Shake it like Jello

The holiday scenario with my family is always the same. We do things buffet-style, serving ourselves from the casserole dishes and bread baskets jumbled on the counter. And in the middle of all the food is always one unappetizing, quivering Jello mold brought by my grandma.

Now, my Grandma Jules is generally a hip lady. She says things to me like, "Navy is really big this season, huh?" and "I just love that Cole Haan." But when it comes to culinary crazes of the 1950s, our tastes diverge. Her classic Jello mold is filled with cranberries and shredded carrots or coconut or something. It's very holiday-cheerful and adds delightful color to the spread on the counter. It's just... disgusting. We'll each scoop a small spoonful of it onto a corner of our plate, and then end up burying that spoonful under the wild rice or something to make it look as if we've eaten it. Everyone knows it's disgusting, and no one wants to hurt grandma's feelings.

I know similar scenarios play out in every family, every holiday. My friend Gracy claims that her father always serves himself heaping portions of her Grandma D's Jello concoction because he actually likes it. But of course he'd never go as far as to make it himself. When I was little, my mother would make a seven-layer Jello (see above, top left) to take to church potluck picnics and the like. Even she has ceased making this recipe.

So I wonder: When my grandmother's generation is dead, will the Jello mold be on the road to extinction?

Maybe. But I'm predicting right now that there will be a Jello renaissance, and the molded, quivering dessert will make its triumphant return to trendiness. If it could happen to high-waisted pleated shorts and sex offender glasses, it can happen to anything. Don't give up hope for the Jello mold.