Creamed Chipped Beef on Toast

©Thomas Wilson Shawcross 9 May 2003

This morning, I paused in my usual routine of writing, engineering, and philanthropic work to visit the website of www.roadfood.com, where I was pleasantly surprised to find a discussion forum devoted to creamed chipped beef on toast. In my opinion, creamed chipped beef on toast is one of the “most under-rated players” in regard to menu items (if one may apply sports parlance to cuisine). While perusing the discussion board, I remembered many St. Louis suppers of Mom’s creamed chipped beef on toast, and I wondered if my children had ever experienced this soul-satisfying entrée.

The Rodney Dangerfield of comfort foods, creamed chipped beef on toast gets no respect. It was a military mess hall staple. I suspect it was introduced to many Americans via the military and then flowed, magma-like, into civilian homes and restaurants.

I cannot remember the last time I dined on creamed chipped beef on toast. It seems to be one of those menu items that have crept off to the Elephant’s Graveyard of once-popular-now-nearly-forgotten delicacies, such as Bonnie’s Buttered Beef Steaks (note to self: good topic for a future article – need to get input from my brother Jim Shawcross on this).

For the benefit of many members of the Millennium generation, who are probably wondering what creamed chipped beef on toast looked like, I searched the web for pictures of it. It is surprising how few photos of creamed chipped beef on toast can be found on the worldwide web. I suppose it is not a particularly photogenic entrée. It tastes MUCH better than it looks. Here is the only picture I found of it:



I wish now that I had paid some attention when Mom cooked. Unfortunately, I have CADD, Cooking-Attention-Deficit-Disorder, and as a result I have no idea how she made creamed chipped beef on toast. One of the participants in the roadfood discussion forum posted the following, cryptic, recipe:

“ . . . it's easy; buy a package of chipped or dry beef at your grocery, make a simple white sauce, mix in the dry beef and serve on toast. “

I have to laugh when I read directions such as “make a simple white sauce.” They might as well advise me to “make a simple nuclear breeder reactor.” It is actually quite heart-warming to think that there are people who truly believe that everyone understands basic cooking and would immediately understand directions like “make a simple white sauce.” As if I would have made a complicated one if I had not been properly warned. My guess is that the sauce contains milk, and that is what makes it white, but that is just a (simple) guess on my part. I have no idea how to make chipped beef, so I recommend buying it, if one can find it for sale anywhere. The beef must be “chipped” not ground. It resembles shredded strips and bits of beef jerky (could that be what it is, in fact?). The beef has a salty flavor and the sauce is creamy, like the sauce used for biscuits and gravy. That’s all I can tell you except that the concoction is served hot, poured over slices of toasted bread.

Months ago, in a fit of food frenzy, I phoned my aunt, Dorothy Bunch, and asked her how to prepare fried eggs (the principal ingredient in fried egg sandwiches, for which I had suddenly developed a nostalgic craving). She graciously told me how to make them (the secret is to cook them in a skillet in which one has cooked some bacon, so there is tasty bacon grease to flavor the eggs!). Some time later, I phoned her to discuss genealogy, and she asked how I was doing with the fried eggs. Then she advised me to break the egg yolks after putting them in the skillet (so that the yolk would cook quicker and not make a runny mess when the sandwich was eaten). I was touched. Aunt Dorothy actually believed that I could open eggs without breaking the yolk. Since then, with practice, I have gotten better at opening eggs and can open them with intact yolks (which I then have to break, so what is the point, really?).

My good friend Turk Lewis, who is an excellent chef, has occasionally tried to instruct me in the arcane secrets of those who know how to “cook.” (Note that I have italicized the word, as I believe it to be foreign). I always try to nod knowledgably when he tells me to “reduce” a sauce or gives some other arcane instructions. I know that his heart is in the right place, and I am too embarrassed to tell him that he is over-estimating my ability to understand what he is trying to share with me. I wonder if Turk could make creamed chipped beef on toast? Perhaps, if the white sauce required any “reduction.”

On reflection, there are many food items that I used to enjoy but I no longer indulge in because: a.) I do not see them on restaurant menus, and b.) I have not the least clue how to make them. One example of this is another “under-rated” player: Sloppy Joes. The main ingredient of Sloppy Joe sandwiches appears to be some sort of loose-meat hamburger in a tangy red sauce (a simple red sauce, presumably). Last year, while I was visiting my cousin John Killion and his wife Frances in Ava, Illinois, Frances made us some Sloppy Joe sandwiches. I was overwhelmed with my good fortune, as I had not had a Sloppy Joe sandwich in the past thirty or more years (due to conditions a. and b. above). Astonishingly, Frances apologized for not preparing something more fancy! Little did she know that she could have scarcely offered a more enjoyable repast (unless, maybe, she had just whipped up a batch of creamed chipped beef on toast or some Bonnie Butters).

This summer, while my daughter Lauren is in writer’s camp in Taos, New Mexico, I will be taking my son Michael on a tour of California. I plan to use the roadfood.com web site to discover some “memorable local eateries along the highways and back roads of America.” Maybe we can discover a restaurant that still offers the joy of cooking: creamed chipped beef on toast. Maybe even a Sloppy Joe . . . or two.