At the first Pillsbury Bake-Off, in 1949, 100 bakers whipped up recipes at 100 ovens in a ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York. They needed so much electricity, engineers tapped into the subway system. (Photo: Pillsbury)
Mary Jane Miller
Ever since Pillsbury hosted its first bake-off 75 years ago, its popularity has risen like poppin’ fresh dough. Thousands of home cooks across the country develop recipes for a chance to win $50,000 and a place in culinary history.
On Thursday, the company announced this year’s winning recipe: Mini Beef Wellingtons with Smoked Gouda Dipping Sauce. Runner-up honors went to a Caramel Apple Tiramisu and Cinnamon-Cardamom Crescent Twists.
Every year, the announcement reminds me of the time I tested recipes for Pillsbury publications in the 1980s. One of the steps is “tolerance testing.” It’s a way to ensure that every baking recipe is essentially idiot-proof before it’s published, because for a lot of home cooks, nothing is worse than a failed recipe. They blame themselves, and it’s a waste of both ingredients and enthusiasm. So tolerance testing pushes the boundaries of a successful bake by replicating common mistakes: too much flour, too little oil, a small egg, a shiny pan, a black pan, an oven that’s too hot or cold … It’s a long list. That’s why recipes say, “Bake for 10-12 minutes or until golden brown.”
Back in the ’80s, the Pillsbury test kitchens were still staffed entirely by women, and it was like a sorority. We all knew each other so well. When you’re cooking, there’s plenty of time to talk about life, families and all the trials and tribulations that go along with them. On my birthday, a kitchen sister left a potted coreopsis on my desk. Another day, I scored a deeply discounted copper All-Clad pot while shopping on my lunch hour, and everyone celebrated my trophy.
In 1989 I was asked to be the tolerance coordinator for the 50th Pillsbury Bake-Off. Before the bake-off even began, the Pillsbury team reviewed tens of thousands of entries. The top picks made their way into the test kitchens, where a full staff of testers would prepare them for daily taste panels. Since each entry had to contain a qualifying Pillsbury ingredient, we knew we were in for many weeks of crescent rolls, pie crust and salsa.
Twice a day, a taste panel of about 10 of us would sit in a conference while the testers brought in entry after entry, giving us a run-down of how the recipe performed. Then we’d look at our sample and taste it, turning it over to look for signs of raw dough or other cardinal sins. The recipes that passed muster would then be handed off to me for further testing, so we could edit and perfect them for publication. The winning recipes from the taste panel were then pitted against each other, until we narrowed the list down to 100 recipes for the final competition.
These 100 recipes also went to the “search team,” a group of mostly retired test-kitchen pros who were tasked with researching each recipe to make sure it was truly original. I remember the glee in a searcher’s voice whenever she found one that had been published before. “Found one!” she’d cry, brandishing a copy of the offending recipe.
If a recipe failed its tolerance test, I had my own moment of glee. That sounds harsh, but it ultimately made us very proud of all the recipes we eventually published.
In 1998, the recipe that won the $1 million prize was Salsa Couscous Chicken from Ellie Mathews of Seattle. As a skillet recipe, it didn’t need tolerance testing — but good for you, Ellie.
As I was writing this, I got a note from one of my old test-kitchen friends, who wrote to say that one of the kitchen managers had recently lost her husband. The sisterhood of the kitchen will hold her up, and the coreopsis still blooms in my garden every summer.
Mary Jane Miller lives in the country north of Indianola. Her career has included stints as a food writer, chef, cooking teacher and food scientist for various clients, including Betty Crocker, the Food Network, Pillsbury, Target and the Minnesota Governor’s Residence.
