Rose Totino, Patron Genius of Frozen Pizza

chloe effron
chloe effron

We don’t like to presume, but the chances are fairly good that you have a pizza in your freezer right now. After all, roughly two-thirds of all American households have at least one frozen pizza lurking in their freezer, according to industry reports, and sales of frozen and refrigerated pizza top more than $5.5 billion each year, shifting upwards of 350 million pies annually. 

And you’ve really got one woman to thank for that: Rose Totino, the apple-cheeked second-generation Italian nonna with a serious head for business. 

Rose Totino née Cruciani was born in 1915, the fourth of seven children; her parents had come to America from Italy just five years before, in 1910. She grew up in the Northeast neighborhood of Minneapolis, Minnesota, a lively European immigrant community, in a house with chickens and a sustenance garden in the backyard. Like other children in poor families, she started working at an early age, before leaving school at 16 to take a job cleaning houses for $2.50 a week. But even as a teenager, Rose had spirit: According to one story, retold in the Twin Cities Daily Planet, she took on Minneapolis Mayor George Leach to get her father’s city job back after he’d been fired for not being a “full-fledged citizen.” 

Her life changed when she attended a dance party at the Viking Dance Hall in Minneapolis. It was there that Rose met Jim, a baker with, like Rose, no more than a 10th grade education. When they started courting, she was earning 37 cents an hour at a local candy factory, but Rose left work when the couple married in 1934. Two daughters soon followed and the Totinos settled into domestic life. Rose became a den mother to a Cub Scout troop, often treating the boys to little homemade pies topped with cinnamon and sugar, and volunteered at her daughters’ school, joining the PTA. Through the 1940s, she frequently attended PTA meetings armed with what soon became her famous pizzas, delicious pies topped with sausage, cheese and fresh sauces, the kinds of pies that she’d grown up eating herself. 

Sugary pies for small boys and hearty Italian fare for PTA meetings soon turned into catering events for friends and acquaintances; as word got out about the Totinos' fantastic cooking, more and more people told them that they really ought to open a restaurant. So they did. By the 1950s, when the Totinos began exploring the idea of starting their own restaurant, pizza had already been in American for at least 50 years, carried over with the waves of Italian immigrants. But it had also stayed largely in Italian communities and in cities such as New York and Chicago; for most of America, pizza was still new, exotic fare that appealed to an increasing interest in “ethnic” cuisine. And in Minnesota, people had barely even heard of pizza – the story goes that when the Totinos applied to the bank for a loan (using their car as collateral), the members of the loan committee had no idea what pizza was, let alone why you’d want to open a restaurant to serve it. So Rose baked them a pie – and got the $1,500 loan they needed to open Totino’s Italian Kitchen. 

Rose and Jim opened the restaurant, then a take-out only establishment, in 1951 at Central and East Hennepin Avenue, in the Northeast community they’d grown up in. Rose had figured that selling 25 pizzas per week would just about cover the rent, but within three weeks, the Totinos were making enough for Jim to quit his regular job as a baker and go into the pizza business full time. Jim made the crusts, Rose handled the toppings and sauce, and everything went into their custom brick ovens.

The Totinos sometimes worked as long as 18 hours a day, so exhausted at the end of the night that they barely had the energy to stuff their earned bills into a brown paper bag, scrawl the date on it, and stagger home. But the Totinos were also canny about advertising their product. Rose won over the good, but not yet pizza-eating people of Minneapolis the same way she won over the bank loan committee, by handing out samples. She also went on local TV, demonstrating live in black-and-white the deliciousness of pizza. Within a few years, the Totinos were serving up 120 pizzas a day, 400 to 500 pizzas on the weekends, and they’d long since put in tables, covered in checkered cloths, and expanded into the storefront next door.

But by the end of the decade, the Totinos had hit a limit: There were only so many pizzas they could make in a day. Their customers, craving more pizza than the Totinos could handle, suggested that the couple get their pizzas, frozen and ready to be baked at home, into local supermarkets. 

Good idea – sort of. The Totinos had saved about $50,000 and plunged it all into a new venture, Totino’s Fine Foods, in 1962. They bought a plant in Fridley, Minnesota, and started making frozen pasta dinners – not pizza yet – but production was slow, the cost of ingredients was rising, and the end product not good. Within a year, they very nearly declared bankruptcy. “We lost our shirts,” Rose told the St. Petersburg, Florida Evening Independent in 1983. “We even debated about filing bankruptcy.” Instead, they doubled down.

Mortgaging everything they had, they eventually secured a loan from the Small Business Administration to buy new machinery that would allow them to make pizza crusts quickly. Back in business, this time they focused on the food that had made their name: pizza. (Family lore claims that the Totinos needed to figure out how to make a bunch of frozen pizzas quickly. Jim, spying his old pedal-operated record player, tried putting the frozen pizza on the turntable, and gave it a spin while squirting the sauce and tossing the toppings on. Fun, but unlikely?) 

Within three months of launching their new product, they were steadily and rapidly making their way back into the black. Supermarkets across the Minneapolis area stocked their pizzas, and by the mid-1960s, Totino’s sales coverage had expanded well beyond the Twin Cities; they’d even had to open a second plant to handle the demand. Before the decade was even half over, Totino’s was the top selling frozen pizza brand in the United States.

The Totinos didn’t invent frozen pizza; several patents for methods of making pizza dough that could be frozen and cooked at home predated their business by at least a decade. And they weren’t even the first frozen pizza brand on the market; that honor goes to the New Jersey-based Celentano Brothers (the label still manufactures frozen Italian fare of the stuffed shells and parmigiana variety, but no pizza). But what the Totinos did do was to make frozen pizza edible – and for that reason, hugely successful. When the Totinos first started, freezer aisle pizza tasted about as good as the box that it came in, only probably a bit soggier. Rose and Jim, however, began experimenting with new ways to keep their crusts as crispy as they were at the restaurant and eventually worked out a method that they later patented. (Rose gave much of the credit for Totino’s taste to Jim, saying that he was the chef and she was the people person in their husband and wife team.) 

At the height of their success, the Totinos sold their empire to Pillsbury in 1975 for a reported $22 million. In the interview with the Evening Independent eight years later, Rose cited Jim’s failing health and that the couple “had no sons to take over the business” as the reasons they sold out. That’s a statement that seems odd coming from the woman who, by all accounts, was an exceptionally adept manager with serious business acumen, and who had gone on to, at the age of 60, become Pillsbury’s first female corporate vice president.

Rose decided to stay with the company she and her husband had built, using her “people person” skills to make Totino’s domination over the frozen pizza market complete (for a time). She brokered deals, sold the line to supermarkets, even toured the budding talk show circuit. And as VP for research and development, Totino and several others filed a patent for their “Crisp Crust” technology, a method of making sure a “fried dough” pizza shell stayed crispy and didn’t suffer from a “somewhat leathery or cardboard like texture” after cooking, in 1977. (The patent, which was held by Pillsbury, was granted in 1979.) She even featured prominently in the company’s advertisements for Totino’s pizza, dressed in the part of the baking Italian nonna wearing a wholesome red gingham apron and a cheery smile.

Jim died in 1981, and Rose finally moved out of Northeast Minneapolis. She stayed with Pillsbury until she reached 70, the company’s mandatory retirement age, although according to some sources, she was a regular presence at Pillsbury’s offices into the early 1990s. The brand that she built is still going strong: Totino’s has sales of over $380 million a year, making it the second most popular frozen pizza brand on the market. (The original Totino’s Italian Kitchen, run by a Totino grandson, was a beloved and storied part of the Minneapolis culinary scene until it moved from its Hennepin Avenue location in 2007 to the suburbs, where it closed for good in 2011.) 

Rose died in 1994, at the age of 79. In 1993, the year before her death, she became the first woman elected to the Frozen Food Hall of Fame (which, by the way, is a real thing that actually exists). “Never beyond my wildest dreams did I imagine we’d ever grow this big,” she said, in her interview with the Evening Independent. “We didn’t plan on setting the world on fire. We just knew how to make good pizza.”

6 Tasty Facts About Scrapple

Kate Hopkins, Flickr // CC BY 2.0
Kate Hopkins, Flickr // CC BY 2.0

Love it or hate it, scrapple is a way of life—especially if you grew up in Pennsylvania or another Mid-Atlantic state like New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, or Virginia. And this (typically) pork-filled pudding isn’t going anywhere. While its popularity in America dates back more than 150 years, the dish itself is believed to have originated in pre-Roman times. In celebration of National Scrapple Day, here’s everything you ever—or never—wanted to know about the dish.

1. Scrapple is typically made of pig parts. Lots and lots of pig parts.

Though every scrapple manufacturer has its own particular recipe, it all boils down to the same basic process—literally: boiling up a bunch of pig scraps (yes, the parts you don’t want to know are in there) to create a stock which is then mixed with cornmeal, flour, and a handful of spices to create a slurry. Once the consistency is right, chopped pig parts are added in and the mixture is turned into a loaf and baked.

As the dish has gained popularity, chefs have put their own unique spins on it, adding in different meats and spices to play with the flavor. New York City’s Ivan Ramen even cooked it up waffle-style.

2. People were eating scrapple long before it made its way to America.

People often think that the word scrapple derives from scraps, and it’s easy to understand why. But it’s actually an Americanized derivation of panhaskröppel, a German word meaning "slice of rabbit." Much like its modern-day counterpart, skröppel—which dates back to pre-Roman times—was a dish that was designed to make use of every part of its protein (in this case, a rabbit). It was brought to America in the 17th and 18th centuries by German colonists who settled in the Philadelphia area.

In 1863, the first mass-produced version of scrapple arrived via Habbersett, which is still making the product today. They haven’t tweaked the recipe much in the past 150-plus years, though they do offer a beef version as well.

3. If your scrapple is gray, you're a-ok.

A dull gray isn’t normally the most appetizing color you’d want in a meat product, but that’s the color a proper piece of scrapple should be. (It is typically pork bits, after all.)

4. Scrapple can be topped with all kinds of goodies.

Though there’s no rule that says you can’t enjoy a delicious piece of scrapple at any time of day, it’s considered a breakfast meat. As such, it’s often served with (or over) eggs but can be topped with all sorts of condiments; while some people stick with ketchup or jelly, others go wild with applesauce, mustard, maple syrup, and honey to make the most of the sweet-and-salty flavor combo. There’s also nothing wrong with being a scrapple purist and eating it as is.

5. Dogfish Head made a scrapple beer.

The master brewers at Delaware’s Dogfish Head have never been afraid to get experimental with their flavors. In 2014, they created a Beer for Breakfast Stout that was brewed with Rapa pork scrapple. A representative for the scrapple brand called the collaboration a "unique proposition." Indeed.

6. Delaware holds an annual scrapple festival each October.

Speaking of Delaware: It’s also home to the country’s oldest—and largest—annual scrapple festival. Originating in 1992, the Apple Scrapple Festival in Bridgeville, Delaware is a yearly celebration of all things pig parts, which includes events like a ladies skillet toss and a scrapple chunkin’ contest. More than 25,000 attendees make the trek annually.

What's the Difference Between Yams and Sweet Potatoes?

Julia_Sudnitskaya/iStock via Getty Images
Julia_Sudnitskaya/iStock via Getty Images

This Thanksgiving, families across the country will enjoy a traditional meal of turkey, stuffing, and sweet potatoes ... or are they yams? Discussions on the proper name for the orange starchy stuff on your table can get more heated than arguments about topping them with marshmallows. But there's an easy way to tell the difference between sweet potatoes and yams: If you picked up the tuber from a typical American grocery store, it's probably a sweet potato.

So what's a sweet potato?

Sweet potato and yam aren't just different names for the same thing: The two produce items belong to their own separate botanical categories. Sweet potatoes are members of the morning glory family. Regular potatoes like russets, meanwhile, are considered part of the nightshade family, which means that sweet potatoes aren't actually potatoes at all.

Almost all of the foods most Americans think of as yams are really sweet potatoes. The root vegetable typically has brown or reddish skin with a starchy inside that's orange (though it can also be white or purple). It's sold in most supermarkets in the country and used to make sweet potato fries, sweet potato pie, and the sweet potato casserole you have at Thanksgiving.

Then what's a yam?

Yams.
Yams.
bonchan/iStock via Getty Images

Yams are a different beast altogether. They are more closely related to lilies and grasses and mostly grow in tropical environments. The skin is more rough and bark-like than what you'd see on a sweet potato, and the inside is usually white or yellowish—not orange.

They're a common ingredient in parts of Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean. Because the inside of a yam is less moist than the inside of a sweet potato, they require more fat to make them soft and creamy. They're also less sweet than their orange-hued counterparts. In many regions in the U.S., yams aren't sold outside of international grocery stores.

Where did the mix-up come from?

Also sweet potatoes.
Also sweet potatoes.
Kateryna Bibro/iStock via Getty Images

So if yams and sweet potatoes are two totally different vegetables that don't look or taste that similar, why are their names used interchangeably in the U.S.? You can blame the food industry. For years, "firm" sweet potatoes, which have brown skin and whitish flesh, were the only sweet potatoes grown in the U.S. In the early 20th century, "soft" sweet potatoes, which have reddish skin and deep-orange flesh, entered the scene. Farmers needed a way to distinguish the two varieties, so soft sweet potatoes became yams.

Nearly a century later, the misnomer shows no signs of disappearing. Many American supermarkets still call their orange-fleshed sweet potatoes yams and their white-fleshed ones sweet potatoes, even though both items are sweet potatoes. But this isn't a strict rule, and stores often swap the names and make things even more confusing for shoppers. So the next time you're shopping for a recipe that calls for sweet potatoes, learn to identify them by sight rather than the name on the label.

Have you got a Big Question you'd like us to answer? If so, let us know by emailing us at bigquestions@mentalfloss.com.

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