Mock over New York, Mock over Lunndon

Hugh Lunn's sentimental walk down language lane, Lost for Words, recalls how in the decade or so after WWII, cash-strapped Australians were forced to eat:

• Mock crab: cheese, Worcestershire sauce, mustard and tomato sauce mixed into a sandwich paste;
• Mock chicken: minced tripe with herbs in a white sauce, popped into vol-au-vents [Even I, as a child of the 1970s, remember these mock shockers];
• Mock duck: rump or bladebone steak rolled in a mixture of breadcrumbs, then baked [why the hell you wouldn't just throw the steak on the barbie for an altogether more agreeable result is anyone's guess];
• Mock goose: Alternate layers of lamb's fry and potato and onions, baked.

There were, Lunn recalls, even mock meal recipes for the times families could not afford the cheapest of offal:

• Mock brains: rissoles made from leftover porridge, beaten egg and onion;
• Mock tripe: onions and butter boiled in milk and thickened with flour [I'm sure this mock version would taste and smell better than the original].

Mock desserts, writes Lunn, included:

• Mock maple syrup: honey, golden syrup, cinnamon, lemon essence [doesn't sound tooooo bad];
• Mock cream: milk, cornflour, butter, sugar;
• Mock ginger: vegetable marrow, sugar, ginger powder, lemons;
• Mock rasbperry jam: tomatoes, sugar, raspberry essence, lemon juice, orrisroot powder (from the root of an iris) and cochineal;
• Mock pears: sweetened, boiled choko [yuck!].

Unlike with mock Tudor, at least there was an economic imperative to the mock tucker. And if worse came to worst, you could always throw it up.