In 1996,grungewas ending. R&B, metallic goth, and a budding genre of teen pop vied to replace it. It was the year that Marilyn Manson warned us aboutThe Beautiful Peopleand the Backstreet Boys first pleaded with us to(quit) playing games with their hearts. In other words: it was a confusing time. We didn't know who we were or where we were going, and not just when it came to music.
"Have you noticed that when you ask people how they are these days, the answer is rarely a simple 'Oh, fine'?" opened an article on entertaining inBon Appétitthat year. "They are more likely to roll their eyes heavenward and reply, 'Stressed out,' 'Frantic,' 'Panicked' or 'Don't ask!'"
Jeez. Chill out, 1996.
It was also the same year that Alanis Morissette'smultiple personalitiesconfused us all regarding the difference between irony and an unfortunate circumstance. Like rain on your wedding day. (Which is actually a sign of good luck in a lot of folklore.) Still, after thumbing through the September 1996 issues of bothBon AppétitandGourmet, going to a wedding in 1996 seems like it would've been an unfortunate circumstance no matter the weather.
Who wants aspic? 1996 did. And in wedding-filled editorial content that year, it didn't matter if the aspic wastomato-basedor filled withshredded chickenand (sort-of) Asian spices.
If jellied meat wasn't your bag, your guests might instead be scarfing downraw zucchini, rolled into a cone and filled with pea purée—if the attending chef ever got all those cones wrapped.
Cher Horowitz, that is. Released in 1995, the seminal classicCluelesswould have a profound effect on America's youth in the years following. We all had so much to look forward to, like outfit-planning via computer software and private chefs. "Once only available to celebrities, moguls and tycoons," wroteBon Appétit, "personal chefs have become as ubiquitous as personal trainers and as affordable as personal pan pizzas." As if.
Clearly we were in need of brighter days. Besides the chicken aspic above, lemony-spiced coriander made its way intochutneys,desserts, and of course that other telltale ingredient of the mid-1990s,portobello mushrooms.
Frommascarpone cheesecaketoGruyère wafersto anotherterrine—this time with blue cheese (probably Roquefort) and goat cheese (definitely Montrachet)—plain old American wasn't good enough for us any more. We were deep thinkers. We knew the pain of losing Kurt Cobain, but not yet the joy that Justin Timberlake would bring. We knew the angst of Angela Chase, but not yet the existentialism of Dawson Leery. We needed the comfort that only brie soup could bring.
