction that comes from mastering a craft. It stays with you because of the sheer humanity of its contributors—men who were titans in their respective fields, yet who found immense, vulnerable pleasure in the simple act of making a piece of toast or a perfect lemon pie.