1909. The slaughter houses of Denmark deal with over a million pigs

a year, largely for export to the United Kingdom, which, in 1911, imported altogether nearly $100,000,000 worth of bacon and other pork products. In epicurean France pork gains rapidly on other meats and the Germans eat nearly twice as much pork as they do beef. The figures, in pounds, of the per capita consumption in the Empire for the first three months of 1912 stood in this ratio: Mutton 0.33; veal, 1.54; beef, 7.87; pork, 14.55. FAIR PLAY FOR PIGS. In the United States, also, the demand for pork products is growing. It would grow very much more rapidly were it not for three drawbacks: the custom of denaturing hams and bacon and of marketing the tough meat of old lard-pigs, and the impudent sale to the public of the products of swill-fed hogs that are not fit to eat. It is impossible to place too much emphasis on the fact that no matter of how fine a breed the pig may be, its meat is spoiled if the feed given it is of an offensive nature. Farm-kitchen refuse is harmless when mixed with milk and greens, but porkers fed on city swill and garbage do not yield palatable meat. Pigs seldom have fair play. Most farmers lower the value of the pork they raise by not giving the animals fresh air, sunshine, some exercise, and clean sties. In these respects we are not the only sinners. From an admirable editorial article in the London "Times" of June 27, 1912, I cite the following: "The pig is generally kept in conditions of a grossly unsanitary kind. He is quite a cleanly animal if left to himself, but he is kept in sties which compel him to wallow in filth all day and to sleep in a horribly confined and polluted atmosphere when he seeks shelter. Nature did not construct him for such conditions, but for an open-air life, and it is not really surprising that he develops swine-fever, which, by the way, is remarkably like the fevers that afflict overcrowded, filthy, and unventilated human dwellings. Cowhouses are regulated, but pigsties are not. Their position, however, is regulated in a way that presses very hardly upon cottagers. It is calmly assumed that pigsties must be dirty and offensive, so instead of insisting that they shall be clean, legislation decrees that they shall be at a distance from dwellings which makes it impossible for a cottager to pay his rent with cheaply raised bacon." Pigs that are overfed and denied fresh air, sunshine, exercise, and a clean bed cannot possibly yield meat with a tempting Flavor, for such animals are really diseased--as unhealthy as the slum-dwellers in our large cities, whom no cannibal would touch. The best American ham, as everybody knows, is the Virginia, cut from hogs that roam the woods, live on acorns and beech nuts and are thoroughly healthy. The attitude of the ancient Britons toward the pig was one almost of reverence, not only because of its utility in the larder, but because it fed on the acorns from the sacred oaks. In those days all British pork was no doubt similar to the meat of the young wild boar. Civilization, as in so many other things, brought on a temporary deterioration which caused pork to be despised and considered fit only for those who had not the means to buy something better; and it is only now that we are coming to realize fully that the fault was that of the farmers who, by refusing to give the pigs fair play, made it impossible for them to come up to the highest epicurean standard as regards Flavor. [Illustration: The Boar] According to high geological authority, the boar, from whom our domestic pigs are descended, was coeval with the extinct species of the mastodon and the dinotherium, and "hence must be regarded as the most ancient of our domesticated animals." An aristocrat, in other words, is the pig! He is selfish, like most "aristocrats"--that cannot be denied; but he is clean--even his mud baths are taken merely to cool off or to scour his skin. Trainers, moreover, will tell you that he is one of the most intelligent of animals. Pig brains are good to eat, too--better than calves' brains, but are usually sold as calves' brains because that's what the ignorant purchaser asks for. And pork, young, tender, and not too fat, is good all the year round, not only in the months which have an R in them. GROUSE AND GRILLED SOLE. Wild boars no longer roam the forests of England. Sportsmen do their pig-sticking in the jungles of India. But venison in season is still in evidence, and the hare will never be extinct, though he now comes to London chiefly in shiploads from Australia. The well-informed editor of the "Hors d'Œuvre" department of the "Pall Mall Gazette" gives an amusing glimpse of the situation as regards English and Scotch venison, which he considers a veritable delicacy, preferable to the highly-sauced venison of France and Germany: "We ought really to eat more venison when in season, but if the ordinary housewife were asked to provide it quite in the ordinary way for an ordinary dinner at home, she would be entirely nonplussed. 'But the butcher does not keep it.' 'Try the poulterer.' 'The poulterer says he can get it at a day's notice.' Why all this fuss? Venison is a national dish; it is not expensive; it is most nutritious and wholesome. Some one ought to 'buck up' the venison market." Among British feathered animals the best is the grouse, "the only really native game bird of these islands." It comes to London by fast expresses from the North--recently also from Ireland, which would be a finer grouse country, were it not for poachers. For the first days of the season grouse bring easily a guinea a brace in London market, cheaper ones being cold-storage suspects. Later on--thanks to rational methods of game preservation--they pour in daily by the tens of thousands and come down to 8s. or less a brace. Though never as cheap in the restaurants as partridge is in Germany, grouse is worth its price when cooked in the English way, which preserves all the woodland flavor of the bird. English farmers have not waked up to the opportunities that lie in catering to the demand for fresh-killed poultry of all kinds. The best restaurants get their supplies usually from France. There is in the Kingdom not even one adult fowl per acre of cultivated land. Here are possibilities of tremendous improvements, for, as Professor Edward Brown of the Ontario Agricultural College has truly said: "Masses of people living under highly artificial conditions must have food high in nutritive elements, easily digested and palatable, in which respect eggs stand first among all natural products and poultry not far behind." A well-known poulterer is cited as saying in regard to the London markets: "Fat goslings and ducks are in good demand, and the best prices are being given for them. One hundred and fifty years ago tens of thousands of geese and turkeys were reared in Suffolk, Norfolk, Cambridgeshire, and adjacent counties. The numbers now are, in comparison, insignificant. Nevertheless, the industry is one which might be made one of great importance and quite comfortable profits." A very different situation confronts us when we look at the supply of seafood. Here the British Isles hold their own in competition with any country, and the methods adopted to ensure a daily supply of fresh fish cannot be too urgently commended to American fish dealers. One of the most interesting sights in London is Billingsgate market. Fish have been sold here for several centuries, but under changing conditions. No longer will you find here the "fat, motherly flatcaps, with fish-baskets hanging over their heads instead of riding-hoods, with silver rings on their thumbs, and pipes charged with 'mundungus' in their mouths, sitting on inverted eel-baskets and strewing the flowers of their exuberant eloquence over dashing young town-rakes who had stumbled into Billingsgate to finish the night.... But the town-rakes kept comparatively civil tongues in their heads when they entered the precincts of the Darkhouse. An amazon of the market, otherwise known as a Billingsgate fish-fag, was more than a match for a Mohock," as George Augustus Sala remarked in his "Twice Round the Clock, or the Hours of the Day and Night in London." Gone are these amazons who by their abusive speech gave a new word to the English language. Men now monopolize Billingsgate Market, and the joke of it is that these men, as we found them at six o'clock on a September morning, are the very pink of politeness, most courteously ready to answer your questions regarding different fishes, and cockles, and periwinkles, though they know you are not there to buy. Even the rough, hurrying fish-porters make way for you to pass, and the auctioneers stop to warn you against places where your clothes might get soiled by drippings. Billingsgate is now entirely given over to the wholesale fish-trade. The smell of it, fish-like but not ancient--for it is a clean place--easily guides you to the spot from the nearest station of the subway's inner circle. The streets near it are wet with the drip of fish-filled boxes, and crowded with wagons that are being loaded with the town's provisions of sea food--strictly fresh every day. Billingsgate Market being on the water's edge all the fish is unloaded direct from the fishing boats. Processions of porters come from the boats, each with a great box full of fish balanced on the top of his head, on a queerly-shaped, padded, waterproof hat made expressly for this work. The fish are kept cool with loose ice, but are not frozen. The Spanish mackerel with their dark markings and opaline sides offer the most beautiful sight of all, so freshly caught that their colors are as vivid as when they left the water. Besides these are whitings, flounders, pale-brown sole, halibut, turbot, all shining from the sea, and among the shellfish may be seen oysters, huge crabs, lobsters,--white flecked dark green ones--periwinkles, and cockles. The latter look somewhat like very small clams, and they are sold cooked, having been separated from their shells by large sieves. In the best New York restaurants you are not sure of getting fresh fish when you order it. In the best London restaurants you are. Probably some of the fish we saw that morning at Billingsgate was served to us that evening for dinner. I mean sole, of course. We were to be in London only a week on this occasion, and when you are in London a week only it would be unutterably absurd not to eat grilled sole at least once a day, for you cannot get anything equal to it anywhere else in the wide, wide world. There are some, I know, who place turbot above sole, and others even prefer plaice. Put no faith in such people; they could never be honestly elected to a place on the bench of the Gastronomic Supreme Court. Turbot is delicious, and so is plaice, and so are chinook salmon and our shad and whitefish. Each of these _seems_ the best of all fishes while you are eating it; but sole actually _is_ the best. How do I prove this? Like the musician who boasted he was the best horn player in the world, I do not prove it; I admit it. Seriously speaking, there can be no doubt that if a vote were taken on this question among the epicures of Europe, sole would win by a large majority. In Germany the _Seezunge_, or "sea-tongue," is the choicest of marine delicacies, and in France the chef's chief glory is his sole and the special sauce he serves with it. But nowhere is the sole so juicy and flavorful as in England; nor is it disguised there with any sauce, being served usually right off the grill. Grilled Sole is one of England's great specialties. Whitebait is another. It is not a distinct species but consists of the fry of herrings, smelts, sprats, sand-eels, weevers, etc. It is supposed to have been first served in 1780. To this day no tourist who likes good things to eat omits a trip to Greenwich to enjoy a dish of whitebait at headquarters in the ship tavern. When Thackeray was there he indulged in these reflections: "Ah, he must have had a fine mind who first invented brown bread and butter with whitebait! That man was a kind, modest, gentle benefactor to his kind. We don't recognize sufficiently the merits of those men who leave us such quiet benefactions. A statue ought to be put up to the philosopher who joined together this charming couple." Yarmouth bloaters and other cured fish are British specialties relished the world over. But the best of them is Finnan haddock, so named after Findon, a fishing village near Aberdeen where haddock smoking with peat or oak dust has attained perfection. There are flavorless imitations, preserved with pyroligneous acid. The genuine are cured in smoke houses. The condimental value of smoke is illustrated by the fact that while fresh haddock is by no means rated among the finest fishes, finnan haddie is one of the very best of cured fishes. The Whitstable oyster is still another marine specialty enjoyed, not only throughout the British Isles as one of the most precious "natives," but also on the Continent. Far away Austria imports only $10,000 worth of oysters a year from all sources, but from Berlin and other German cities come large orders for the best English bivalves. France also takes them, but not on a large scale, as her own oyster production is large. The best Whitstable oysters--from the coasts of Kent and Essex--are known as royals and cost in restaurants three or four shillings a dozen, which is considerably more than the price charged in our own restaurants. Whether they are worth more is a much disputed point. Most Americans object to what they call the coppery taste in English and Northern European oysters. Paderewski agreed with those who pronounce the English oyster superior to the American. I suggested that he probably had had the "floated" American oysters only. Certainly I have never tasted oysters with a more delicious Flavor than genuine Blue Points, Cotuits and Lynnhavens. The English natives are small, juicy, and fragrant of the sea--great appetizers indeed. Alas, in England also the sewage plague has cast its blight on the shellfish business. Two decades ago 160,000,000 oysters are said to have been landed annually. In 1911 the number fell forty or fifty millions short of that figure because of typhoid fever and other diseases traced to the eating of oysters from polluted beds. The importation of American oysters was only at the rate of 100 barrels a week in 1911, as against 2,000 barrels fifteen years earlier. Of the other British shellfish the periwinkle is much appreciated by the epicurean French who, not satisfied with importing them from England in bulk have also brought them over to plant in their own beds. They are boiled a few minutes in salted water and served with butter as an entrée, usually at the second morning meal. COVENT GARDEN MARKET SCENES. That the English do not live on butcher's meats and marine food alone, is made manifest by a matutinal visit to Covent Garden. "In Covent Garden a filthy noisy market was held close to the dwellings of the great. Fruit women screamed, carters fought, cabbage stalks and rotten apples accumulated in heaps at the thresholds of the Countess of Berkshire and of the Bishop of Dunham"--such is Macaulay's picture of this market at the close of the seventeenth century. It is still given up entirely to vegetables, fruits, and flowers, but is now clean, orderly, and not especially noisy, as markets go--not so noisy, perhaps, as some of the operas performed in the neighboring Covent Garden Theater, the resort of fashionable society. In September we found the flower pavilions the most interesting part of the market. Chrysanthemums with rich, deep-colored blossoms were the reigning favorites. Conspicuous among their rivals were the dahlias, gaudy and varicolored, some of them solid as cabbage heads, others strangely-quilled. Bright autumn leaves, recalling New England, attracted our attention. In one spot golden chrysanthemums and melons of exactly the same shade made a beautiful picture. On the whole the vegetable quarters are not specially interesting, particularly when one has seen the Halles Centrales of Paris. Flowers do not, as in Paris, crowd in among them, nor are the streets picturesque and slippery with many shades of green refuse. The carts are not emptied as they are in Paris, but form each its own stall. All the vegetable pictures are "skied," and are far less attractive than when they lie, in orderly confusion, all over the market streets. Celery, the first we had seen, was enormous, but deep green, instead of white, like ours. Many of the provisions are packed and sold hidden in large round baskets. A perfect tower of Babel, ten baskets in all, is one man's load, carried on his head, but they are evidently empty, as two seem to be as heavy a weight as a man cares to balance when they are full. George Meredith is quoted as having said to a friend that he would be a vegetarian if he could get his vegetables decently cooked. There are a few vegetarian restaurants in London, and probably there would be many more if the English knew, as several Continental nations know, the art of cooking greens and roots in a savory manner. Sir Henry Thompson grew enthusiastic over the "delicious characteristic flavor" of English garden peas, picked young and cooked _à l'Anglaise_, which is a better way than any French fashion of cooking them. Vegetable marrow tastes better in England than anywhere else, and the mushrooms are good. But on the whole England has a great deal to learn from France regarding variety and the best ways of growing and cooking vegetables. Salad plants, in particular, are not appreciated as they should be. Read this wail, for an illustration, from a Covent Garden market report in the London "Telegraph": "Nothing short of a prolonged heat wave induces people to eat liberally of this health-giving vegetable. It was pitiful, yesterday, to see stacks of first-rate lettuce utterly neglected. The very best samples, carefully selected and packed in boxes, realized no more than 6d. per score--a score, by the way, being twenty-two heads. Any amount remained unsold." Tomatoes are getting to be almost as popular as in America. In England, as elsewhere, there are those who maintain that "no salad is perfect without the inclusion of a little tomato"; and of course the delicious "love-apples," as they used to be called, are eaten in many other ways, raw or cooked, grilled tomatoes being an English specialty. That England is a great fruit country no American can admit, however much he may enjoy the luscious hot-house and wall-grown peaches, nectarines, melons, pears, and grapes. Fruit needs, above all things, sunshine, and of sunshine we have a great deal more at home, especially in California. At Covent Garden and in the fruit shops of the metropolis there are indeed some tempting displays, but the prices are apt to stagger the visitor from across the Atlantic, who seldom pays more than a nickel for a peach or two--say two shillings a dozen at most--whereas in England peaches grown in orchards sell at retail for six to ten shillings a dozen, while those grown in hot-houses bring from fifteen shillings ($3.65) to a guinea ($5.11) per dozen. If you told the average Londoner that in New York one can often buy five or six good cantaloupes for a shilling, he would not believe you without an affidavit signed by the Consul General. It may be said that owing to their cooler climate the inhabitants of the British Isles do not need fruit as much as we do, and that is true. Yet in all climates, seasons, and conditions of the weather fruit is healthful, and its Flavor is a great appetizer and aid to digestion. It is therefore encouraging to notice that strenuous efforts are being made not only to remove the old reproach that English grapes and other hot-house products have more beauty than Flavor, but also to raise and import orchard fruits in such abundance as to bring them within the reach of the purchaser of moderate means. The growth of the banana trade strikingly illustrates this point. In the first years of this century this sweet and nutritious fruit was seldom seen in English markets. To-day there is a whole fleet of steamers occupied exclusively in bringing bananas from the West Indies and elsewhere to British ports. The change was greatly accelerated by the shrewdness of the importers, who freely advertised the merits of their goods in the newspapers, citing sample recipes for cooking them from a little book which is offered free. This method of educating the public to try new foods and dainties doubtless has a great future. The Germans have a saying: _Was der Esel nicht kennt das frisst er nicht_, which politely translated means "the public must be taught to eat things it does not know." A decade ago one seldom saw any grapefruit in England. It was Mrs. John Lane who taught Londoners the art of enjoying this most wholesome and palatable fruit--the queen of the citrus tribe. Its juice is the most marvelous combination of sour, bitter, and sweet in existence, and its charm grows on you from day to day. Mrs. Lane induced her greengrocer to keep some in stock, but ere long he confided to her that they were "bloomin' sour" and mostly a dead loss, for customers never bought them more than once. "They're forever asking me how to eat 'em," he said, "and how should I know!"--here he wiped his hands hesitatingly on his apron--"but if I could tell 'em how, why the trade would be grateful; anyhow, I'd be." So Mrs. Lane wrote a little pamphlet in which she explained the secret of serving grapefruit sweetened in such ways that all may enjoy it. It is entitled "The Forbidden-Fruit or Shaddock; or Grapefruit, How to Serve and How to Eat It." (John Lane, Vigo Street, London.) Doubtless this pamphlet had much to do with increasing the number of grapefruit eaters in Britain, now said to be very large. It is well to know that there are many varieties, and that some are far inferior to others; so if you eat one and it does not please you, don't be rash and say you do not like grapefruit. Try the other kinds. The best are neither too sour nor too bitter, and they have a "wild" fragrance as exquisite in its way as the marine tang of live oysters. When you get one of these you need none of the sugar, or the liqueur, or maraschino cherries nearly always served with grapefruit. Just peel off the yellow skin, cut the fruit lengthwise, separate the sections with your fingers, remove the membranes, and you have a pile of pulp resembling so many crab tails, which dissolve in the mouth and flood the palate with ambrosial Flavor. Oranges are good, but grapefruit is as superior to them as sour cherries are to sweet. One of England's chief claims to gastronomic distinction is that her orchards include plenty of sour-cherry trees. A common French name for tart cherries is _cerises anglaises_, which seems to indicate that they are an importation from England. Epicures, from the ancient Lucullus, who introduced the sour cherry into Europe, to Paderewski, who eats no others, agree that, _thoroughly ripened_, it is far superior in Flavor to the sweet cherry, besides being more delicate, melting, digestible and wholesome. On a warm day nothing--not even a glass of lemonade or limeade--is so agreeably refreshing as a handful of Early Richmonds, Morellos, Montmorencys, or Baldwins. A British expert claims that "despite the sunshine and climate of France, the quality and flavor of cherries grown in England are much superior to those of the foreign fruit." Of no product of his island is the Englishman more boastful than of his strawberries. Big they certainly are, and beautiful; also fragrant after a few days of sunshine. Freshness, which is of such great importance in the case of these berries, is secured by growing them in enormous quantities within a twenty-mile radius of London. They are picked early--often by the light of lanterns--brought to the city, and delivered to families for breakfast a few hours later. Usually they are carefully graded, and you get what you order and pay for, be it "specials," "firsts," or "seconds." After all, the big strawberries, however luscious, are seldom so fragrant as the little French _fraises des bois_, or strawberry of the woods. These are imported to some extent; yet a writer in the London "Telegraph" remarks that "if home-growers were to market tiny specimens with ambrosial flavor there would be no sale for the fruit, nor would the wild strawberry of our hedgerows be appreciated by the pampered gourmets of London." If this is true, something must be wrong with these same pampered gourmets. Perhaps the wild berries are less fragrant than in France. In Oregon, as you drive along wood roads and fields, the air is heavy with the fragrance of wild strawberries. But the richest perfume of the kind I ever inhaled was, strange to say, in the far north--the Norwegian city of Molde, where two bowls of strawberries on the table made the hotel dining-room smell like an Oriental rose garden. It was in Norway, too, that I ate the best sour cherries I ever tasted. The fame of the British gooseberry has crossed the Atlantic, the jam made from it being purchasable in all the larger grocery stores throughout the United States and Canada. The gooseberry is indigenous to Great Britain, where it flourishes particularly well because it does not need or desire much sunshine. This is doubtless the reason why the British berry is superior to the American. I have read in a London journal that "American visitors are highly appreciative of the flavor of English gooseberries, as those of their own country are not nearly so good. In hotels largely frequented by Transatlantic guests there is quite a brisk demand for the fruit, especially the large yellow 'sulphur' berry and the 'white lion.' As judges of fruit Americans are proverbially keen, and their selections are usually worth following." MARMALADES, JAMS, AND BREAKFASTS. In the matter of bottled condiments, sauces, walnut, mushroom, tomato and other catsups, diverse pickles, and biscuits in endless variety (of which, as of the bottled things, millions of dollars' worth are exported annually), Great Britain is also preëminent; and what is particularly commendable is that British products for export are usually made as conscientiously as those for home consumption. You can buy them in a Japanese village, and be as sure of their excellence as if you got them in London. Gladstone was a great believer in jam. He constantly urged his countrymen to eat more of it and induced a number of them to go into the manufacturing business. Some of these lost money because the thing was overdone for a time. While good jams and jellies are made in many countries, in the matter of marmalade, Scotland has a virtual monopoly so far as superexcellence is concerned. Open an American cook book and you will find that the directions for making orange marmalade begin with the words, "Take one dozen oranges and four lemons," and end with the information that when bitter marmalade is desired the bitter can be obtained by soaking the orange seeds overnight and adding the water drained from them to the other ingredients. A marmalade thus obtained is better than no marmalade at all, but it is far inferior to the British product, which is made of special varieties of oranges. Inquiries having come from firms in the United States, the authorities in Washington asked Commercial Agent, John M. Carson, to find out the secret of the superior Flavor of Scotch marmalade. The information he obtained is so instructive that I must quote it, in part, from the "Daily Consular and Trade Reports" of February 17, 1911: British marmalade is produced from sour oranges and sugar. The best-known firms use almost exclusively the Seville (Spain) bitter orange, which has comparatively little pulp and consists mainly of rind, the substance most desirable for the making of good marmalade. Messina and Palermo "bitter" oranges, although not considered as good as those of Seville, are also used, but command a much lower price. With the exception of a very few firms who buy and "pulp" oranges at Seville and ship the pulp to England for preparation and canning by English factories, marmalade manufacturers buy the raw material in open market. London, Liverpool, Manchester, and Hull are the principal orange markets. The grower ships his product to his agents or to orange brokers or auctioneers, and it is then put up for sale to the highest bidder on a given date, in lots of scores, hundreds, or thousands of boxes, very much like wheat and other produce are sold in their respective exchanges, with the exception that in the case of oranges there are no "future sales," nor are "reserve" prices made. Oranges being perishable, and their attractiveness and freshness continuing for so short a time, the brokers accept the highest bids made on the day of sale and never reserve the fruit for future offerings. The sales are held regularly on what are known as "market days." The character, quantities, qualities, and nativity of the fruit are made known to the trade by catalogue several days in advance, consequently the auctions are always well attended and the bidding spirited. The London Fruit Exchange is located in the eastern section of the city in a large structure known as the "Monument Building." More than $12,000,000 per annum is the amount required to pay for the oranges sold in the English market, the great bulk of the sales being by public auction. Apples are sold in like manner, the aggregate annual sales averaging in value $10,000,000. The great Covent Garden market, in the heart of London, buys its supplies of fruits at the regular auction sales held at the London Exchange, and in turn the retail dealers are supplied from Covent Garden.... The law requires that marmalade shall be composed of orange and sugar exclusively, and if any other substance is employed, no matter for what purpose, the manufacturer is liable to a heavy fine. It is generally conceded that the law is observed by English manufacturers. Fruit preservers as a rule use refined cane sugar, which they buy in the open market. Orange marmalade has made Scotland famous throughout the gastronomic world, which seems odd in view of the fact that the country is too far north to raise oranges. We shall see in the last chapter that the appreciation of bitter marks a higher stage of gastronomic culture than the liking for sweets or even for sour. The best orange marmalade is always bitter, and to this it owes not only much of its agreeable taste but its value as a tonic, the rind of the bitter orange being a valuable stomachic. It is therefore not strange that although there are many makers of this delicacy, the home demand often exceeds the supply, and that the new crop always is eagerly looked forward to. It has been claimed, with some show of reason, that British sturdiness is largely a result of the national custom of having bitter marmalade regularly served with breakfast. Breakfast! That word suggests another great service Britannia has done the gastronomic world. Nothing could be more irrational for normal persons than the continental habit of eating only bread and butter for breakfast and then having a second, heavier breakfast--_déjeuner à la fourchette_--at eleven or twelve o'clock to interrupt the morning's work in its full tide. Far better, both economically and hygienically, is the English way--which fortunately we have adopted--of having a substantial breakfast, and then nothing more till lunch time, the best hour for which is one o'clock, as most of us know instinctively. A healthy person ought to have a good appetite in the morning, after a night's rest, and gratify it. Lunch should be light, and dinner, more substantial than breakfast, should begin not later than seven for persons who retire at an hour conducive to longevity--that is, an early hour. RESTAURANTS, CAKES, AND PLUM PUDDING. As a rule, British inns and restaurants serve food as badly cooked as it is in American "hash houses," if not more so. I have had experiences with meat pies and sausages, with several kinds of pastry and with tasteless vegetables that quite recalled the Arizona days before Fred Harvey came from England--as related in the first chapter of this book--to civilize our Southwest. Adulteration of foods is largely practised, and many of them are denatured by the use of chemical preservatives, although in these respects there has been considerable improvement since the "Lancet" exposed "the appalling state of the food supply" and fearlessly gave the names and addresses of hundreds of manufacturers and tradesmen who sold adulterated articles. It was hoped that with the introduction of motoring there would come a revival of the good old coaching inns; but nothing of the sort has happened. According to the gastronomic editor of the "Pall Mall Gazette" what the touring motorist gets is "probably an American preserved soup which tastes like boiled blankets, a few sardines, stale and too long opened, a joint which has either been overcooked or under-done, a sodden pancake with no suggestion of the real thing, and a piece of cheese which is obviously non-British. And for this he is charged at least five shillings.... On the Continent one can get an excellently cooked and served meal for half the price." While the English are thus their own severest critics, they do not hesitate, when brought to bay, to present the other side of the shield. In commenting on the Exhibition of the Cookery and Food Association in 1912, the London "Telegraph" called attention to the fact that "typical dishes are served to perfection every day on innumerable English tables"; and the writer just quoted, referring to the fact that France, Austria, Hungary, Italy, and Switzerland had sent over experts to show how things are done in their countries, goes on to say that "it might humbly be suggested that our own cooks might show the foreigners something. Few cooks, other than English, can cook whitebait satisfactorily; the same applies to Irish stew, steak, and kidney pudding with larks and oysters, to liver and bacon, to tripe and onions (no, not _tripe à la mode de Caen_), to a really good devil, and above all, to curry, wet or dry.... It is really about time that the British cook asserted himself." A German lexicographer calls attention to the fact that the United Kingdom has contributed at least half a dozen words to the international dining-room language: Beefsteak, roast beef, Irish stew, mock-turtle soup, pudding, and toast. He might have added marmalade and cakes. A firm in Germany once offered a thousand marks for a good Teutonic equivalent for "cakes"; with what success I do not know. It is not strange that Continental manufacturers are so much interested in these British cakes and biscuits. They are favorites the world over because of their crispness and good Flavor, and the exports of them amount to about £1,400,000 a year. Seven million dollars! Is there a better guide to wealth than gastronomy, the art of preparing and serving appetizing food? Plum pudding is another profitable product of British manufacturing skill. Though it has been traced to a Teutonic origin (_Pflaumen-grütze_) it is now characteristically Anglican, and the plum (_Pflaume_) has disappeared. In that monumental compendium of English philological erudition, Murray's "New English Dictionary," we read as one of the definitions of Plum: "a dried grape or raisin as used for puddings, cakes, etc.," and the editor adds: "This use probably arose from the substitution of raisins for dried plums or prunes as an ingredient in plum-broth,--porridge, etc., with retention of the name plum for the substituted article." Considering the national liking for this pudding it is not surprising that the word plum for this favorite was retained, for "plum" also stands for tit-bit, or a good thing in general. As long ago as 1660 devotion to this dish was amusingly illustrated by these words in a mock sermon: "But there is your Christmas pye and that hath plums in abundance.... He that discovered the new Star in Cassiopeia ... deserves not half so much to be remembered, as he that first married minced meat and raisins together." Until a few years ago the English housewife always boiled her own plum pudding. To-day she can buy it if she desires. It is made by machinery; hundreds of thousands of pounds are shipped to other countries annually; and it is claimed that this kind is as a rule superior in Flavor and digestibility to the home-made. It was during the Boer war that the export business received its first great impulse, thousands of pounds being sent to the soldiers in Africa to give them a taste of the Christmas dinner at home; and now the pudding is made in such large quantities that the United States Government has begun to take cognizance of it in official reports. In the "Consular and Trade Reports" (1911) Commercial Agent, John M. Carson, had a two-page communication from which I cite the following: The extent and magnitude of the trade may be inferred from figures furnished by one of the several large manufacturers. In order to be prepared to meet the demand for their product, manufacturers begin active operations as soon as the new crops of raisins, currants, and other required fruits appear in September. All the constituents of plum pudding, which do not include plums, are prepared and manipulated by elaborate and expensive machinery. Currants are washed and stems removed, raisins are stoned, nuts are shelled and ground, oranges and lemons are peeled, the peel candied and cut up, eggs are beaten, and all other ingredients prepared by machinery. The manufacturing firm alluded to, in order to supply their trade this season, used the materials and quantities given below. Pounds. Currants 145,800 Sugar 101,250 Peel 72,360 Suet 72,360 Bread crumbs 72,360 Flour 54,000 Raisins 48,330 Sultanas 48,330 China ginger 3,510 Spices 1,440 Almonds 400 Milk, gallons 948 Rum, gallons 948 Exclusive of milk and rum, the ingredients above enumerated aggregate 620,140 pounds used by a single manufacturer in supplying plum pudding to meet the demands of the Christmas season of 1910, the number of puddings furnished aggregating 250,000. There are three or four other London manufacturers each of whose output perhaps equaled that described, and there are a large number of smaller establishments in which plum pudding was supplied for home and foreign consumption. The pudding is put up in packages weighing one to five pounds each and securely packed to insure preservation and safe transportation. Properly prepared and packed the plum pudding of England, with ordinary care on the part of the housewife, will retain its virtues for a year or more. Plum pudding has the evil repute of being indigestible. An English friend informs me that while it certainly is so if boiled only three hours, as is usually done, it becomes as digestible as good bread if boiled seven hours. It is then compact and yet brittle. [Illustration: Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese] Still another profitable branch of the art of preparing appetizing food is that of the cheesemaker. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, the English makers of Cheddar cheese have been flattered as few mortals have; for in the United States, as well as in Canada and Australia, most of the cheese made is of the Cheddar type. There would thus be no cause for exporting Cheddar, even if England had any to spare; nor is much of the Cheshire sent abroad, its fragile nature making it unsuitable for exportation, which is to be regretted, because in the opinion of Dr. Voelker, shared by many epicures, Cheshire is the finest flavored of British cheeses. It is made from milk which is perfectly sweet, and to this its special aroma has been attributed. For the third of the three best-known varieties of British cheeses--Stilton--there is a considerable demand for the tables of foreign epicures, as it exports well. Stilton is a blue-molded cheese, which is manufactured of unskimmed milk in a way similar to the methods of making the French Roquefort and the Italian Gorgonzola. Like those, it owes its piquant Flavor to the mold, which is artificially spread throughout the cheese in diverse ways.[18] Every American tourist who visits London goes to take a meal at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, made famous by Dr. Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith, and for three centuries the haunt of literary men, including Dickens and Thackeray. Toasted cheese--cheese bubbling in tiny tins and tasting like Welsh rarebit--was the original specialty of this place and is still served unless you prefer a wedge of uncooked Cheshire. But what ultimately made this place renowned throughout the world was its lark pudding. Fortunately it is lark no more but pigeon pudding; at least, so it was frankly called when I ate it in September, 1912. What else it is compounded of no one knows but the proprietor and the cook, who guard the secret carefully. Kidney and steak and oysters are hinted at, and diverse strong spices are certainly in it. HAUNCH OF VENISON, 3/6. This day at 6 o'clock. Friday, 13th September, 1912. _BILL OF FARE._ READY FROM 12 NOON TO 9.30 P.M. s. d. SIMPSON'S FISH DINNER, consisting of three kinds of Fish 3 9 Dinner from the Joint 2 6 Dinner from one Special Dish 2 6 Dinner from one Special Dish, with Joint to follow 3 0 Dinner from two Special Dishes 3 6 THE ABOVE PRICES INCLUDE VEGETABLES, CHEESE[†], BREAD AND BUTTER, AND SALAD. Joints, 2/6 SERVED FRESHLY COOKED AT THE FOLLOWING HOURS. FROM 12.0 { Saddle of Mutton TO { 9.30 { Roast Sirloin of Beef { Saddle of Mutton. Roast Sirloin Beef 1.0 { Boiled Beef { Forequarter Lamb { Roast Loin of Pork 5.30 Boiled Beef Roast Sirloin of Beef. Saddle of Mutton 6.0 Saddle of Mutton Roast Sirloin of Beef Forequarter Lamb 7.30 Saddle of Mutton =6.0 Haunch of Venison, 3/6= THE ABOVE PRICES INCLUDE VEGETABLES, CHEESE[†], BREAD AND BUTTER, AND SALAD. Soups. s. d. =Turtle=, clear or thick 3 0 =Green Pea= 1 6 =Scotch Hotch-Potch= 1 0 Ox Tail, clear or thick 1 0 Thick Mock Turtle 1 0 Clear Mock Turtle 1 6 Julienne 1 0 Macaroni 1 0 Gravy 1 0 Vermicelli 1 0 Tomato 1 0 NOTE.--IF SERVED WITH JOINT OR SPECIAL DISH TO FOLLOW, 6d. LESS WILL BE CHARGED FOR EACH OF THE ABOVE. Fish. s. d. Boiled Salmon and Lobster Sauce 2 6 Boiled Turbot and Lobster Sauce 2 0 Curried Turbot 2 0 Fried Turbot 2 0 Sole Souchet 2 0 Salmon Cutlets and Piquant or Indian Sauce 2 0 =Curried Prawns= 1 6 =Fresh Herrings and Mustard Sauce= 1 6 FRESHLY COOKED SALMON AND TURBOT (THE WHOLE FISH) SERVED DAILY FROM 12 NOON TO 9.30 P.M. s. d. =Fish Pie= 1 0 =Fish Balls or Cakes= 1 0 Fried Whiting 1 0 Whitebait 1 6 Stewed Eels, Port Wine or Parsley and Butter Sauce 1 6 Fillet of Sole, Fried or Boiled 2 0 Sole, Fried, Grilled or Boiled 2 0 NOTE.--IF SERVED WITH JOINT OR SPECIAL DISH TO FOLLOW, 6d. LESS WILL BE CHARGED FOR EACH OF THE ABOVE. s. d. =Plain Lobster= =2 6= =Lobster Mayonnaise= =3 6= =Lobster Salad= =3 0= =Salmon Mayonnaise= =2 6= WHITSTABLE NATIVE OYSTERS, 3/-per dozen. Special Dishes, 2/6. HAM AND PEAS. HASHED VENISON. STEWED NECK OF LAMB AND PEAS. Curried Chicken Chicken Marengo Haricot Mutton Fricassé Chicken Stewed Pigeon Curried Fillets of Mutton Stewed Rump Steak Stewed Kidneys THE ABOVE PRICES INCLUDE VEGETABLES, CHEESE,[†] BREAD AND BUTTER, AND SALAD. FROM THE GRILL (15 to 30 minutes.) s. d. Mutton Cutlets, Tomato or Piquant Sauce 2 6 Rump Steak 2 6 Grilled Fowl and Mushroom Sauce 3 0 Porterhouse Steak 4 6 " " for two 7 6 Mixed Grill--Chop, Kidney and Sausage 2 6 THE ABOVE PRICES INCLUDE VEGETABLES, CHEESE[†], BREAD AND BUTTER, AND SALAD. { Chump Chop 1 6 10 { Loin Chop 1 3 mins. { Two Kidneys 1 3 { =Lamb Chops= =2 6= Game. =PARTRIDGES= =5/- each.= =GROUSE= =5/- each.= Vegetables. =NEW PEAS, 6d. per portion.= Beetroot. 3d. Tomato, Plain, 3d. Tomato, Grilled, 4d. Cucumber, 3d. Sweets. =Tapioca Pudding= 6d. Mixture of Fruit 6d. Orange Fritters 6d. Apple Fritters 6d. Madeira Jelly 6d. Damson Pie 6d. Prunes and Rice 6d. Apple Pie 6d. College Pudding 6d. Sweet Omelette 1/- Lemon Pudding 6d. St. Clair Pudding 6d. Rum Omelette 1/6 Ices. Strawberry Cream 9d. Pineapple Water 9d. Sundries. Anchovy Toast, Fish or Paste 9d. Macaroni with Cheese 6d. Macaroni with Tomatoes 6d. Welsh Rarebit 6d. Buck Rarebit 9d. Scotch Woodcock 1/3 Anchovies, Plain 6d. Poached Eggs on Toast 9d. Sardines on Toast 9d. Bloaters Roes on Toast 9d. Stewed Cheese 6d. Red Currant Jelly 3d. Olives 6d. Tea and Coffee. Tea, per cup, 6d. Tea, per pot, 1/- Coffee, small cup, 4d., large, 6d. Cream, 3d. Dessert. =PEARS, 6d. each.= Almonds and Raisins, 9d. =APPLES, 3d. each.= ATTENDANCE, 3d EACH PERSON CHARGED IN THE BILL. FINE OLD TAWNY PORT. 8d. PER GLASS. BASS & CO'S PALE ALE ON DRAUGHT. WHITSTABLE NATIVE OYSTERS. 3/-per dozen. [†] THE CHEDDAR AND CHESHIRE CHEESES SERVED HERE OBTAINED FIRST PRIZE AT THE DAIRY SHOW 1911. We entered the kitchen, but did not see the immense bowl that holds enough for sixty or seventy people, according to the booklet of ninety-two pages which tells the story of this eating place. Nor did we test the assertion that you can have two, three, or four helpings of the "pie" if you chose. To tell the plain truth, one was quite enough and more. Never in all my wanderings--not even in Spanish countries where cayenne pepper is the staff of life--had I put into my mouth a mess so peppered and otherwise over-seasoned as this same fiery pigeon pie. And the taste lingered for hours, giving me time to call back to memory all that I had read about the condimental atrocities of the Middle Ages, when the porpoise, the whale, the seawolf made favorite dishes; when potatoes were seasoned with nutmeg, cinnamon, pepper, lemon, sugar, and rosewater; and meats were maltreated even more barbarously. Quite as English as the Cheshire Cheese, and more up to date, is another London restaurant which all Americans visit--Simpson's, where joints are wheeled to you on little tables and you choose the particular cut you want. A glance at the bill of fare herewith reproduced will interest those who have never had a chance to compare English with American menus. Colonel Newnham-Davis accomplished the task of writing a book of three hundred and seventy-six pages on the restaurants of London entitled "Dinners and Diners." It is not so interesting or so useful a book as his "Gourmet's Guide to Europe," yet it succeeds in a gossipy way in giving the atmosphere of these places. The best of them are in most respects frankly Parisian in cuisine and menu. The epicurean Colonel found four dozen among them with sufficient individuality to claim separate chapters. Since the second edition of this book appeared (1910), some of the old houses have disappeared and many new ones of the highest class have been opened. At all of them you can get, besides French dishes, such British specialties as turtle, ox-tail, and mulligatawny soups, venison, rabbit, or veal and ham pies, and, with your fish and meats--hot or cold--all the fiery gherkins, chow-chow, and diverse pungent sauces and catsups you may desire. While these sharp condiments are for the most part special products of British ingenuity which cannot be duplicated elsewhere, it is likely that they will be less in demand in the future than they are now. They were invented to go with cold meats chiefly, and to give zest and varied Flavor to the monotonously recurring joints. But this monotony is disappearing; the number of national dishes is multiplying rapidly; and, altogether, "there is now," as a London journal has remarked, "a cult of cookery in England such as has never been before." [Illustration: Burbanks Home] XI GASTRONOMIC AMERICA In the preceding pages I have neglected no chance to expose our shortcomings, not with any muck-raking intentions but in order to show in how many ways we could profit by following the example set by European nations. It is now time to raise our flag and do a little patriotic boasting. There is a gastronomic America as well as an ungastronomic America; we have unequaled opportunities for producing the best of nearly everything, and if we utilize those opportunities, recognizing the all-importance of Flavor in food, in its various stages from the field to the grill and the table, we can easily become, within a few decades, a leading--perhaps even _the_ leading--gastronomic nation. In the present chapter and the following one I purpose to dwell on some of the delicacies for the enjoyment of which at their best Europeans must come to America. SWEET CORN AND CORN BREAD. Probably the most characteristically American thing a summer visitor from Europe will see in our dining-rooms is the eating of green corn off the cob. To be sure, he might see the same thing in visiting the Hindoos or South Africans; but they are imitators, we the originators of this delectable habit. In saying "we" I mean Americans in the broadest sense of the word, including the red Indians. It was they who first cultivated corn, in the central part of our hemisphere. From there it came north, and Columbus took it to Europe, whence it reached the other continents. They call it maize in Europe, mealies in South Africa. In England "corn" means wheat, in Scotland oats, those being their principal crops respectively. In America the main crop still is, as it was twenty centuries ago, Indian corn, which therefore is of all things edible the most thoroughly American. Three cheers for corn! In Italy, two-thirds of the rural population subsist mainly on corn, which is, however, eaten nearly always as polenta (mush), alone or with cheese, fish, or meat; whereas we have on our tables an almost endless variety of corn and corn products. The red man set the example. He ate green corn. He made a mush of ripe corn, pounding it, either parched or unparched, into a coarse meal. He mixed it diversely with pumpkins, nuts, berries, and other foods. Succotash is an Indian name which we borrowed from him, together with the dish it denotes--beans and unripe corn cooked together. The site of Montreal was once an Indian cornfield. In the "dreadful winter" of 1620-21 the colonists in Plymouth bought "eight hogsheads of corne and beanes" from the Indians, who taught them "bothe ye manner how to set it and after how to dress and tend it." Yet the most imaginative Indian could never have dreamt of how amazingly their successors on the soil would multiply the uses of corn, for the table and for countless industrial uses. We now have cook books concerned solely with corn foods. Mark Twain's appetizing list of the American dishes he missed in Europe, to which reference was made in the first chapter of this book, includes five made of corn: pone, hoe-cake, green corn on the ear, green corn cut from the ear and served with butter and pepper, and hominy. Among those he surely would have mentioned also, had he happened to recall their merits at the moment, are samp, gruel, hulled corn, or lye hominy, Indian pudding, hasty pudding, pop-corn, succotash, Boston brown bread, griddle cakes, johnnycake, mock oysters, cream of corn, Kentucky corn dodgers, and cornmeal gems. Welcome as all these specialties and many others are on American tables--fried mush and hominy are particularly to be commended to those who know not how tasty they are for breakfast, or as a dinner course, occasionally, in place of the everlasting potatoes--none of them--not even genuine pone--is quite so luscious as green corn. It may not be "elegant" to eat sweet corn off the cob, but that is the only way to get its full Flavor. There is delicious fragrance in the juicy cob, too, and in the bosom of your family it is permissible (and decidedly advisable) to suck it. Sugar cane and oranges are not the only things that are best when sucked. American horticultural ingenuity has achieved wonders in developing varieties of sweet corn with new refinements of Flavor. A few years ago C. D. Keller, of Toledo, Ohio, originated a new kind which he called the "Howling Mob," which "peculiar but apt name," in the words of Mr. Burpee, "refers to the vociferous demand for the ears when Mr. Keller takes them to market." Great, indeed, is the demand in American markets, homes, and hotels for green corn, and much ingenuity has further been expended in rearing early and late varieties so as to make the season as long as possible. Between the early Malakoff, from Siberia, and the late Country Gentleman, there are dozens of desirable varieties the characteristics of which are described in the catalogues of our seedsmen. The last-named has long been considered the sweetest of all kinds, but the new Golden Bantam is a formidable rival. Its color, which makes it look like ordinary field corn, is against it, but those who have once tasted it, sing its praises forevermore. It is related that the Rev. Sidney Smith's parishioners did not want him to visit America for fear that the allurements of canvasback duck might tempt him to remain. Sweet corn, also, might have alienated his patriotic affections. Covent Garden, to be sure, sometimes offers so-called green corn, but England has too cool nights and not enough sunshine to develop the Flavor of this vegetable. Even in America, where it grows to perfection, pains must be taken if one wants to get that Flavor at its best. All who have lived in the country agree with Dr. Wiley's dictum that "there is only one way to eat Indian corn. That is to go out just before sun-up and harvest the ears, and have them boiled for early breakfast. To people in cities who have never eaten freshly harvested Indian corn, such an experience would be a revelation." Not only do corn cobs that are kept a day or two before eating lose much of their precious fragrance, but, as the same eminent chemist informs us, "corn which is perfectly sweet and delicious at the moment of harvest, has been found to lose half of its sugar within twenty-four hours." Those who find sweet corn indigestible do not know how to eat it. If a sharp knife is pressed on each row of kernels the skin--which is the indigestible part--is cut and remains on the cob. While the demand for sweet corn is ever on the increase and fortunes are made by those who grow or handle the best--that is, the most agreeably flavored--sorts, the foods made of ripe dried corn are not eaten so generally as they ought to be, at least in the Northern States. It is desirable that everybody should know the interesting reason for the fact, known to all, that the South is more addicted than the North to the eating of dishes made of corn. That reason is very simple: corn bread in the South is made of meal which has more Flavor than the meal sold in the Northern States, and is therefore more appetizing and wholesome. Why is its Flavor better? Because it is made of ground corn from which only the indigestible hulls have been removed by bolting, whereas in the making of meal for Northern markets, the millers remove also the germ which contains the fat and most of the Flavor of corn, besides its most important mineral contents. They have contrived a diabolical machine known as the "degerminator" for the special purpose of bolting out the germs, that is, the very heart and soul, of the corn. If I add that, in the words of Dr. Charles D. Woods, Director of the Maine Agricultural Experiment Station "from the manufacturer's standpoint the removal of the germ does not represent a loss, as it is used for the manufacture of gluten feeds--so important for live stock--and corn oil, which has many industrial uses and is used to some extent as a salad oil and as a culinary fat"--the reader will begin to suspect one reason why the millers market cornmeal from which its most valuable constituent has been removed. But there is another reason for this dastardly crime and that is that "the germ lowers the keeping quality of the meal because its abundant fat easily becomes rancid." In other words cornmeal made for sale in the North is denatured deliberately in order that the miller and the grocer may not run the risk of having a few sacks of it spoil on their hands occasionally! The consumer is not considered at all. Ungastronomic America has meekly submitted to this outrage, largely because the facts of the case are not generally known. Gastronomic Americans, whose numbers are increasing rapidly, will insist on their rights, refusing to buy cornmeal from which most of the Flavor has been eliminated, and the North will in time eat as much corn bread as the South. Personally, I agree with those who think it even more tasty than wheat bread. The only advantage wheat has is that, with yeast or baking powder, it can be made into a lighter and more porous loaf; but this advantage can be neutralized by baking the corn bread in thin cakes; and corn bread thus made is far more digestible than loaves of wheat bread as ordinarily made in America. A good quality of it is also much more easily and more quickly made at home. Soldiers and campers prefer it, partly for this reason. "It has been said," writes Dr. Woods, "that johnny cake is a corruption of journey cake, and that corn bread was so called because it could be so easily prepared on the road."[19] GRIDDLE CAKES AND MAPLE SYRUP. Our breakfasts, more than other meals, are made delectable by diverse corn dishes. Corn flakes, properly made are more flavorful than any others, and of all the varieties of griddle cakes, so dear to the American palate, none quite equals those made of corn. If these are at present seen less frequently on bills of fare than are wheat, rice, or buckwheat cakes, it is because of the way in which cornmeal is usually deprived of what most appeals to the palate. Griddle cakes made of wheat are widely known as flannel cakes. I have never eaten any woolen stuff, but I imagine it might taste a good deal like the average "flannel" cake, though it would be much lighter. The French and German pancakes are far superior to our wheat cakes; but even to these I prefer the American corn griddle cakes, for which the whites of egg have been beaten stiff and added gradually; and I bask in the proud consciousness that my preference is thoroughly patriotic. The liking for buckwheat cakes is to me a mystery and always has been, although as a boy I used to eat them with rich sausage gravy, which made them palatable. Buckwheat cakes are not eaten so much as they used to be, so maybe I am not alone in disliking them. For the gratification of those who do like them I quote from the New York "Sun" a characteristically American communication from "Middle Aged": I saw in a store window to-day a sign "New Buckwheat," so I know people still eat buckwheat; but I doubt if it is as much eaten as it was in years back, say in the days when I was a youngster. We always had buckwheat cakes for breakfast. Mother, sometimes father, used to stir the batter the night before in a curious tall, round, straight sided, brown earthenware pot with a handle on it, which was sacredly reserved for that purpose. I have never seen anywhere at any time another pot just like that one; and then it was set in just the right spot by the kitchen stove, for the batter to rise through the night. In the morning they thinned this batter out just a little with water and then they fried the cakes; in our house on a long double griddle that covered two stove holes and on which you could cook two or three cakes at a time. Every morning in winter we had those buckwheat cakes, light as a feather, and with them we always had sausages or pork chops; and such sausages and pork chops I have never seen since. Sausages, not as you see them nowadays as big around as a cigar and filled with some sort of pasty material, but big sausages stuffed with meat chopped coarse and that burst open when you fried them as if anxious to reveal to you their delightful, savory richness--I hope it is given to you to be able to recall such sausages; and pork chops from pigs country raised on nearby farms, a delight to the taste and always tender. Whichever we had that morning, whether sausages or pork chops, we ate the sausage or the pork chop gravy on the cakes. Really the recollection moves me. My smiling mother--Heaven bless her!--never stinted me on the cakes; she gave me all I could eat. My father when I asked him for another sausage would sometimes ask me good-naturedly if I didn't think I had had enough; but he always handed over the sausage. And now, if you won't think I am quite a pig, I would like to say that I used to eat the last plate not with gravy but with butter and molasses on them; later we came to have syrup. And this sort of breakfast never did me any harm. There is a popular delusion that the ostrich has the hardiest of all stomachs, but really his would not for a moment bear comparison with that of the growing, outdoors boy. The serving of sausages and pork chops with griddle cakes is not so customary as it used to be; usually the cakes, whether wheat, buckwheat, rice, or corn, are now eaten with some kind of syrup. The syrup served with our griddle cakes is as characteristically American as the cakes themselves, or as the endless variety of cereal breakfast foods, one or the other of which nearly every American eats daily, with cream and sugar, and which foreigners know nothing about.[20] Strictly speaking, a syrup is "the direct product of the evaporation of the juice of a sugar-yielding plant or tree without the removal of any of the sugar," whereas molasses is "the saccharine product which is separated from sugar in the process of manufacture." Commercial "syrup" is usually a mixture of syrup, molasses (of which there are many grades) and other things. Much of it is injurious to health, and housewives who wish to see nothing unwholesome on their breakfast tables should read what Dr. Wiley has to say on this subject, on pp. 472-482 of his "Foods and Their Adulteration." The sap of sugar cane and sorghum is usually good and safe, besides being American. Even more so is the sap of the maple. George Washington and Bret Harte were not more thoroughly and exclusively American than is the _Acer saccharinum_, or sugar maple tree. Europe nor any other continent has aught to match it. The sugar made from its sap is one of the delicacies discovered by the American Indian. The early white settlers learned from him how to make it, and for many years it was the only sugar they had. It was "dark and ill-tasting" compared with the best modern product. In their appeal to the sense of taste all sweet syrups are alike. It is their fragrance, their Flavor, that makes us prefer some kinds to others. The Flavor of maple syrup has been much improved, and is still being improved, by perfecting the methods of tapping the tree, gathering the sap, boiling it, and storing the sweet product. Uncle Sam has not neglected this important branch of national gastronomic industry. His chemists have been at work to ascertain the causes of the souring of the sap under certain conditions, and to explain why the later runs do not have so pleasant a Flavor as the earlier ones. They have found it in the action of micro-organisms. While I was writing this chapter I received from Washington Farmers' Bulletin 516, a brochure of 46 pages in which the making of maple syrup and sugar is fully discussed, with detailed directions for securing the best-flavored product.[21] As in the making of butter, many things have to be done and many avoided to get the best results, but they are worth the trouble. The demand for genuine maple sugar is great, and would be much greater still if adulteration were not so much practised. In 1910, according to the U. S. Census Reports, the maple syrup production of the country was 4,106,418 gallons, and in addition to this there were made over 14,000,000 pounds of maple sugar. In that year Ohio led all the States in the production of maple syrup, followed by New York, Vermont, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, and New Hampshire. In many other States it can be made in paying quantities. Farmers are advised to attend to this industry as a source of extra income. In the Bulletin just referred to, attention is called to two important economic considerations: "The season of production comes at a time of the year when little or no other work can be done on the farm, thus allowing the aid of the family and farm help for the boiling and manufacture. Moreover, since the sugar bushes as a general rule are situated on hilly country that would not be suitable for any other crop, these two items could hardly be placed at a high value in a table of costs." Every farmer who lives in a State and region where the sugar maple prospers should secure Bulletin 516 through his representative in Washington. By attending strictly to the matter of delicate Flavor, not only can the industry be enormously increased at home but foreign markets can easily be won. Adulteration must, however, be severely curbed. Under present conditions American epicures do not put their faith in grocers but get their annual supplies early every year direct from the producer. It is best when freshly made, and unless put in cans and sealed while still hot it gradually loses its Flavor. Syrup made of dissolved maple sugar is often used, but it is less delicately flavored than that which is made at once from the sap. [Illustration: The sugar bush.] Many a time have I thanked Heaven that I was brought up in the country. How I pity those persons who, in the days of their youth, had no chance to kneel before an _Acer saccharinum_, as I did in my Missouri days (only a few miles from Mark Twain's birthplace, by the way) and drink in the nectar as it trickled through the spout into my mouth. It was more glorious even than it was some years later to suck fresh Oregon cider from a barrel through a straw. APPLE PIE AND CRANBERRIES. Is pie as thoroughly American as maple syrup, griddle cakes, and corn bread? An American is likely to answer "Yes," while an Englishman might say "No." In the English "Who's Who" the "recreations" of most of the eminent men and women of the time in Europe and America are referred to. Had Théophile Gautier lived to be included in that volume, he would have probably named among his favorite recreations "reading the dictionary," to which he is said to have been much addicted. I could never quite see the fun of this diversion till I made the acquaintance of Murray's wonderful Oxford dictionary, which traces the meaning and history of every word back through the centuries. Nothing, surely, could be more interesting, for instance, than to read in this work that the first reference to apple pie, so far as known, was as far back as 1590, when Greene, in his "Arcadia," wrote the line: "Thy breath is like the steame of apple-pyes"--thus proving himself, as I may add, an epicure as well as a poet and a lover. On another page we read: "The _pie_ appears to have been at first of meat or fish; doubtful or undefined uses appear in 16th century; _fruit pies_ (also called, especially in the north of England and Ireland, in Scotland, and often in the United States, _tarts_) appear before 1600, the earliest being Apple-Pie." Were these apple pyes the same as the American apple pie of our day? I doubt it. If they had been, the Britons of our time certainly would make the same kind, but they don't. Their substitute for our fruit pie is the tart, which has only one crust and is otherwise different. Even if it could be proved that we got our fruit pie from England, shape, contents, and all, I still would claim it as a national American dish--American by right of conquest, improvement, and countrywide use. Millions of American families eat it daily, at lunch or at dinner. The poet Emerson even ate it at breakfast, and when a guest refused it, he was surprised and exclaimed: "What is pie for?" You can make a fruit pie in the American style in Great Britain or on the Continent, but you cannot duplicate its excellence, for the simple reason that European fruit is rarely as tasty as American fruit. It must be admitted that in the making of a light, digestible crust most American cooks could learn a lesson from foreign pastry cooks, who would advise them, among other things, to partly bake the lower crust or glaze it with white of egg before the fruit is put in. But, after all, the Flavor of the fruit is the all-important thing, and in that the American pie is supreme. The Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, in his eloquent sermon on apple pie, exclaimed: "But, oh! be careful of the paste! Let it be not like putty, nor rush to the other extreme and make it so flaky that one holds his breath while eating, for fear of blowing it away. Let it not be plain as bread, yet not rich like cake." Has ever an English divine paid such attention to pie? No; the apple pie is ours, as much as our flag. But alack and alas, the apple pie is often insulted and maltreated in its own bailiwick by being over-seasoned. Beecher called attention to the fact that "it will accept almost every flavor of every spice," and he mentioned nutmeg, cinnamon, and lemon as among those which it is permissible to use. "Permissible," yes, but most inadvisable. You may say it is a matter of taste, and that you have a right to put as much nutmeg, cinnamon, or lemon extract into your pie or your apple sauce as you please. If you make it for yourself and your family, yes; but not if you make it for a restaurant. The spices named are penetrating and monopolistic; even in small quantities they obliterate the natural Flavor of the apple, or at least modify it in a way obnoxious to those true epicures who like their fruit dishes _au naturel_, just as they like prime cuts of butcher's meats without obtrusive sauces, and sausage mild-flavored, without the screaming sage or too much pepper. Nutmeg is the spice with which our apple pie is most frequently alloyed. An alloy is defined as "anything that reduces purity or excellence." If you put nutmeg into apple pie or sauce, you make it taste always the same, be it made of European or American fruit or of this or that variety of apples. Now, to an epicure the best thing about apple pie or sauce is that when served without spice _it retains the peculiar Flavor of the kind of apple it is made from_. To go to your grocer and buy "cooking apples" is almost as bad as to ask for "cooking butter." The best butter and the best apples should always be used in the kitchen--if you can afford to buy them. If you cannot, eat oatmeal and prunes. To those who have refined palates it makes a world of difference whether their apple pie and sauce are made of "cooking apples" or of Gravensteins, Red Astrachans, Newtown Pippins, or Spitzenbergs. Each variety--and dozens of others might be named--has its own special charm; and the same is true of pies and sauces made of other fruits. In the baking of pumpkin pie, which, next to that made of apples, is perhaps the most characteristically American pie, mace (which is derived from the covering of the nutmeg seed) or some other spice, is not only permissible but commendable; while mince pie, which we borrowed from the English but eat probably oftener than they do, is such a jumble of condiments--sugar, raisins, currants, almonds, apples, lemon and orange juice and peel, molasses, suet, quince jelly, and other things _ad libitum_--that it makes little difference what you add in the way of mace, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, or other spices within reason. Time was when caraway seeds, saffron, rosewater, ambergris, and other impossible things were added. As made now, mince pie is as agreeable to most palates as it is indigestible. I am told it can be made so as to be easily digestible, but I "hae ma doots." Some years ago mince pie was dignified by being made the subject of a political squabble in Washington. Dr. Wiley wanted a definition of "normal mincemeat," and thirty manufacturers were summoned to testify. Evidently some of these manufacturers were making mincemeat without the chopped meat which is an essential ingredient of the best home-made article, for they engaged a trained lexicographer, Prof. C. D. Childs, of the University of Pennsylvania, to prepare a treatise on mince pie, in which it was demonstrated that mincemeat does not necessarily contain meat. The definition in Murray's Oxford Dictionary is "a mixture made of currants, raisins, sugar, suet, apples, almonds, candied peel, etc., and sometimes meat chopped small; used in mince pies"; which shows that in England, also, meat is not always an ingredient. It is only fair to consumers, however, that the law should compel the manufacturers to print the ingredients in each case on the label. Mince pie with meat is certainly better than mince pie without. Perhaps I erred in saying that pumpkin pie is, next to apple pie, the most characteristic American pastry dish. It certainly is not more so than cranberry pie. The cranberry is not exclusively American, like maple syrup, terrapin, and canvasback duck, for it grows in some parts of Europe; but it remained for American epicures to discover its rare gastronomic merits. It took genius to do this, for in its natural wild state the berry is excessively astringent and acid. But it had a Flavor that made an irresistible appeal and invited further cultivation. Particularly agreeable is the _Oxycoccus erythrocarpus_, a variety which grows in the mountains of Virginia and Georgia. The European berries, though they used to be abundant in England, were neglected because of their inferior Flavor, and England now imports cranberries in large quantities from the United States, as do France, Italy, and Germany, chiefly for tarts. Cape Cod is now the chief camping ground of the cranberry. It has been doubled in size by cultivation, and its Flavor improved by enriching and draining the soil, and in other ways. The annual production is about three million bushels. Thanks to the growing demand for them, bog lands which were worth $5 an acre now sell at $300 to $700 per acre. The darker the berry the richer the flavor. Once upon a time I wrote a book on Romantic Love and Personal Beauty in which I tried to prove that brunettes are more beautiful than blondes. I am not sure that I succeeded--there are certainly some ravishing exceptions!--but in the matter of foods there can be no doubt that as a rule the dark are finer than the light colored. Does not Boston, the center of American culture, give its name to brown bread, and does not Boston prefer dark eggs to the anemic white ones favored in New York? Does any one who has had the good sense to buy "rusty" oranges and grapefruit deny that they are sweeter and more fragrant than the light yellow ones? Ask any epicure if he does not think the second joint of a fowl is more savory than the white meat. Bread which has a deep brown crust is more tasty than pale crumb. Crackers toasted brown are more appetizing than crackers untoasted. English rusks, German zwieback, Italian breadsticks, are they not all brunettes? Do not all vegetables, fruits, and berries darken as they ripen and develop their flavor? The darkest cranberries therefore are the ones you want to buy. And be sure that your cook in preparing cranberry sauce or jelly presses the pulp through a sieve to remove the indigestible skins. It is only when they are cooked whole and candied with an equal weight of sugar that the skins may be left on them. TURKEYS, GUINEA FOWL, AND GAME. Cranberry sauce is in America associated inseparably with turkey, and the turkey is another of our gastronomic specialties. Benjamin Franklin argued that the turkey--which is surely a finer bird than the eagle, less vicious, and infinitely more useful--should have been adopted as the emblem of the United States, for it is a truly indigenous and national bird. In Franklin's day "the log cabin of the pioneer was surrounded by these birds, saluting each other in the early morning from the treetops." Those were gala times for hunters and epicures, when wild turkeys used to fly in flocks of hundreds! They owe their name to the notion, once current, that they came to Europe from Asia. But it is now established beyond doubt that they are aboriginal Americans. It did not take the Spaniards long to find out their value, for, little more than a quarter of a century after Columbus discovered this Continent, they took some of the birds across the sea to their own country and thence the turkey soon made its way to other parts of Europe. Records show that in England, in 1541, the turkey was enumerated among the dainties, while in 1573 it had become the customary fare of the farmer. "The turkey is beyond doubt one of the finest presents the New World has made the Old," wrote the best-known of French epicures, Brillat-Savarin; and in his "Physiologie du Gout" he has a chapter in which he proudly relates how he shot one of these birds. It was in 1794; he was visiting a friend at Hartford, Connecticut, who took him out hunting one day, after having treated him on the previous evening to a dinner one course of which consisted of the entirely American corned beef, which the eminent epicure found "splendid." They shot some fat tender partridges and seven gray squirrels, "which are highly esteemed in this country"; then he had his chance at the turkey, bagged it, took it back to Hartford and had it cooked for some guests who kept exclaiming: "Very good! Exceedingly good! Oh, dear sir, what a glorious bit." [Illustration: BRILLAT-SAVARIN] Though he had a high opinion of his own judgment in matters gastronomic, Brillat-Savarin was much pleased when a friend of his, M. Bose, who lived in Carolina, contributed to the "Annales d'Agriculture" of Feb. 28, 1821, an article which confirmed his own judgment as to the superiority of the American turkey to the bird as reared in France, attributing this superiority to the fact that the American turkey roamed the woods freely and thus gained a finer Flavor than the domesticated bird has. Unfortunately, it took American poultry raisers several generations to realize the full significance of this fact. All was well so long as there were plenty of wild turkeys, the flesh of which was of perfect savor, especially during the autumn, when they lived largely on pecan nuts. All was well, too, so long as the farms were few and scattered, and there was interbreeding of wild and domesticated birds. But the time came when the turkeys degenerated, owing to excessive inbreeding and too close confinement. It is only within a few years that farmers have begun to heed the advice that "it is better to send a thousand miles for a new male than to risk the chances of inbreeding," and to restore to the turkey his forest freedom. "While our present-day turkeys are classed as 'domestic fowls, they are rather semi-domestic when compared with other poultry," writes T. F. McGrew.[22] It is this semi-game quality of the best turkeys that make them so dear to the epicure. Brillat-Savarin's verdict is that the turkey, "though not the most tender, is the most tasty of all the farm fowls,"--and few will disagree with him. For the benefit of the rapidly growing number of farmers who increase their income by raising turkeys, I will cite the words of an expert which sum up the philosophy of the subject: The flavor of all turkeys raised by careful farmers within five or six years is much finer than in the run down stock raised by old fogy farmers. The improvement in flavor has also been accompanied by an increase in size and tenderness. This is due to the admixture of the strain from wild turkeys from Canada and the South and the Southwest and to the modern system of keeping the birds out of doors as much as possible and giving them opportunities for getting plenty of mast and the seeds of wild and cultivated plants and pure water from brooks and streams kept clear from noxious plants and sewage. Birds thus reared bring fancy prices--a point to which I shall recur in the next chapter under "Feeding Flavor Into Food." It has been customary for a long time for patriotic persons to send to the President of the United States choice turkeys for the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Woodrow Wilson received one in December, 1912, from Kentucky which weighed forty-three pounds and had been nurtured "as befits a King Gobbler," on sweet chestnuts, with celery and pepper to improve its Flavor. The Guinea fowl is another bird which must roam wild to do well, and which consequently has a gamy Flavor, like the semi-domestic turkey. Though not an aboriginal American, it has become acclimated. It is an African cousin of the turkey. In his useful treatise on "The Guinea Fowl and Its Use as Food" (Farmers' Bulletin No. 234), Dr. Langworthy states that in Jamaica and some other regions the Guinea birds "have gone back to their wild state and are hunted in their season as game birds. They are also well known as game birds in England, where large flocks are sometimes kept in game preserves." On the continent they are more domesticated and are raised in large numbers for the markets of France, Austria, and Germany. What we want in our markets, however, is not the domesticated Guinea fowl so much as the half-wild. We have plenty of other good barnyard birds, including the savory squab, but we are woefully short of game, and the Guinea fowl, more than the turkey, comes to the rescue. While the mature bird has its own gamy Flavor, the chicks resemble young quail, and the eggs are a good deal like the highly valued plover eggs. Even the domesticated birds retain a surprising number of their wild traits and on this bird, therefore, we may have to depend largely for our game of the future. To the deplorable condition of our present game market I referred briefly in the chapter on Germany, where they do things so much better. In New York, quail (so abundant until a few years ago) are now imported from far-away Egypt, and grouse from Scotland, while prices have gone up like rockets. In Louisiana alone it was computed that over 4,265,000 game birds were killed in the season 1909-1910. Mrs. Russell Sage's generous gift of $150,000 secured Marsh Island as a refuge for the wild fowl. Others have helped the cause, and the Government's efforts are thus summed up in Circular No. 87 of the Bureau of Biological Survey: For purposes of administration the bird reservations are grouped in six districts: (1) The Gulf district, including 10 reservations in Florida, 4 in Louisiana, and 1 in Porto Rico; (2) the Lake district, including 2 in Michigan, 2 in North Dakota, and 1 in Wisconsin; (3) the Mountain district, including 12 in the Rocky Mountain States, South Dakota, and Nebraska; (4) the Pacific district, including 3 in California, 4 in Oregon, and 8 in Washington; (5) the Alaska district, including 8 reservations; and (6) the Hawaiian district, including 1 reservation. Wardens are stationed on the more important reservations and the National Association of Audubon Societies ... coöperates actively with the Department of Agriculture in protecting the birds. There is a special periodical, the "Gamebreeders' Magazine," devoted to the task of replenishing our stock of wild animals, which was for so many generations one of the chief assets of Gastronomic America. There are also Breeders' Associations which are planning to make American game, feathered and unfeathered, abundant once more. No one can ever bring back the large flocks of wild turkeys, the pigeons that darkened the skies, the herds of countless buffaloes; but we can at least bring back in part our former abundance of some kinds of game by following European methods. The Government is also ready to help by supplying, without charge, birds to be liberated and allowed to multiply in various places. Our native birds are, of course, best adapted for this purpose, but what can be done with imported birds is shown in Farmers' Bulletin No. 390, in which Henry Oldys of the Biological Survey tells the interesting story of how the Chinese and English pheasants have been made to feel at home in Oregon and in other States, where they have become permanent additions to the game list. "Deer Farming in the United States" is another valuable Farmers' Bulletin (No. 330), by D. E. Lantz. Its object is thus summed up: As a result of the growing scarcity of game animals in this country the supply of venison is wholly inadequate to the demand, and the time seems opportune for developing the industry of deer farming, which may be made profitable alike to the State and the individuals engaged therein. The raising of venison for market is as legitimate a business as the growing of beef and mutton, and State laws, when prohibitory, as many of them are, should be so modified as to encourage the industry. Furthermore, deer and elk may be raised to advantage in forests and on rough, brushy ground unfitted for either agriculture or stock raising, thus utilizing for profit much land that is now waste. An added advantage is that the business is well adapted to landowners of small means. Mr. Lantz is convinced that, with favorable legislation, "this excellent and nutritious meat, instead of being denied to 99 per cent. of the population of the country, may become as common and as cheap in our markets as mutton." LOBSTERS, SCALLOPS, CRABS, AND FISHES. Every inch an American is the _Homarus Americanus_. There are not so many inches of him as there used to be, but that makes him none the less precious. The Pilgrim lobsters "five or six feet long," ascribed to New York Bay in the days of Olaus Magnus, are now classed as a myth, but four-foot lobsters (measured from the tip of the claws to the end of the tail) have been caught. Such a giant weighs about thirty-four pounds. The American lobster was originally found only on the eastern coast of North America. These lobster grounds some seven thousand miles, including the curves of the shore, were the finest the world has ever seen. In Canada alone a hundred million lobsters have been captured in a year. In one respect the lobster differs strangely from other creatures of sea and land. Like the eel, he is a scavenger of the deep, but while the eel is often offensive to the taste because of this feeding habit, the lobster is always sweet. "Nothing could be more offensive to the human nostril," writes Dr. Francis Hobart Herrick,[23] "than the netted balls of slack-salted, semi-decomposing herring, which are commonly used as bait on the coast and islands of Maine, but by the wonderful chemical processes which are continually going on in the laboratory of its body, the lobster is able to transmute such products of organic decay into the most delicate and palatable flesh." Were it not for this alchemistic marvel the most plutocratic restaurants in the United States, especially those which cater to the persons who sup after the theater, would never have become known as Lobster Palaces. The lobster served in these places, plain boiled, broiled, _à la Newburg_, and in other ways, is one of those characteristic American foods which foreign epicures not only envy but enjoy, though they cannot have our crustaceans as fresh as we do. It has been well said that "the story of the lobster in its progress from the fisherman's pots on the Maine coast to the grills and silver chafing-dishes on Broadway is the whole story in miniature of the high cost of living under an artificial economic condition." The lobsterman gets a little over ten cents a pound. "The wholesaler doubles the price, the retailer trebles it, and in the end the restaurant-keeper marks it up 1,000 per cent. above the first cost, charging patrons $1.50 a portion for what the lobsterman was paid a tenth of that sum." To this extortion I, for one, refuse to submit. In the market you can buy a lobster for one quarter to one-third the price charged in most restaurants. You can make sure he is alive--never buy a dead lobster, though they say he is safe to eat if his tail is curled and springs back when pulled. To kill him by plunging him in boiling water may seem cruel, but is no more so than other ways, and is certainly infinitely less so than the usual way--which should be forbidden--of letting him perish slowly in a barrel, or on ice. Canned lobster is a food a wise man avoids, though, to be sure, he runs perhaps no greater risk in eating it than in consuming many other things, tinned or untinned. Millions of dollars' worth of canned lobsters, crabs, and salmon are eaten every year. A new American delicacy hails from Canada: lobster rarebit, a compound of certain parts of the lobster which had previously been thrown away as waste by the canners. The annual output of canned lobster by the Eastern Provinces of Canada now amounts to about ten million cans, worth about $3,000,000. Lobster rarebit, which is said to be a highly appetizing delicacy, easily digested and nourishing may, it is believed, in time equal the money value of canned lobsters. Consul Frank Deedmeyer, of Charlottetown, gave these details at the time when lobster rarebit was first introduced: Canned lobster, as known to the trade, consists of the meat taken from the claws and the tail. The whole of the body proper is now rejected by the packers, and it has heretofore been used in the maritime Provinces of Canada as a fertilizer. In the rejected portion is found a crescent-shaped meaty layer to which the tail is attached and the liver. Lobster rarebit is a compound of this meaty layer, of the liver, and of the roe, to which some spice is added. The first named of the components used is the fattest part of the crustacean; the liver, glandular, is large and retains a high percentage of bile. The number of eggs found in a lobster is estimated from 5,000 to 40,000, according to size. The three ingredients are mixed in these proportions: Six-tenths meat, three-tenths liver, and one-tenth roe. While the efforts to propagate the Atlantic lobster have met with scant success on the Pacific Coast there are other marine delicacies to console those who dwell on the shore from Southern California to Washington and British Columbia; among them the abalone of Catalina, which makes delicious soup, the razor clam and monster specimens of other clams in Washington waters, oysters, huge crabs, and above all, crawfish. +------------------------+ |ALL POTATOES SERVED WILL| | BE CHARGED FOR | +------------------------+ MONDAY, JANUARY 6, 1913 =SOUPS= Mock turtle 30 Chicken, creole 25 Scotch broth 25 Cream of asparagus 25 Consomme, duchesse 25 Paysanne 25 Tomato 25 Mutton 25 Consomme, hot or cold 25 " cup 15 Oyster 25 Clam chowder 25 =FISH READY= Boiled live codfish, oyster sauce 40 =OYSTERS= Lynnhavens 30 Blue Points Buzzards Bays Cotults On the shell 25 Oyster cocktail 30 Fried in batter 50 Pan roast 40 Roast in shell 40 Escaloped in shell 40 Stewed 30 Fried 40 Box stew 40 Astor House oyster flip 40 Au gratin 50 Pickled 30 Steamed 40 Broiled 40 =CLAMS= Little-Neck clams stewed 30 " steamed 35 " clam cocktail 30 " clams roasted 40 " fried 40 " on shell 25 Clam broth 25 Clam fritters 40 Soft shell clams, steamed 35 =SHELL FISH= Plain lobster 90 Lobster croquettes 75 Deviled lobster 75 Lobster à la Newburg 1 00 Broiled lobster 1 00 Baked lobster, stuffed 75 CHICKEN PATTY 40 FRIED SCALLOPS 50 OYSTER PATTY 35 WITH BACON 60 DEEP SEA SCALLOPS WITH BACON 50 =ENTREES= Beef a la mode, bourgeoise 40 Fricassee of veal with mushrooms 50 Whole spring chicken en casserole, asparagus tips 1 50 Irish stew with vegetables 40 Loin of fresh pork, apple sauce 50 Lobster patties, Maryland 60 Calf's head, vinaigrette 50 Apple fritters, rum sauce 30 =ROAST= Beef 50 Leg of mutton 40 Roast beef sandwich, hot 45 Lamb, mint sauce 75 Suckling pig, apple sauce 50 Filet of beef 70 Ham, Champagne sauce 50 Turkey, cranberry sauce 65 Philadelphia chicken, half 75 Pork, apple sauce 50 =BOILED= Corned beef and cabbage 40 Mutton, caper sauce 40 =VEGETABLES AND RELISHES= Fried sweet potatoes 20 Potatoes, boiled 10 " baked 10 " mashed 10 " julienne 20 " French fried 15 Onions, boiled 15 Spinach 20 Macaroni, plain 15 " au gratin 25 " napolitaine 20 " à la Montgelas 30 Olives 20 New string beans 30 Stewed tomatoes 15 Beets 15 Fried eggplant 30 Cold slaw 20 Radishes 10 Celery 25 French peas, naturel 30 French string beans 30 Succotash 20 Mashed turnips 10 Cabbage 15 Cauliflower 30 au gratin 40 French artichokes 50 Canned asparagus 30 " Lima beans 25 " sweet corn 20 " green peas 25 " string beans 25 Fonds d'artichauts farcis 75 Pin-money pickles 10 Pickled onions 20 Pickled English walnuts 25 Chow chow 10 Stuffed mangoes 15 Chili sauce 10 Chutney sauce 15 =Cigars Served in Sealed Envelopes with Price Marked Thereon= =TO ORDER= Small steak 60 Sirloin steak 1 10 Extra sirloin steak 2 00 Small tenderloin steak 60 Porterhouse steak 1 50 Squab guinea-hen 1 75 half 90 English mutton chop 50 Mutton chops 40 Sweetbreads 75 Philadelphia chicken broiled, half 75 Squab 75 Jumbo squab 90 Stuffed squab 1 00 =COLD= Roast beef 50 Ham 40 Pork 40 Corned beef 40 Tongue 40 Lamb 75 Roast turkey 60 Half roast chicken 75 Veal 40 Leg of mutton 40 Baked pork and beans 35 Pate de foie-gras 1 00 Lamb's tongue 40 Sardines 40 Crackers and milk 20 Crackers and half and half 30 Crackers and cream 40 Rice and milk, bowl 25 Rice and cream, bowl 40 Graham wafers and milk 25 " " half and half 35 =SALADS= Lobster 75 Chicken 60 Celery 40 Potato 25 Chicory 40 Watercress 30 Shrimp 50 Spanish or Bermuda onion 30 Lettuce 25 Romaine 25 Cucumber 25 Tomato 25 Escarole 40 Mixed (2) kinds 40 (3) 50 =PUDDINGS AND PIES= English plum pudding, hard and brandy sauce 25 Apple tapioca pudding, claret sauce 15 Steamed plum dumpling, rum sauce 15 Peach pie 15 Pumpkin pie 15 Apple pie 15 Boston cream puffs 10 Mince pie 20 Cold corn starch pudding 15 Hot or cold rice pudding 15 Snow pudding 15 =SWEET DISHES= Rice cake 10 Wine cake 10 " with ice cream 25 Cream cake 10 Charlotte russe 15 Cream meringue 15 Macaroon glace 30 Meringue glacee 25 Meringue panachee 30 Ice cream, strawberry 20 " coffee 20 " vanilla 20 " chocolate 20 " French 25 " Neapolitan 25 Biscuit Tortoni 30 Nesselrode 30 Lemon water ice 20 Roman punch 25 Siberian punch 25 Blanc mange 15 Honey in comb 20 Currant jelly 20 Farina jelly with cream 20 Champagne jelly 25 Soft vanilla custard 15 Soft vanilla custard frozen 25 Cup custard 15 Brandy peaches 50 Bar-le-Duc jelly 40 Banana jelly 20 Brandy jelly 20 Orange jelly 20 Tarts 10 =CHEESE= Swiss 15 Cream 20 Camembert 20 Roquefort 25 Imperial 15 Neufchatel 15 English 15 Brie 20 =FRUIT= Grapefruit 40 half 25 Malaga grapes 25 Concord grapes 25 Baked apples & cream, each 15 Oranges, each 10 Apples, each 10 Bananas, each 10 Apple sauce 15 Pear 10 Stewed prunes 15 Stewed rhubarb 15 Preserved figs 30 with cream 40 =TEA, COFFEE ETC.= Cup of coffee 10 with cream 15 Pot of coffee 25 Demi-tasse coffee 10 Pot of chocolate 25 Pot of cocoa 25 Cup of tea 10 Pot of green tea 20 Pot of Oolong tea 20 Pot of Japan tea 20 Pot of English breakfast tea 20 Pots of tea with cream 25 Glass of milk 10 Glass of cream 20 Buttermilk 10 Lunch Bill of Fare of a Popular New York Restaurant In Oregon, the crawfish abounds in creeks and rivers, varying in size with the volume of the river. One of my favorite amusements as a boy used to be to sit on the bank of a creek taking care of several lines, to the ends of which were tied pieces of meat. No net was needed; the crustaceans were so abundant and so hungry that they refused to let go when lifted out of the water, and often I landed six or more fastened to the same piece of meat. Our favorite picnics were those for which we took along no food--only a kettle and a handful of salt. The crawfish did the rest. They are more tender and succulent than lobsters, and even more delicate in flavor. St. Louis disputes with Portland the honor of being the greatest crawfish-eating center in the United States. The Mississippi River crawfish has made St. Louis famous among epicures. Until a few years ago, the "Republic" of that city informs us, "the waters around St. Louis on every side fairly swarmed with this fresh-water relation of the lobster. Every pond, slough, and back water was full of them. All the creeks and pools were their homes. Their little mud 'chimneys' dotted the creek bottoms and lined the banks of the ponds and sloughs. Hundreds of joyous St. Louisans struck out for the open on every holiday, armed with a pole, a few pieces of liver, and a dip net, bent on their capture. They caught so many that they brought them in by the sackful. Thousands of the little crustaceans were eaten every day of the season. From April until after the snowfalls of November every real St. Louisan ate a few crawfish every week." In 1910 this abundance had diminished to such an extent that a mandate was issued by the State Fish and Game officials which put a stop to angling in the city's waters. The crawfish multiplies so rapidly, however, that it will doubtless soon replenish the waters, and once more there will be parts of St. Louis and other cities where the evening air will be "laden with the unmistakable odor of boiling crawfish." Of the great variety of crabs peculiar to our waters the one which most appeals to epicures is the "soft shell," which, when very soft, is eaten skin, bones, and all. But wait--there is another kind, still more delicate and toothsome--the oyster crab. It dwells within the mantle chamber and feeds on the juices of the oyster. No wonder it tastes good. Fortunately, it is not one of the many enemies of the bivalve, being quite harmless. Its scarcity, combined with its diminutive size, makes it a luxury comparable to the old Roman millionaire's dish of nightingale tongues. A foreigner looking at an American bill of fare is struck first of all by the number of ways in which oysters are listed: raw, stewed, fried, steamed, baked in the shell, scalloped, creamed, and so on; and by the fact that the locality from which the oysters that are served raw are supposed to come is named--Blue Point, Shrewsbury, Rockaway, Buzzard's Bay, Cape Cod, Norfolk, Saddle Rock, etc. In this matter there is, to be sure, much deception. It has become customary, in particular, to give the name of Blue Point to any small oyster, and to call any kind of large size a Saddle Rock; while many a worthless floated oyster masquerades under the name of the juicy and delicious Lynnhaven. The oyster cracker, and the soda cracker in general, is an American specialty which Europeans will doubtless adopt some day as tasty, nutritious and easily digested additions to the dietary. As sold now, in dust and moisture-proof packages, they will easily find their way to foreign stomachs. Clam chowder, steamed soft clams, and raw Littlenecks are among the delicacies an American misses in Europe. As for our scallop, Paderewski thinks it is the best edible thing America produces. Many other epicures doubtless agree with him. As seen in our markets the scallop is simply the abductor muscle of the bivalve. The remainder of the body is thrown away or used as fertilizer, though much of it is tender and of fine Flavor. Nor is this wastefulness the only cause for complaint. The best scallops are small; they are expensive, and the dealers, knowing that by soaking them they can bloat a pint of them till they fill a quart, subject them to this "freshening," which as thoroughly takes all the marine Flavor out of them as "floating" takes it out of the oyster. In this condition, too, they spoil sooner and become dangerous to eat. I agree with F. Powers that "a man who soaks scallops and then offers them for sale should be imprisoned." The scallop dredgers were among the first to take advantage of the new parcel post, which enables them to send the unspoiled mollusc to any one within a reasonable distance. Concerning our fishes it is easy to say that the finest-flavored are the shad, the whitefish, the Chinook salmon, the rainbow trout; but when you happen to be eating a baby bluefish or a Spanish mackerel just out of the water, you may change your mind for the time being; you are sure to do this, also, if you happen to be in New Orleans and eat fresh pompano as prepared by a Creole cook. The sheepshead, the smelt, the catfish, the sturgeon, the halibut, are excellent; and so is the swordfish, which is far too little known among gourmets. Its flesh might be more tender, but it has a fine Flavor, suggesting a combination of salmon and halibut. It is for the cod, however, that I wish to plead most earnestly. Some persons (usually persistent smokers, or individuals whose sense of smell is not well developed) maintain that the cod is "tasteless." As a matter of fact it has a subtle but most delicious Flavor which, when the fish is fresh, reminds me of the flesh of crawfish. At present (1913) the cod enjoys the advantage of being the only fish, with the exception of trout, that can be bought alive in the markets of New York. "Live cod," when listed on restaurant menus, is in great demand. It is not always equally good, however, because much of the "live cod" is really live hake, which is far inferior in Flavor. The substitution of haddock for cod is less objectionable. Much of the salted and dried fish which goes into the typically American codfish balls, is also cod in name only. Dealers who use benzoate of soda or other chemicals to preserve it, give elaborate directions for soaking them out. It is needless to say that this soaking process also takes out all the Flavor. VEGETABLES STEADILY GAINING GROUND. Historians are usually so deeply interested in all the petty details of politics that such trifles as the food which keeps us alive gets no attention at all. Macaulay was a laudable exception. Another is Macmaster. In the first volume of his "History of the People of the United States" he remarks that a century ago tomatoes, cauliflower, and eggplants were not to be found at the corner grocery; oranges and bananas were a luxury of the rich; and there were no cultivated varieties of strawberries or raspberries. Of apples and pears there were plenty, but "none of those exquisite varieties, the result of long and assiduous nursing, grafting, and transplanting, which are now to be had of every greengrocer." In Boston, at that time, "beef and pork, salt fish, dried apples and vegetables, made up the daily fare from one year's end to another." "The wretched fox grape was the only kind that found its way to the market, and was the luxury of the rich." "Among the fruits and vegetables of which no one had then even heard are cantaloupes, many varieties of peaches and pears, tomatoes and rhubarb, sweet corn, the cauliflower, the eggplant, head lettuce and okra." To-day, how different the situation! In the catalogues of the seedsmen more than fifty kinds of vegetables are listed, and of each kind a dozen, or several dozen, distinct varieties are offered for sale. Yet these varieties represent only a very small proportion of the vast number that have been created. In his instructive book on Plant Breeding, L. H. Bailey has a chapter on one of the most deserving of American originators of new varieties of vegetables, N. B. Keeney, of Leroy, New York. Mr. Keeney was at one time raising sixty-five varieties of garden peas and sixty-nine of beans, thirteen of the latter of his own originating, including the stringless kinds which have been introduced throughout the country by Mr. Burpee, and which are one of America's greatest achievements in plant development. The Professor was told by Mr. Keeney that fully three thousand varieties and forms of beans had been discarded by him as profitless! In the same volume Professor Bailey informs us that the date of the first fruit book is 1817. "In 1845, nearly two hundred varieties of apples were described as having been fruited in this country, of which over half were of American origin." In 1872 the number of varieties described was 1823, and in 1892 American nurserymen offered for sale 878 varieties of apples. Among the vegetables which have been varied and improved by American breeders are the squashes, pumpkins, sweet potatoes, rhubarb, celery, corn, lettuce, tomatoes, watermelons, cantaloupes, cucumbers, potatoes, and eggplants. One vegetable, Brussels sprouts, has not been improved but greatly impaired by some man (whether an American or a European I do not know) who crossed it with cabbage, making the sprouts larger but less finely flavored and also less digestible. As I wrote of tomatoes, which are of American origin, in the chapters on France and Italy I have only a few words to add. It is an odd fact that although we can claim this succulent vegetable as one of the New World blessings, it was in the Old World, in the Mediterranean countries that its gastronomic value was first fully realized. In the United States, as in England and Germany, there seems to have been a prejudice against it because of its belonging to the same family as the deadly nightshade. Much ingenuity has been expended in creating new varieties and prolonging the season. It is a most unfortunate circumstance that some of our most important vegetables are killed by the slightest frost. This is true of squashes, pumpkins, potatoes, beans, cucumbers, melons, and tomatoes. Knowing that Luther Burbank had succeeded in making apple-blossoms frost-proof, I once asked him to please do the same for tomatoes. He shook his head and replied that that was beyond his powers, because of their semi-tropic origin and habits. Yellow tomatoes are not so much used (except for preserves) as they deserve to be. They have a very fine Flavor of their own. In regard to red varieties, it may be well to warn the breeders not to go too far in their efforts to create "beefsteak" varieties by reducing the seed pulp to a minimum. It is in that pulp that the richest Flavor is found, and the seeds do not appear to be indigestible. Like the tomatoes, celery belongs to a family of poisonous plants and was also for a long time considered poisonous, which is doubtless the reason why it is only within comparatively recent years that it has come so much into demand. To-day it is raised all the way from Florida to Michigan, where it flourishes, particularly in the muck-bed area. Celery is not indigenous to our soil. It has been used in Europe for centuries, but in the kitchen rather than as an ornament of the dining-room. In Italy, France, Germany, it is treated as a pot-herb, for flavoring stews and soups, the unbleached plant being preferred because of its more powerful Flavor; but all celery tops and leaves are useful for this purpose; they certainly do much to give zest to soups and stews. So far as known England was the first country to appreciate the charm of blanched celery. In a book called "The New World of Words," published by a nephew of Milton in 1678, we read that "Sellerie is an herb which, nursed up in a hot-bed and afterwards transplanted into rich ground, is usually whited for an excellent winter sallad." We also use it to some extent as a salad, but it needs no vinegar for pungency, and most of us prefer to eat the stalks plain, _cum grano salis_. Few who eat it this way know that it is much more digestible if the stalk is broken in pieces and the fiber stripped off. Stewing softens the fibers. Cooked _au jus_, celery is almost better even than raw. If I had the choice of a dozen vegetables at dinner, I would more often than any other choose celery _au jus_. Raw celery is seen so much more frequently on the table in this country than in any other that it may be virtually considered an American specialty. Nowhere else is it so crisp and tender, or so eagerly craved. It is a nerve tonic, and we need nerve tonics. While melons are not indigenous to America, many of the choicest varieties of cantaloupes and watermelons are creations of our growers. Nowhere in the world will you find anything to surpass in sweetness and fragrance the Emerald Gem, the New Spicy, or the Rocky Ford, most luscious of all. The New World's most important contribution to other countries, so far as nutritive value is concerned, is the potato. How Ireland and Germany, in particular, could have ever got on without this vegetable, it is difficult to imagine. Sweet potatoes also are of American origin. They have been slow in making headway in Europe because they do not, like the white potato, grow in almost any soil and climate. Farmers' Bulletin No. 324 is devoted to sweet potatoes. Its author, W. R. Beattie, of the Bureau of Plant Industry, remarks that "as a commercial truck crop the sweet potato would be included among the five of greatest importance, ranking perhaps about third in the list. As a food for the great mass of the people living in the warmer portions of our country the use of this crop is exceeded by hominy and rice only." In the Philippine Islands it is at certain seasons almost the only food available for the lower classes. There are many varieties, the soft, moist kinds being richer in Flavor than the others. These are preferred in the South where a mealy sweet potato would not be eaten. THE FRUIT EATERS' PARADISE. Many a time, in contemplating the conditions described under the heading of "Ungastronomic America," have I wished I lived in Europe; yet, every time, my gastronomic allegiance to the Stars and Stripes is cemented again by the contemplation of the glorious fruits we produce. This feeling is the stronger because I had the rare good fortune to grow up in an Oregon apple orchard. Oregon apples gave me my college education, and my sturdy health, too, for nothing is more wholesome than apples, and from my eighth to my eighteenth year I ate more apples than anything else. In our orchard of many hundreds of trees there were scores of varieties, some of which I would no more have thought of eating than a raw potato. Not that they would not have found a ready sale in any market; but at home they were rejected because of their inferiority in Flavor to the Gravenstein, the Red Astrachan, the Baldwins, the Northern Spy, Yellow Newtown and Green Newtown Pippins, Winesap, Roxbury Russet, White Winter Pearmain, Swaar, Seek-No-Further, and the Rambo, juiciest of cider apples and good to eat out of hand. We also used to peel and cut up apples for drying. Very few people know the most delicious way to eat apples. We knew it. Turn the wheel of the peeler round two or three times; that removes the skin; then keep on turning till all the pulp has peeled off into your left hand. Raise your head, drop into your mouth the pulp of the apple and you will know the meaning of the word Flavor. And the best of it is that if eaten that way, raw apples are not indigestible for anybody. Thirty-two years after these glorious feasts had come to an end I was pleased to get for review E. P. Powell's delightful book, "The Country Home,"[24] and to find that that eminent connoisseur's ideas regarding the best American apples coincided in the main with my youthful convictions. I cannot too strongly urge my readers to get that volume and enjoy Mr. Powell's remarks--written _con amore_ as well as with the knowledge of an expert--on the kinds of apples, pears, peaches, plums, cherries, and other fruits which it is most advisable to raise on American farms, and what is the best way to do it. Strawberries, gooseberries, currants and blackberries have a chapter to themselves, for of all these there are distinct American varieties--and under the heading, "Tons of Grapes," the author gives pages of appetizing information about the fruit which, next to apples, is a prime article of diet. He shows how you can manage to have grapes six or seven months every year, and tells what are the best varieties to grow. Every farmer and owner of a country home should raise grapes. "It is cheaper and better food than meat and vegetables, and they never tire of it. I recommend that you go out before breakfast and sample a half-dozen sorts; repeat the experiment before dinner, and if the digestion is poor, take nothing else for supper." Grapes are nothing if not American--that is, some grapes are. They are indigenous to the soil, growing wild nearly everywhere, from the extreme south to the banks of the Androscoggin in Maine, where I have often picked them. A curious and important difference between grapes in America and in Europe is noted by Professor Bailey in his "Sketch of the Evolution of Our Native Fruits." The American grape--that is, the ameliorated offspring of the native species, "is much unlike the European fruit. It is essentially a table fruit, whereas the other is a wine fruit. European writings treat of the vine, but American writings speak of grapes." Yet it was not till the middle of the nineteenth century that "the modern table use of the native grape began to be appreciated and understood." That grapes were not brought from Europe to America is absolutely certain. Long before Columbus, there came across the sea Leif, who, in the words of Justin Winsor, "found vines hung with their fruit, which induced Leif to call the country Vineland." In New England, Edward Winslow wrote in 1621 that "here are grapes, white and red, and very sweet and strong also." Professor Bailey's book is largely devoted to the men who improved American fruits--men who, as he justly intimates, deserve commemoration quite as much as persons who are distinguished in military operations. But while we, as a nation, have reason to feel proud of the achievements of these men, a great deal more remains to be done. Professor Bailey does not say which of our Eastern grapes he considers the best, but I am sure he would agree with me that the Delaware has a finer Flavor than any other kind, and of the four chief American grapes the Delaware is the only one "which gives any very strong evidence of foreign blood." This point has been disputed; but it is certainly true that "the types we grow are yet much inferior to the Old World types." Our Concords, Niagaras, and Catawbas, in particular, are capable of great improvement in the matter of Flavor. Fortunes are in store for growers who will take the hint. It is well to bear in mind that there are varieties, such as the Iona, Eldorado, Brighton, Worden, Hayes, and Lindley, which, though not to be found in our wretched markets, are delicious. They are enjoyed by owners of country residences and their guests, even though city folk are unaware of their existence. Altogether, the American grapes have given rise to some eight hundred domestic varieties, about one hundred of which may be found listed in catalogues. Flavors cannot be transplanted. European grapes grown in America get a different "taste," and the wines made of them have not the same bouquet. A few exceptions there are, notably the muscatel grape, which is almost as delicious in California as it is in Spain. But as a rule it is a waste of money to attempt to duplicate European fruits. Many millions have been spent in vain efforts to do this. To succeed, we must be American. Long ago we learned to enjoy our game and our many varieties of distinctive sea foods of unique Flavor. Our native vegetables, wild nuts, fruits, and berries, we also appreciated, but these still offer limitless opportunities for improvement of their qualities--a proceeding which pays better than importing things European. Our nuts, among them the hickory, pine, and black walnut, are delightfully racy of the soil. They, too, are as American as the Indians, and wherever possible their intermarriage with our domesticated fruits and berries is a consummation devoutly to be wished. Our wild crab-apples, for instance, of which there are five types, while excessively sour, have a superabundance of flavor. By transfusing their blood into the domesticated apples we can eliminate the excess of acid and give to many of our big apples a richer aroma. The persimmon is one of our native fruits of unlimited possibilities. Heretofore, our markets have been supplied chiefly with the Japanese kaki, raised in California or Florida. It is a delicious fruit, but there are native varieties which in the opinion of some are even finer than the Japanese. Ordinarily the wild American persimmon is as sour and astringent as a crabapple, fit only for the 'coon and the 'possum. But there have been enthusiasts whose belief in the future of our persimmon amounted to a passion. One of these was Bryant, "whose zeal as a cultivator and whose interest in fruit-growing were almost as great as his poetic enthusiasm." To Professor Bailey he expressed his belief that the finest persimmons of the future would be grown in the alluvial meadows of southern Indiana. While the persimmon is as delicious as the banana, the demand for it has not been so great as it will be when the public learns that this fruit has the finest Flavor and is most wholesome when it looks like an overripe tomato which no one would buy. An Italian pushcart man used to smile when he saw me approaching. He knew I would pick out those which were so soft that they could be taken home only in a paper box. "Ah, you know, you know!" he used to say, pleased that his best things were not left on his hands by the uninformed multitude. As a boy I used to enjoy hugely the May apple--a plum-shaped fruit growing on a low plant. What was my indignation when, some years later, I began to study botany and found in Professor Asa Gray's text book a description of that fruit, ending with the words: "Eaten by pigs and boys." I promptly made up my mind that if adults do not relish this luscious fruit they have something to learn from pigs and boys. Another Southern fruit, abundant in Missouri, which greatly pleased my boyish palate, was the pawpaw. Professor Bailey says that most people do not relish its flavor, nor does he believe that it will be possible to awaken much interest in this fruit. Mr. Powell, on the other hand, pays it a high tribute. He sees "no reason why this delicious fruit, a sort of hardy banana, should not be grown everywhere in our gardens." Those are the words of an epicure. I am sure the pawpaw has a great future. To many it may be an acquired taste, but so are olives, and the most appetizing of all table delicacies, Russian caviare. I thank my stars that I always took naturally to such things; it has added much to the pleasures of life. So far as pawpaws are concerned, it will be easier to persuade skeptics to try to learn to like them if they are told that their juice is considered by medical men a great aid to digestion. Papain is much used as a substitute for soda mints. GOVERNMENTAL GASTRONOMY. It is safe to say that in no other country has the Government done so much as ours has to advise and aid those who raise foods and those who prepare them for the table. In the preceding pages reference has been made to dozens of Farmers' Bulletins and other publications containing the results of experiments, made at the cost of many millions of dollars, with a view to informing the public on those matters. Every State and Territory now has its own Agricultural Experiment Stations. Primarily, the aims of these stations are of course agricultural and economic; in the last analysis, however, what are all the Bulletins issued by them but so many lessons in national gastronomy? A few years ago the Department of Agriculture boldly invaded the kitchen itself, providing excellent lessons in the arts of preparing and preserving good food, in such bulletins as "The Care of Milk and Its Use in the Home," "Bread and Bread-making," "Food Customs and Diet in American Homes," "Care of Food in the Home," "Economical Use of Meat in the Home," "Preparation of Vegetables for the Table," "Composition and Digestibility of Potatoes and Eggs," "Cereal Breakfast Foods," "Food Value of Cottage Cheese, Rice, Peas, and Bacon," "Cheese and Its Economic Uses in the Diet," "Varieties of Cheese," "Fish as Food," "Sugar as Food," "Beans, Peas, and Other Legumes as Food," "Poultry as Food," "Use of Fruit as Food," "Nuts and Their Uses as Food," "Canning Vegetables in the Home," etc. For farmers, truck gardeners, and those who market foods, there is a still longer list of Bulletins, Circulars, Experiment Station Reports, and other Government publications. To mention only a few of them: "Potato Culture," "Sheep-feeding," "The Sugar Beet," "Asparagus Culture," "Marketing Farm Produce," "Care of Milk on the Farm," "Ducks and Geese," "Rice Culture," "The Apple and How to Grow It," "Grape Growing in the South," "Home Fruit Garden," "Home Vineyard," "Cheese-making on the Farm," "Cranberry Culture," "Squab Raising," "Meat on the Farm: Butchering, Curing, Etc.," "Importation of Game Birds and Eggs for Propagation," "Strawberries," "Turkeys," "Canned Fruits, Preserves, and Jellies," "Cream Separators on Western Farms," "Raspberries," "Tomatoes," "The Guinea Fowl," "Cucumbers," "Maple Sugar and Syrup," "Home Vegetable Garden," "Celery," "Poultry Management," "Sweet Potatoes," "Onion Culture," "A Successful Poultry and Dairy Farm," "Bees," "A Successful Hog and Seed-Corn Farm," "Manufacture of Butter for Storage," "Butter-making on the Farm," "Facts Concerning the History, Commerce and Manufacture of Butter," "The Cultivation of Mushrooms," and many more. These valuable monographs were prepared by experts, mostly specialists, women as well as men. Distributed free when first published, they are afterwards sold at cost price, usually a nickel apiece; few of them cost more than a dime. Full lists, with prices and general instructions can be obtained by sending a postal card to the Superintendent of Documents at Washington. There are separate price lists of documents relating to agriculture, dairying, food and diet, irrigation, soils, wild animals, fishes, health and hygiene, poultry and birds, etc. In addition to all these documents there are many papers in the _Daily Consular and Trade Reports_ containing valuable information on foreign foods and methods of marketing, gathered by the Consuls at the Government's request. The supplying of information on everything relating to foods is only one phase of the Government's gastronomic activity. Another consists in calling attention to neglected edible plants. On this subject one of the experts of the Bureau of Plant Industry says: What we call weeds are no more so than other plants that we term vegetables. Weeds are vegetables, and our so-called vegetables were once upon a time no more than weeds. The classification results from a matter of habit. We are slaves of habit, and because we are so it has not occurred to us that we could eat anything but just the old list of vegetables our ancestors have eaten for generations. But now we are having our eyes opened and are beginning to peer into fence corners and back yards and wild pastures for new and wonderful foodstuffs that we have heretofore regarded as just weeds. It is a bit mortifying that because of this preconceived idea we have let most nutritious and valuable foodstuffs go to waste under our very eyes, while perhaps we were wailing that we had little to eat and that vegetables were too expensive and so on. Among the plants thus neglected, but which, if properly improved and marketed, would enrich truck farmers, are yellow dock, dandelions, milkweed, golden thistles, mallows, purslane (recommended by Thoreau), poke shoot, red clover, sorrel, hop shoots, yarrow, leek, and lupines. A third gastronomic function of our Government is the importing of foreign fruits and vegetables that promise to add agreeable variety to the American dietary. For this purpose experts are sent to all parts of the world to find and bring home new plants which are then acclimated in accordance with the latest scientific methods. David Fairchild, one of these gastronomic explorers, has repeatedly given in the "National Geographic Magazine" fascinating glimpses of the activity of the Bureau of Plant Industry in this direction. What he says about the date is particularly suggestive. Search through the deserts of the world has revealed the fact that the dates of our markets are only one or two kinds of the vast number of varieties known to the Arabs and others whose principal food is the date. "Those we prize as delicacies are by no means looked upon by the desert dwellers as their best." The search has brought to light, among other desirable kinds, "the hard, dry date, which Americans do not know at all, and which they will learn to appreciate as a food, just as the Arab has." In 1906 no fewer than a hundred and seventy varieties of dates had been introduced, and many of these are now growing successfully in Arizona. The time will come when we can have the choice of as many different kinds of dates in our markets as we have now of apples and pears. And this experiment with dates is, as Mr. Fairchild says, something that "private enterprise would not have undertaken for decades to come." Experiments by the Bureau of Plant Industry are being carried on also in Porto Rico, the Philippines, Hawaii, and the Panama Canal Zone. It makes one's mouth water to read what Mr. Fairchild writes, for instance, of the mangosteen. There are at least fifteen edible species. "It has a beautiful white fruit pulp, more delicate than that of a plum, and a flavor that is indescribably delicate and luscious, while its purple-brown rind will distinguish it from all other fruits and make it bring fancy prices wherever it is offered for sale." The mango has for many years tried to secure a place in our markets, but the specimens supplied--usually from worthless seedling trees--have given it a bad name. The Government office of Pomology has been cultivating the infinitely superior Mulgoba mangoes of East India, "fit to set before a king," and will probably, ere long, add this to the list of marketable delicacies. In India there are mangoes of all sizes and flavors, some of which Americans of the future will no doubt enjoy. The United States Government has, furthermore, gone into the business of creating entirely new fruits, and valuable varieties of nuts, particularly pecans, on which the Department of Agriculture has specialized. Great improvements in corn, wheat, and other cereals have also been made at the Government's Experiment Stations, not to speak of stock breeding, some of which has a gastronomic value. Nearly every volume of the "Year Book" of the Department of Agriculture has a chapter or two on this subject, and some of the papers have been reprinted separately. Probably the two most important of the new creations are the tangelo and the citrange--new names for new fruits which seem destined to become as common in our markets as oranges, lemons, limes and grapefruit. The tangelo is a hybrid of the tangerine orange and the pomelo (grapefruit). There are several varieties. It is described as being sweeter than the pomelo, but more sprightly acid than the tangerine. It has the loose "kid-glove" skin of the latter fruit. "The characteristic bitter flavor of the pomelo is considerably reduced but remains as a pleasant suggestion of that popular fruit." I have had no opportunity to try this novelty, but Professor Bailey pronounces it "an excellent dessert fruit and an interesting and valuable acquisition." Of the citrange, also, there are several varieties, the Rusk, Willits, and Morton. They are the outcome of an attempt to combine the hardiness of the worthless trifoliata orange (_citrus trifoliata_) with the sweetness of the common orange. The Morton is very near to a sweet orange; while the Willits makes a good drink and replaces the lemon for culinary purposes. The Rusk "makes a very delightful citrangeade, a good pie, and excellent marmalade and preserves. For the latter uses it may ultimately be grown extensively." BURBANK'S NEW FRUITS AND VEGETABLES. As a creator of new plants useful to mankind as superior foods, or because of their beauty, no man is the peer of Luther Burbank, of Santa Rosa, California. In the words of David Starr Jordan, president of the Leland Stanford University, "Luther Burbank is the greatest originator of new and valuable forms of plant life of this or any other age." "He is all that he has ever been said to be, and more," says Professor Bailey of Cornell University, America's chief authority on horticulture; and the leading foreign botanist, Hugo de Vries, of Amsterdam, admits that "in all Europe there is no one who can even compare with Luther Burbank. He is a unique, great genius." That last sentence explains Mr. Burbank's supremacy. He has, it must be admitted, enjoyed unique advantages. The climate of California has been in his favor, enabling him in some cases to raise more than one crop in a year and to operate on a larger scale than any one else has ever done. Of fruits alone, for instance, he has had under test at one time "300,000 distinct varieties of plums, different in foliage, in form of fruit, in shipping, keeping, and canning qualities, 60,000 peaches and nectarines, five to six thousand almonds, 2,000 cherries, 2,000 pears, 1,000 grapes, 3,000 apples, 1,200 quinces, 5,000 walnuts, 5,000 chestnuts, five to six thousand berries of various kinds, with many thousands of other fruits, flowers, and vegetables." Such advantages, however, would not have enabled Mr. Burbank to make his marvelous improvements along all the lines hinted at in the quotation just made. The world owes these choice gifts to the fact that he is a genius, an artist, an epicure, and an enthusiast, as well as a plant breeder. "The most obvious truth which strikes one when he attempts to make a reflective or historical study of the improvement of our native fruits, is the fact that in nearly every case the amelioration has come from the force of circumstances and not from the choice or design of men.... What has been called plant breeding is mostly discovery; or, in other words, so far as the cultivator is concerned, it is accident," writes Professor Bailey, in his "Sketch of the Evolution of Our Native Fruits." In another of his books, "Plant Breeding," after stating that in 1892 American nurserymen were offering 878 varieties of apples, he adds that "it is doubtful if one in the whole lot was the result of any attempt on the part of the originator to produce a variety with definite qualities." [Illustration: LUTHER BURBANK] These remarks apply to the methods of plant breeders in general. But there are exceptions, and Luther Burbank is the most important of them by far. True, he also had to rely on accident, such as the discovery of a California poppy with a small crimson spot, which he gradually enlarged till the whole flower was crimson; and it is for the purpose of taking advantage of lucky "accidents" that he raises plants in such unprecedented numbers. But chance is only one of his assets. He has in his mind a mental pattern, which "is made just as real and definite as the pattern of an inventor, or the model of a sculptor," as his biographer remarks. In other words, his imagination conjures a fruit improved along a definite line in Flavor, color, size, or keeping quality, and he then proceeds to hybridize till he has achieved the ideal he has in his mind, though it may take a decade or longer to do it. In one of Mr. Burbank's bulletins there is a picture of John Burroughs sampling the "Patagonia" strawberry in its originator's garden at Santa Rosa. In this berry Mr. Burroughs discovered "a wonderful pineapple flavor" and pronounced it the most delicious strawberry he had ever tasted. It is claimed for it that it is an exceptionally good keeper, and that it can be freely eaten by those with whom the common acid strawberries disagree. It is the result of a full quarter of a century's patient experiments. For twenty years Mr. Burbank had, as he frankly admits, tried in vain to improve on the finest berries in the market. Knowing that all our best strawberries have descended wholly or in part from one of the Chilian varieties, he got one of his collectors in Chili, some years ago, to send him seeds of wild strawberries from the Cordillera and from the Coast regions. Among the plants which grew from these seeds he found some that promised to be of great value when crossed with the best American and European strains. With his usual Edisonian patience, he experimented until "among the very numerous seedlings under test was found this unique berry, which was at once recognized as the grand prize." In this little genealogical tale we have an excellent illustration of that "judgment as to what will likely be good and what bad" which, in the words of Professor Bailey, is "the very core of plant-breeding," and in which "Burbank excels." The Burbank bulletins give many similar instances; and in view of the fact that his rivals and others have belittled his labors, it is proper that he should plead his own cause. His bulletins call attention to some of the results of his methods as compared with those of other plant-breeders. Here, for instance, is a fact for his detractors: "Nearly 95 per cent. of the new plums introduced since 1890, now catalogued as standards, originated on my own farms, although nearly four times as many new varieties have been introduced by other dealers. Most of the introductions of others are not now generally even listed." The Burbank plum, which was introduced less than twenty years ago, is now perhaps more widely known than any other plum, the world over; but, he says, "hundreds of better plums have since been produced on my experiment farms." The Burbank potato is now the universal standard in the Pacific Coast States and is gradually taking the lead in the Middle West. It originated at Mr. Burbank's home place in Massachusetts in 1873, and was subsequently much improved by him in California. As H. S. Harwood remarks in his admirable book on the career and the achievements of Mr. Burbank, "New Creations in Plant Life" (the Macmillan Co.), "he has had four main objects in view in the work: A potato with a better flavor, one with a relatively larger amount of sugar, one that will be a larger size and all of the same uniform shape and size, and one that will better resist diseases and be a larger yielder than any potato now known." In all these points he has succeeded; never, anywhere, have I eaten potatoes so mealy, so digestible, and, above all, so rich in Flavor as Burbank's. When first introduced in California, in 1876, "old potato growers would have none of it, because it was _new_ and because it was white. You will have to hunt a long time to find red potatoes _now_," writes Mr. Burbank. J. M. Eddy, Secretary of the Stockton Chamber of Commerce, stated in 1910 that in San Joaquin County 4,750,000 bushels, or 95 per cent. of the entire output, were Burbank potatoes; and according to the U. S. Department of Agriculture the Burbank potato is adding more than $17,000,000 to the farm incomes of America alone. "Corn is America's biggest crop. To add only one kernel to the ear of corn means a five million bushel crop increase. "In the best corn States, corn grows from eight to ten feet high, and bears an average of slightly less than two ears to the stalk. "During the past summer Luther Burbank, on his Santa Rosa experiment farm, has grown corn sixteen feet in height, bearing thirty-two ears to the stalk." These statements are cited from the prospectus of the Luther Burbank Society issued in the year 1912, relating to the twelve superbly illustrated volumes to be published in which the Burbank discoveries or inventions (nearly 1,300 in all) are described with full directions as to how his methods can be applied on every farm, in every fruit orchard, in every truck or home garden, to the delight and profit of thousands. One of Mr. Burbank's absolutely new creations is the _pomato_. It is the evolution of the potato seedball, heretofore absolutely useless, except for experimenters. "It first appears," says Mr. Harwood, "as a tiny green ball upon the potato top, and develops as the season progresses into a fruit the size and general shape of a small tomato.... It is delightful to the taste, having the suggestion of quite a number of different fruits and yet not easily identified with any particular one.... It is fine eaten raw out of the hand, delicious when cooked, and excellent as a preserve." Some years ago Mr. Burbank wrote in regard to his new plants that every one "has proved better than those known before in some new quality, in some soils and climates. All do not thrive everywhere. Please name one good fruit or nut that does." The last two sentences are directed at those of his critics who triumphantly point to cases of failure of his new products in this or that locality. Judgment has to be used; "certain varieties which are a success in one locality may be, and often are, a complete failure a few miles distant, or nearby on a different soil or at a different elevation." The Burbank Crimson Winter Rhubarb has been offered by unprincipled dealers in the cold Northern States, though they must have known that it could not prove successful there. For this new type the claim is made that it is the most valuable vegetable introduced during the last quarter of a century. So many fortunes have been made with it in California and Florida that it has been named "The Mortgage Lifter." The chief forester of the Government of South Africa reports that at Cape Town, where all other rhubarbs had been a failure for two centuries, the Burbank Crimson Winter variety proved to be a complete success. Yet Mr. Burbank now has a still further improved variety, the Giant, which excels the original Crimson Winter Rhubarb "at least 400 per cent." The list of delicacies for which American--and foreign--epicures are indebted to this inventor includes many other vegetables, berries, fruits, and nuts. He has not only improved the Flavor of the blackberry, but taken away its thorns. He has created a genuine new species by uniting the blood of the blackberry with that of the raspberry. The phenomenal berry now in such great demand on the Pacific Coast, was evolved from the dewberry. Burbank's Himalayan yields four times as much by weight as any other berry, and keeps twice as long; hence it has become "the most profitable shipping berry." Everybody likes quince jelly and marmalade, but it remained for Mr. Burbank to create the pineapple quince, which can be eaten out of hand like an apple. For his improved cherry fabulous sums have been paid in Eastern markets--over three dollars a pound in one case. "Cauliflower is only cabbage with a college education," said Mark Twain's Pudd'nhead Wilson. What Luther Burbank is doing besides creating entirely new fruits and vegetables, is to give the older ones a college education. He has grown, to cite his own words, "several millions of new fruits ... in the constant effort to eliminate faults and substantiate virtues." Burbank's Formosa plum blends at least fifteen different varieties in its origin. It is "unequaled in quality," free from all disease, and keeps remarkably well. Another of his new plums is practically without a pit, while a third has the flavor of a Bartlett pear. Into another he has bred "a delicious fragrance, so powerful that when left in a closed room over night the whole apartment will be delightfully saturated with the odor." The new Nixie plum has, when cooked, the flavor and appearance of cranberries. It is described as "the forerunner of a wholly new class of fruits," and as having an "almost incomparably delicious" flavor, which it owes to the blood of the wild Sierra plum. Some of Mr. Burbank's prunes excel the best of the French; and his plumcot is another of the entirely new fruits he has given the world. In creating this, he bred together a wild American plum, a Japanese plum, and an apricot, making a fruit which differs in flavor, color and texture from any other kind. There are already several varieties of it. Of his successful experiments in "educating" nuts three may be mentioned. He has made chestnut trees bear at the unheard-of early age of a year and a half; he has created a "paper shell" walnut; and, what is more remarkable still, he has removed from the walnut the disagreeably bitter inside skin which makes it indigestible because of the tannin in it. Grapes have not been neglected. In the summer of 1911 I asked him if he would not undertake to educate some other grapes grown in California to the level of the Muscatels and at the same time give the Muscatel a thicker skin to make it better able to stand transportation to the East. He answered in a letter dated July 25, that he was "at work on several of the California grapes to give them better flavors, thicker skins, and better keeping qualities; and," he added, "I assure you that I am having good success. They are not yet ready to send out." The Newtown Pippin is one of the finest apples, but he has a descendant of it which is a far better bearer and has "an added aromatic fragrance." There are improved peaches, too; also, many beautiful flowers new to the world; but of flowers this is not the place to write. Is it not strange that this unselfish wonder-worker, whose object is not to make money (except for the purpose of enabling him to go on with his experiments), should have met with so much hostility? Yet he declares that the greatest inconvenience or injustice he has met is not misunderstanding, prejudice, envy, jealousy, or ingratitude, but the fact that purchasers are so often deceived by unscrupulous dealers who, misusing his name, foist upon the public hardy bananas, blue roses, seedless watermelons, and a thousand other things, including United States Government thorny cactus for the Burbank Thornless. On this point Mr. Burbank has reason to write with a feeling of mingled pride and resentment. In 1896 the first scientific experiments for the improvement of cactus as food for man and beast were made on his farms. Eight years later, when these costly experiments were crowned with success, the Department of Agriculture spent $10,000 in searching for a thornless cactus like those already produced by Mr. Burbank. The result was a failure; the "spineless" cactus sent out were not spineless, not safe to handle or feed to stock, while the fruit was "seedy and poor." [Illustration: Burbank's Spineless Cactus] The Burbank improved cactus, on the other hand, is free not only from the long spines but from the even more harmful microscopic spicules. It is therefore "as safe to handle and as safe to feed as beets, potatoes, carrots or pumpkins." The new thornless varieties will produce a hundred tons of good feed where the average wild ones will yield only ten tons of inferior fodder. It can be grown on millions of acres of deserts where no other edible vegetation can be raised, and as it is possible to produce a thousand tons of feed on a single acre, the imagination conjures up the time when beef will once more be as abundant, as good, and as cheap as it was in the days of unlimited pasturage. The leaves or slabs are valuable as food for other farm animals, including poultry. The fruit, also, is produced in enormous quantity and is likely to become as important in our markets as bananas and oranges. The cactus bearing the best fruit is not yet quite spineless, but the fine bristles on the fruits are easily removed with a small whiskbroom before picking. Burbank's 1912 Spineless Cactus bulletin lists more than a dozen varieties cultivated for the fruit, and fifteen varieties raised for forage. The cactus fruit "can be produced at less than one-tenth the expense of producing apples, oranges, apricots, grapes, plums, or peaches." There is never a failure in the crop, and the fruit can be stored like apples. It will oust the injurious "fillers" and adulterants now used by manufacturers. Excellent jams, jellies, syrups, marmalades and preserves can be made of cactus fruit at a minimum cost. For candies and for pickling, also, it can be used to advantage, and "the juice from the fruits of the crimson varieties is used for coloring ices, jelly and confectionery. No more beautiful colors can be imagined." Mr. Burbank takes a keen delight in his new plants, and like other artists, he likes to know that you really see and feel what he has done. When we visited him in the summer of 1909, in company with John Burroughs and the California poet, Charles Keeler, nothing seemed to please him more than the proof we gave that we were actually familiar with his creations, by our comments on the improvements he had made in his crimson and crimson-and-gold California poppies and the wonderful Shirleys since we last raised them, the previous summer, in our Maine grounds. I felt like Parsifal in the enchanted garden. We had a chance to stroke the spineless blackberry and cactus, and to taste various kinds of berries and fruits more luscious than any that mortals have eaten since the Garden of Eden was destroyed. [Illustration] XII COMMERCIAL VALUE OF FLAVOR PALATABILITY DECIDES PERMANENCE. Luther Burbank is, as already noted, an epicure. No one enjoys his new products more than he does, and in his bulletins he never omits to call attention to the "added aromatic fragrance" or the delicious flavor of his improved fruits. What I wish particularly to call attention to now, however, is that he fully realizes the _commercial_ value of Flavor. He holds, as Mr. Harwood wrote in 1905, that "it is highly important in the production of a new fruit or vegetable to make it preëminently palatable, for, in the last analysis, _it is palatability that decides the permanence of any new food_. If palatability be eliminated as a factor, then mankind is prone to consider the food,--no matter what its form or character,--a medicine, to be taken because it produces certain necessary results." When I informed him that I was writing a book on Food and Flavor he sent me a long letter, dated December 18, 1912, from which I take the liberty of citing the following illuminating paragraphs: "I am very glad that you have taken up the subject of flavor in food. It is a far more important matter than most people believe. Color and flavor both aid digestion very materially, most especially flavor, and my work from the first has been among food and drug plants to obtain pure, pleasing flavors (and in flowers, fragrance) and I have been as successful in that line as in any other line of work. "Vegetables--like celery, cabbage, cauliflower, carrots, turnips, beets, lettuce, peas, beans, sweet corn and especially artichokes, have not only had ill flavors, but have been lacking in sweetness. These can be just as readily added as form, size or color. Even the pot herbs need attention fully as much as anything else, and they will take a lot of time. "Take savory, sage, or any other herb seedlings, four out of five of them will have a poor flavor, while the fifth will have the most delicious odor, flavor and fragrance. Sometimes only one in a hundred or so has this delightful combination. It is simply a matter of selection to produce these herbs so that all will have the delightful flavor of the single individual. "It is astounding that more attention has not been placed on this line of plant improvement, though until my work commenced in this line some twenty-five years ago, no one seems to have thought that these changes _could_ be made. "I have only outlined briefly the almost infinite number of improvements that could be named, not only in the plants named, but in all other plants as well as fruits; in which people recognize flavors most quickly. "It is almost necessary to knock a man down before you can convince him that there are differences in flavors of herbs and vegetables, or that such things as coffee, cinnamon and other plants can be improved in this respect." EATING WITH THE EYES. The object of this whole book is to furnish a "knockdown" argument as to the overwhelming importance of securing the best flavors in food and to demonstrate at the same time that commercially the richest Flavor pays best. A few years ago Professor J. L. Henderson of the Harvard Medical School astonished newspaper readers by saying that the needed food for one person costs only ten cents a day and that the rest we spend goes largely for flavor. Had he made this remark some years hence he might have said "goes _chiefly_ for flavor." At the present time, unfortunately, not a few purchasers of foods are guided to a considerable extent by appearance. Dr. Wiley has written trenchantly on the widely prevalent habit of "eating with the eyes"--of selecting articles of food for their size and color instead of their flavor. Inferior or imitation butter, for example, is artificially colored and the ignorant consumer meekly buys it. The epicure buys butter for its Flavor and the dealer cannot deceive _his_ eyes. To him, in the words of Dr. Wiley, "the natural tint of butter is as much more attractive than the artificial as any natural color is superior to the artificial. There is the same difference between the natural tint of butter and the artificial as there is between the natural rose of the cheek and its painted substitute. The dairymen of our country are honest and honorable and evidently do not clearly see the false position in which the practice of coloring butter puts them. When the dairymen of the country understand that _the naturally colored products will bring the highest price on the market_ and appeal more strongly to the confidence of the consumer it is believed the artificial coloring in butter will be relegated to the scrap pile of useless processes." Natural butter is yellow in May and June; but whoever buys yellow butter at other times in the belief that it is fresh is a greenhorn. Even harmless coloring matter, like carrot juice, is objectionable, because it makes the butter spoil sooner. George K. Holmes, Chief of the Division of Foreign Markets, contributed to the Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture for 1904 an article entitled "Consumers' Fancies" which gives some curious illustrations of the stupid underrating of the all-important Flavor. To cite one of them: "Although it may seem that it is positively not worth while, to say nothing of money, to buy a _nut_ except to enjoy its flavor, yet to taste is assigned only 25 per cent., while 50 per cent. is given to the eye, the remaining 25 per cent. going to the convenience of cracking the shells." Judges at county fairs have been known to allow 20 points on looks and only 15 on the flavor of foods. They knew that city folk are easily fooled by appearances. On this point Mr. Holmes remarks: "In the city, a large city especially, the appearance of an apple is everything and taste nothing, unless the purchaser was once a country boy and enjoyed the freedom of an orchard." And again: "City-bred people, who have little knowledge of the origin and real character of food and food products, such as the country man has, and who have no childhood's acquaintance with the good things of the farm, are especially liable to suggestion; they are governed largely by appearances in their selection of farm products and are _easily deceived by the trick of a false name or a false ingredient in a prepared food_." One of the standing jokes in our comic papers concerns the "hayseed" who comes to town and buys a "gold brick." If the farmers edited comic papers, they would have a standing joke about the city folk who buy their showy products, leaving them the best flavored, which may not appeal to the eye. It is not true, however, that all the showy fruits are insipid and all the small plain fruits full-flavored. The delicious Winter Nellis pear is not nearly as pretty to look at as the Bartlett, yet it is quite as popular, while the Bartlett is as luscious as it is beautiful and often imposing in size, especially on the Pacific Coast. Among the apples in our markets, also, some of the biggest and most beautiful are the best to eat. It cannot be denied that there is _something_ to be said in favor of "eating with the eyes." Women naturally want the apples and oranges, the berries and vegetables, and the viands on their tables, to look pretty and inviting. Nor is there any reason why they should not have their way. The eye and the palate can be reconciled by breeding fruits and vegetables that combine good looks with agreeable flavor. Luther Burbank has done the world a tremendous service by originating the luscious fruits and vegetables briefly referred to in the preceding chapter, but perhaps his greatest achievement is the demonstration that there is virtually no limit to obtaining fruits of any size, form, or flavor desired, and that the good looks and flavor can be amalgamated at pleasure with shipping and keeping qualities. He himself is preparing many pleasant surprises of this kind beside those I have referred to, and hundreds of others are profiting by his example and following his methods. SCHOOL GIRLS AS PURE FOOD EXPERTS. Three girls in a Massachusetts Normal School in 1904 accidentally launched a new kind of pure food movement which is of historic importance, as it puts to shame the dilatory methods of Federal and State Governments. They missed their lessons one day, after feasting at a surreptitious midnight spread on "strawberry" jam. Their chemistry professor, Lewis B. Allyn, advised them to analyze a can of the same preserves to find out what there was in it that could have made them ill. They did so, and found that the jam contained no strawberries at all but was made of apple sauce, ether, grass seeds, red ink, and salicylic acid. It _looked_ all right; but what is food for the eye is often poison for the stomach. That was the important lesson this incident was destined to teach the inhabitants of Westfield, Massachusetts. Peter Clarke Macfarlane, who tells the whole story graphically in "Collier's Weekly" for January 11, 1913, writes: From that day forward the girls in the chemistry class began to qualify as pure-food experts. They examined the canned goods, the preserves, the medicines, and foods of every kind that came from the stores of Westfield into the homes in which they lived. The housekeepers were appalled to find the sort of thing they had been putting upon their tables. And the grocers were somewhat appalled, but much more annoyed. It is very disturbing, no doubt, to have the canned goods you make the most profit on, the ones that bear the very handsomest lithographs, returned almost in wheelbarrow loads because of some fussy girls stewing chemicals in a laboratory. I leave it to any one if it would not be annoying when a grocer is working energetically to build up trade in a new line of chocolate which he can sell in larger packages for less money than chocolate was ever sold before to have a miss still wearing her hair in braids say right out loud in the store for every one to hear: "Pooh! I analyzed that in class. It is thirty per cent. cornstarch. That is why you can sell it cheaper than real chocolate. And it has potash in it, too, which turns to suds when you add water, and that's what makes it look so deliciously creamy and frothy when you pour it into the cups. No suds in my chocolate, thank you!" Professor Allyn, under whose guidance this epoch-making crusade was undertaken--a crusade which should and could be carried on in every town throughout the country--was elected a member of the Board of Health. Opportunity was given housekeepers and all others who suspected foods of being adulterated, to have them examined by the two hundred schoolgirls and their professor. The results were placed on exhibition in the Board of Health Museum. In this way Professor Allyn taught tradesmen that it does not pay to handle impure goods when once the public is enlightened as to the difference between what _looks_ good and what _is_ good. The Westfield Board of Health now publishes a list of foods which it considers pure. With that list in hand it is safe to go a-marketing. Offending manufacturers and dealers have been converted to the old doctrine that honesty is the best policy, and the plan, altogether, has worked so well that hundreds of letters have come to the secretary of the Board of Health, asking "How can we give our town a pure-food standard like Westfield?" One of the methods Professor Allyn adopted to teach the inhabitants of Westfield the folly of "eating with the eyes" was to buy a can of peas, open it in presence of an audience, and pour in some hydrochloric acid, a test for copper. Then he inserted a gleaming butcher knife and when he drew it out a few moments later it was coated with copper. Not all dye stuffs used for coloring canned or other foods are as objectionable as copper, but most of them are undesirable because, as Dr. Wiley has pointed out, they make it possible to conceal inferiority of material or lack of freshness. In "Good Housekeeping" for February, 1913, Dr. Wiley had an article headed "Danger in Vivid Green Vegetables" in which he pointed out that after a delay of six years the Remsen Food Board ratified his conclusions that the sulphate of copper used to give the unnatural bright color to canned peas, beans, and spinach is injurious to health and should not be allowed in foodstuffs. "It must have been a bitter pill to swallow," he adds, "for were they not appointed in the hope that Wiley would be reversed on all points?" Another pure-food expert has given an amusing recipe for making a bottle of maraschino cherries: "Take a cherry and remove the stone. Get the color out by holding it over the bleaching fumes of sulphur. Remove a portion of the fleshy part of the fruit to leave mostly fiber. Then inject some artificial sweet substance to give it a 'body' and a sugarlike quality. Dye it with a brilliant red coal tar dye. Put it in a bottle, and sell it to a greenhorn." A greenhorn is defined in the dictionary as "a person who is easily imposed upon." You prove yourself a greenhorn if you go into a grocery store and buy glasses of preserved fruits and vegetables dyed in brilliant rainbow hues such as no honest fruit ever exhibits. You show yourself a greenhorn if you buy canned peaches for their shape. Peaches picked and halved before they are ripe retain their shape beautifully. If you want to eat with your eyes buy this kind by all means. Peaches picked and halved when the sun has ripened them on the tree have Flavor; this kind is for those who eat with their mouth. Many of us are not greenhorns. We would buy more California peaches in winter if the cans had a label with these words on it: "These peaches were picked ripe; they may look a little mushy, but they are much pleasanter to eat than those which are picked unripe to make them keep their shape. Try them and note the difference." Fortunes are in store for canners wise enough thus to recognize the commercial value of Flavor and to educate the public in this simple way, as well as by advertising in the newspapers and magazines. A consumer who has eaten some of the flavorsome ripe peaches will come back for another can--or a dozen cans--much sooner than one who has eaten the hard insipid halves of unripe peaches. PENNYWISE DEALERS AND PINEAPPLES. Herbert J. Webber relates in the "Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture" for 1905 that when the department's pineapple-breeding experiments were started, the question of what varieties to cultivate gave considerable trouble. Many growers insisted that the red Spanish was by far the best variety, because of its adaptability to open field culture, freedom from disease, and _good shipping qualities_. Others contended that "as varieties existed that were of _far better quality and flavor_, the market should be educated to demand these better so-called fancy fruits." The words I have italicized indicate a difficulty which confronts us--a problem of vast and national importance, the chief impediment to our getting the best varieties of fruits, imported as well as domestic, and of vegetables, too, into our markets. While some dealers are sufficiently astute to realize that sales are multiplied tenfold if the best fruits and vegetables are offered, the ruling majority are so pennywise as to think only of the shipping and keeping qualities. It is not too much to say that these short-sighted dealers have entered into a conspiracy to suppress the best varieties because their greater delicacy and juiciness make them more perishable. The story of the pineapple illustrates this point. In the Far South, where this luscious fruit grows, its fragrance at the time of ripening pervades the whole neighborhood. In our markets the pineapple's perfume is so faint that you have to flatten your nose against it before you get any at all. The reason is that these "pines" not only are usually of an inferior sort, but that they are picked and shipped before they are ripe. Bananas picked green ripen gradually and become sweet. Not so pineapples. What happens when they are picked unripe is told in a Bulletin of the Hawaii Agricultural Experiment station (1910) kindly forwarded to me by one of the officials after I wrote an article on the subject for the New York "Nation": A study of the ripening of pineapples has disclosed the fact that the sugar content of the fruit is derived exclusively from the leaves of the plant and does not increase after the fruit has been removed from the plant. If pineapples are picked green and allowed to ripen the sugar content at complete ripeness is the same as it was when the fruit was removed from the plants. An analysis of the fruit shows that they contain no substance which can be changed into sugar during the ripening process. Fruits picked too green and allowed to ripen, therefore, _lack greatly in sugar content and in flavor_. The sugar content of green fruits, or fruits ripened after being picked too green, is about 2 or 3 per cent., while that of fruits ripened on the plant ranges from 9 to 15 per cent. The words in italics give the gist of the matter. "Pines" picked and shipped unripe never get their full Flavor, and its unique Flavor is the one thing that makes a pineapple desirable, for its nutritive value is slight, and sweets and acids can be more conveniently and cheaply obtained in other ways. Here is a description of the pineapple at home: "The most delicious fruit to be found in Brazil is the pineapple. Northerners who eat this fruit weeks after it has been picked in its green state have only a faint idea of its sweetness, lusciousness and delicious flavor. Here the pineapple is picked when the tropical sun has perfected its chemical work, and the fruit is ready to melt in the mouth. It would be an affront to nature to sprinkle sugar upon it when sliced. It is mellow, over-running with juice, and of incomparable flavor." Luther Burbank has tried to cultivate a "pineapple Flavor" in other fruits, and when John Burroughs found it in his new "Patagonia" strawberry, he was much pleased. It is, indeed, such an exquisite fragrance that one would imagine the importers and dealers would think of it, above all things, as a bait to allure purchasers. But no; most of these gentlemen attach, as we have seen, chief importance to keeping and shipping qualities. The consequence of this pennywise policy is that about one-tenth as many pineapples are sold in our markets as would be if the Commercial Value of Flavor were fully recognized. The canners, it is instructive to note, have benefited by the mistake of their competitors. They wait till the fruit is ripe and flavorsome before they tin it, and that is the reason why the luscious Hawaiian canned pineapple suddenly sprang into such great favor. In connection with this fact it is interesting to read Dr. Wiley's testimony that "canned fruits properly preserved retain their natural aroma and flavor better than any other form of canned food." The rapidity with which the public discovered the excellence of this Hawaiian product indicates that fresh pineapples also will gain enormously in favor if the dealers will only supply the "fancy" kinds in abundance and at reasonable prices. What the enlightened public wants is not only Flavor, but variety in Flavor. Pomologist William A. Taylor of the United States Bureau of Plant Industry has penned a maxim which dealers cannot ponder too much. "Attractive diversity in appearance and quality stimulates a demand for fruit among consumers." Yet, as another Government expert attests, "there has for many years been a strong tendency in the American fruit trade to urge fruit-growers to reduce the number of varieties in their commercial plantations." The results we see in our markets. Of the dozens of choice sorts that are described in the catalogues of nursery and seedsmen only a fraction are offered to consumers. SUCCESSFUL PEACH-GROWERS. The condition into which those pennywise dealers who are indifferent to Flavor and oppose variety have brought our peach market is a national disgrace and a gastronomic calamity. Most of the Southern peaches sent North seem now to be of two or three kinds and those not of the best. To be sure, it makes little difference what kinds are sent, for all are equally spoiled by being picked, like the pineapples, before they are ripe. California peaches melt in the mouth like ice cream--if eaten in California. In the East they used to contrast with Atlantic Coast peaches by their leathery consistency and lack of Flavor, due to the fact that they had to be picked unripe to stand transportation. To-day they contrast less, because Eastern peaches also are so usually picked unripe. In the peach-growing business, under present conditions, "the proportion of failures to successes is at least as ten to one," according to Erwin F. Smith. The proportion might be reversed if this expert's advice, as given in "Peach-Growing for Market" (Farmers' Bulletin No. 33), were generally followed by farmers. The most important point he makes is that the peaches to be marketed successfully must not only have size, color, and firmness enough to stand shipment, but also superior flavor. It was by leaving his peaches on the tree till the sun gave them that superior flavor that one man I know of became rich. He had an orchard about twenty miles from New York and when the first crop had thoroughly ripened he picked a wagonload to take to the city. He never reached it. Every basket was sold before he had gone a mile, and all the other loads were thus disposed of to his neighbors, although he charged the full New York retail prices. The middleman's usual share of the plunder remained in his own pocket. What would you think, Mr. Farmer, or Mr. Business-Man-Who-Wants-to-Live-in-the-Country, of buying a twenty-two-acre tract of worthless pasture land, putting it into peaches, and getting therefrom in twelve years a profit of $44,000? It can be done, and it has been done. The very interesting and instructive story was told in detail in the Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post" of September 10, 1910, by Forrest Crissey. It is the story of J. H. Hale, of Glastonbury, Connecticut. One day he came across an old native seedling peach tree, loaded with sweet wild fruit that had a delicious flavor and melted in his mouth. While he was eating one of these peaches, the thought came into his mind: "If this stony old hillside will grow such peaches as these, wild and without cultivation, what is to hinder its producing a splendid crop of choice, cultivated peaches?" There was nothing to hinder; the trees were planted, and when they bore fruit he put up a sign reading: "Headquarters for Hale's Peaches. Peaches Ripened on the Trees." When he began to market them in the cities he sorted them into three grades, charging fancy prices for the best. These and other details of his method helped; but the great secret of his success was painted on his sign: "_Peaches Ripened, on the Trees_"--a sign which proved that he understood the Commercial Value of Flavor, which made him a millionaire. Apples, fortunately, do not need to ripen entirely on the tree. They can be picked before they are ripe and get their full flavor in the cellar. Cold storage makes them keep longer still--unfortunately, I feel tempted to say, for this tempts the middleman to hold them for higher prices till they have become mealy and lost much of their aroma. Many of the apples sold in our markets in winter are over a year old. They will not be after the consumer rises to assert his right to Flavor. The English are more alert. I most earnestly call the attention of American apple-growers and eaters to the following sentences from an article in the _Consular and Trade Reports_ (April 5, 1911), explaining why Australian apples have an advantage in English and other European markets over American fruit: "Cold storage extending over a period of six months is not the best means of preserving the flavor of a fruit. On the other hand the Australian and Tasmanian crops being six months later than the American, the fruit comes direct from the orchard with its original flavor almost unimpaired." At the Illinois Experiment Station the important fact was demonstrated that mature apples keep much better in cold storage than immature apples (Farmers' Bulletin No. 193). The new method of pre-cooling fruit, especially peaches and oranges, gives much hope for the future. Two illustrations in the "Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture" for 1909 illustrate this point. One pictures peaches as handled and delivered in New York by the old method--the small, pallid, leathery, flavorless things we all know and groan over. The other shows red, ripe peaches, luscious to the eyes and the palate alike. Pre-cooling does it; for if this method is used, "the fruit may be left on the trees to attain a greater degree of maturity, thus assuming a much better quality." FORTUNES FROM BANANAS AND ORANGES. When other fruits have vanished, the banana is always for sale, even in the smallest village fruit stores. But it was not always so. A few decades ago the banana was a rarity in the United States and a luxury. How did it happen to get its present vogue? Was it because the public discovered that there is a great deal of nourishment in this fruit--that millions in the tropics live on it? Not in the least; I doubt if one banana-eater in a hundred knows or cares whether or not it contains even as much nourishment as a cucumber or a watermelon. What has given the banana its great vogue is simply and solely its delicious Flavor. In its Flavor lies its commercial value; its Flavor has put money--often a fortune--into the pockets of hundreds of thousands of planters, shippers, and wholesale and retail dealers. There are whole fleets of steamers for carrying bananas to American ports, and other fleets carry them to Germany, to England, to France, and other European countries. In Germany, 320 tons supplied the demand in 1899; in 1911 the imports exceeded 30,000 tons, and the demand grows like an avalanche. Banana flour, made from the dried fruit, also has a great future as a breakfast cereal. A few years ago a new source of profit was opened. Have you ever eaten any "banana figs"? If not, try them at once; they are deliciously sweet, and they can be freely eaten by those who have to avoid figs because of their innumerable small seeds. Within a few years seven factories sprang up in Jamaica, all of them coining money by making and exporting "banana figs" as well as "fig bananas," which differ from the others in being dried whole. In 1912 the people of the United States consumed over six _billion_ bananas, or more than five dozen for every man, woman, and child, the value of them exceeding fourteen million dollars. Yet this enormous demand is a trifle to what it will be when the public has learned how to eat them. Few know how delicious they are fried, or cooked in other ways. As for raw bananas, most Americans still eat them with the eyes, selecting those which are bright yellow (or red) and unspotted, ignorant of the fact that the most luscious by far are those that are spotted or almost black; the pushcartmen sell them at a cent apiece, or two for a cent. These are not rotten, but simply ripe, as long as they are white inside. They are much more digestible, too, than the unspotted ones. To make them still more so, follow the advice of "Tip" of the New York "Press," who writes: I have had men and women tell me they couldn't eat bananas at all without suffering from indigestion, and to them I always pass on the recipe told me by a great lover of the fruit who said that invariably he scraped off the little fuzz remaining on the banana after the skin is peeled off. Before he began to do this the fruit disagreed with him; afterward he ate as much of it as he pleased. Unlike bananas, the citrus fruits--oranges, lemons, and pomelos (grapefruit) have no nutritive value worth talking about. You might eat a hundred of them a day and--well, if they didn't kill you they wouldn't keep you alive either. Consequently the fortunes made by growing annually twenty million boxes of these much-coveted fruits and distributing them throughout the country, once more attest the Commercial Value of Flavor. And in the long run the best flavored are sure to survive, even though for a time greenhorns may be fooled into buying inferior kinds because of size or color. MELONS, HONEY AND FLAVORING EXTRACTS. It would be interesting to know how many million dollars American farmers earn every year by raising melons. The Rocky Ford district in Colorado alone ships about 1,500 carloads of cantaloupes, and these are but a drop in the bucket. Nobody would dream of buying melons for food; their commercial value is entirely a matter of Flavor. And in proportion as the Flavor was improved has the raising of melons become more profitable. Time was when the old-fashioned "mushmelon" was tolerated; but compared with the choice varieties of cantaloupes now in the market it was but one remove from the pumpkin. Many insipid melons still find their way into our markets, but gradually they will be eliminated; and the sooner this is done, the better it will be for the dealer's purse as well as the consumer's palate. The manufacturer who advertises that "there is only one way to make a cigarette permanently popular and that is to make it permanently good," knew what he was talking about. In that respect there is no difference between cigarettes and foodstuffs. Read what is said on this point in Farmers' Bulletin 193: "An explanation of the popularity of the Rocky Ford melons is that they are well graded and usually uniform in quality. As Mr. Blinn explains, the Rocky Ford cantaloupe is a product of years of systematic selection, and it requires the same methods to maintain its excellence as were employed in its development. Without care in selection of seed, the natural tendency to vary will soon cause a good strain of Rocky Ford melons to revert to an undesirable type." Sweet as honey are the best cantaloupes; yet how different! The sweetness in them is the same, for there is only one kind of sweet in the world. What makes them differ is the Flavor. Were it not for its Flavor, there would be no honey in the market, for sugar is a much cheaper sweet. Thanks to its Flavor, honey is worth to the beekeepers of the United States $20,000,000 a year. New York State alone has 30,000 beekeepers, and it is said that "even when eggs sell at 50 cents a dozen the hen stands below the bee as a payer of dividends." And bees need no expensive feed; one man says he has not fed his in twenty years. Twenty millions a year is a goodly sum, yet it is a mere fraction of what honey will yield when its merits for diverse uses are more generally understood. There are many varieties of it, their Flavor depending on the fragrance of the flowers from which the bees collect them--clover, linden, sage, horsemint, buckwheat, magnolia, etc., but all are agreeable to most persons. American children would hail with delight the Swiss custom of eating honey with their bread and butter, and it would do them good, for honey is one of the most wholesome sweets--much more than most of the candies the boys and girls buy. It is nutritious, too, a tablespoonful having the same food value as an egg. But beware of adulterations! Some of the best cakes and confections are made of or with honey. Girls often make their own fudge--why not all their candies? The manufacturers would still prosper even if one-half the girls should take to making their own sweets; some of these men are millionaires; and what made them so is the fact that they realized the Commercial Value of Flavors. The sale of plain, unflavored sugar is also profitable, but the percentage of gain is not nearly so great as in the case of candy. Flavoring extracts have been called an American specialty; for while they are used considerably by foreign cooks and bakers, ours are much more addicted to their use. The most popular of all the flavoring extracts is vanilla; its home is Mexico, and we take nearly all the vanilla beans harvested there; but that does not cover the demand. Many firms get rich by making imitation vanilla and other flavors. Some of these are strong medicines. The safest place to eat vanilla ice cream is at home where you know it is made of the deliciously fragrant bean and not of coal tar products. Most appetizing, also, is caramel, or burnt sugar, for flavoring desserts. Liqueurs are used, and nuts, but most desirable and wholesome of all are the flavors made of fruit. Think of the commercial value of these fruit flavors--natural or artificial--to thousands of druggists whenever the weather creates a demand for soda water! OPPORTUNITIES FOR WOMEN. Many women make a comfortable living by utilizing their inherited or acquired knowledge of the kind of flavoring that will make certain cakes and candies sell briskly. Along these lines there are unlimited opportunities for commercial gain. Many novelists have coined large sums by exploiting local color in their tales. There is such a thing as local flavor, too, which awaits the attention of the women or men bright enough to utilize it. Wild fruits and berries, for instance, abound all over the country, many of them being peculiar to one region. These can be used for imparting their flavor to various fruit syrups, jams, and jellies. In the future, thousands of women will doubtless earn a competence by sending to the city markets preserves with such novel and appetizing local flavors. Some are already doing it, and they have found a demand at the women's exchanges usually far in excess of the supply. The delicious loganberry, now so plentiful on the Pacific Coast, is hardly known in the East. Here is a grand opportunity; and why has no one thought of the commercial possibilities inherent in the luscious mulberry--an incomprehensibly neglected delicacy? There is the salmonberry, too, and other good things of the West, notably in Alaska, which has been called "preeminently a land of small fruits and berries." The flavor of most of the Alaskan berries was found to be excellent, by Walter W. Evans.[25] Alaska's gold mines will ultimately be exhausted, but the commercial value of the rich and unique flavors of these fruits and berries will endure. Excellent preserves can be made of the wild "Oregon grape," as well as the service berries, unknown in the East. The dry salal berry of Oregon and Washington might be educated and turned to use; and there are many others. FEEDING FLAVOR INTO FOOD. The present chapter might be made as long as this whole book is, for the Flavor is what determines the commercial value of nearly all foodstuffs. I know a young woman who makes deliciously flavored butter and has no trouble in disposing of it for a dollar a pound. Thousands of persons who do not like the butter they can buy are now eating peanut butter, which has the full flavor of the nut. The commercial value of this is shown by the fact that in 1911 a million bushels of peanuts were converted into "butter." Fortunes await those who will manufacture almond "butter," because almonds not only have a more delicate flavor but are more digestible than peanuts. Storage eggs are quite as nutritious as fresh eggs; the sole difference is in the Flavor; and those of us who can afford to do so, gladly pay twice as much to get the better flavor. In the preceding chapters I have frequently called attention to the greater commercial value of the best-flavored foods--as in the case of the Bresse chickens, Wiltshire bacon, Southdown mutton, Westphalian ham, Hungarian flour, full-cream cheeses, etc. For a full list see the index under "Commercial Value of Flavor." In this chapter I will call attention to only one more way of increasing the value of things we buy to eat. It is perhaps the most important of all methods--one which points the way to many large fortunes. Once when I crossed the Atlantic westward on a German steamer the supply of eggs, calculated for nine or ten days, gave out on the fourth because nearly everybody on board was ordering them constantly. They were the best eggs I had ever eaten. The head steward, on being questioned, explained that they came from a farm where a special kind of feed was given to the hens. The farmer had fed that Flavor into the eggs. At once it flashed on me that great and profitable industries might be built up along that line and I wrote an article about it for _The Epoch_. That was more than two decades ago. At that time there was not the same interest there is now in dietary questions. More recently, the Department of Agriculture has taken up the matter and in several of its bulletins reference is made to experiments in feeding both unpleasant and pleasant flavors into food. At the North Carolina Experiment Station, in 1909, hens were fed for two weeks on onions, the result being so strong an onion flavor in the eggs that they could not be used. A week after discontinuing the onions, the hens again laid eggs of normal flavor. Milk and butter are similarly spoiled when the cows eat wild garlic or quantities of turnips. Everybody knows, too, that some kinds of ducks are not fit to eat because of the fish they live on. In Egypt a locust diet makes poultry unfit to eat, and sometimes there are in our markets chickens that are unobjectionable except for an insect tang which mars their flavor. Pork from pigs fed on garbage is spoiled by a worse tang. On the other hand, most animal foods can be improved by feeding desirable flavors into them. Grouse are best in blueberry season, and the flavor of all game varies with its feed. Kongo chickens fed on pineapples are said to be a morsel fit for the gods. Belgian partridges owe their excellence to the beetroot they feed on. Mexican pigs are often fattened on bananas. They must make prime pork. In the chapter on England I noted that it is chiefly the excellence of the feed (skim milk and barley) that determines the superior flavor and commercial value of Wiltshire bacon. In the good old times, before our forests were destroyed, the beechnut was the principal food for swine. "The hogs which are fattened by eating the beechnut and acorn produced a species of pork of a peculiar and very highly prized flavor," writes Dr. Wiley. "The celebrated hams and bacons of the southern Appalachian ranges were produced from the variety of hogs known as the razor-backs fattened on mast, namely, the chestnut, beechnut, and acorn." Yams (belonging to the sweet-potato class) also help to flavor these southern pork products. The ham and bacon which made Virginia beloved of epicures helped also to make the neighboring Baltimore one of the country's gastronomic centers. In the days when canvasback ducks and diamondback terrapin were abundant Baltimore was the gourmet's headquarters. There were terrapin palaces in those days, in Baltimore and Philadelphia, as now there are lobster palaces in all our large cities. It has been stated frequently that the canvasback and redhead ducks and the diamondback terrapin owe their superior flavor to the food they have in common, the so-called wild celery, which grows in abundance in Chesapeake Bay. Now, this "wild celery" is no celery at all; it botanical name is _valisneria_. A correspondent of the Philadelphia "Ledger" has, moreover, cast doubt on the claim that it is the _valisneria_ grass that so agreeably flavors these birds and turtles. He found the ducks feeding greedily on the seeds of a species of pondweed, _potamogeton pectinatus_. Tasting these seeds he found a distinct flavor of celery and became convinced that it was this and not the _valisneria_ that gave the bird its peculiar flavor. The point ought to be settled by scientific experts, for if this sportsman is correct in his surmise, the efforts that are being made to breed and multiply these ducks need not be confined to Chesapeake Bay, as that pondweed is also abundant along the big lakes which separate us from Canada. Why should not farmers cultivate this weed in ponds and improve the flavor of the ordinary domestic duck? The flavor imparted by the _potamogeton_--or the _valisneria_--is so rich that when a canvasback is cooked it needs no dressing, not even salt. An American consul in Mexico calls attention to the fact that the rivers and lagoons of that country "literally swarm with turtles." "The wastes of water hyacinth are simply alive with them." These turtles, he says, are fat and fine of flesh and under careful handling would give a good return to the man who undertakes to ship them to the United States. "There is a small swamp turtle called the 'pochitoque,' which is of extremely fine flesh and flavor. It is found in great numbers in the swamps and lands that are annually overflowed in the State of Tobasco and is _very similar and quite equal to the famous diamondback turtle_. This also could be readily shipped to northern markets. It is not quite so abundant as the river turtle, but would find ready sale at fancy prices in view of the diminishing supply of the diamondback." In these days, when there is so much complaint about all trades and occupations being overcrowded, it is strange that no one should have the sagacity to see the commercial value of catering to the demand for fine turtles. Sea and pond farming of all kinds holds in it a greater promise of wealth than all the world's mines. Terrapin-growing will be one of the great industries of the future. It is worth noting that the old Roman epicures already had their ponds for rearing fishes of superior flavor as well as aviaries for feeding flavor into birds. Nero's fish pond was discovered in 1913. Lucullus and Apicius had aviaries in which thrushes and blackbirds were fattened for their tables on a paste made with figs, wheaten meal and aromatic grain. But such things were only for the very rich. What we want, and will get if we insist on it, are delicacies for the million. Most if not all animal foods can be improved by feeding desirable flavors into them. In Farmers' Bulletin No. 200 the well-known poultry expert, T. F. McGrew, says that those who grow turkeys for a fancy market give them chestnuts and celeryseed during the last few weeks of fattening. Such feeding, he adds, imparts _a flavor which makes the meat worth from nine to twelve cents a pound more_ than that of ordinary turkeys. Yet "_to grow the best is quite as easy and but little more expensive than to grow the poorer grades, and the profit gained is almost double_." Could the commercial value of Flavor be more triumphantly demonstrated? If the best costs but little more to produce than the poorest, why not cater to the million and make millions? Why pay so much attention to breed when, as another expert, S. M. Tracey, attests (Farmers' Bulletin No. 100), "management and feed are more important than breed"? We have over a hundred varieties of chickens, but the best of them, improperly fed, are not so good to eat as inferior varieties that have had the right kind of feed during the last two or three weeks. That hogs, too, and other animals, need to have fancy feed only a few weeks to give them a flavor that commands a high price, is a matter of extreme importance from an economic point of view. Producers of meat--and other foods--would make much more money if, instead of offering the poorest that people will buy at the highest price, they supplied the best at the lowest price. Other merchants discovered this truth long ago. FARMERS, MIDDLEMEN, AND PARCEL POST. Thousands of families in Germany and France have been able for years to indulge in the luxury of getting daily pats of fresh butter, as well as new-laid eggs, freshly-killed chickens, and succulent vegetables straight from the farmer's garden, thanks to the parcel postman. We, too, now have a parcel post and many look on it as a means of lowering the cost of living. It is that, no doubt; but it is more important from another point of view: it enables those who are fastidious as to what they eat to dodge the greengrocer who tries to foist on them farm produce which is not fresh and flavorsome; as well as poultrymen who refuse to heed the demand for fresh-killed fowls. New plans for bringing the consumer into direct contact with the producer are discussed in the press every other day, and there is a great deal of talk about "eliminating the middlemen." Some of these undoubtedly ought to be ousted. There is no need of having four kinds of them--transportation agents, wholesalers, jobbers, and retailers. Some of these could be dispensed with, especially those who speculate in food products. To make war on retailers is an excusable proceeding, because of their frequent extortionate charges; yet we could not get along entirely without them. Not all of us can deal directly with the farmer, and those of us who do so are sure to find some day that he has sold his last turkey or his last head of lettuce--and then we have to fall back on the grocer or the butcher. Without the latter, where would we get some of our meats? If he is honest and knows his business, as he usually is and does, he is a specialist in the judging, handling, and cutting of meats. For this knowledge, and for the opportunity he gives us to buy any kind of meat we want at any time, he deserves to be paid, and well paid. The chief trouble about the retail middlemen is that there are too many of them. They declare that there are more failures in their trade than in any other, and no wonder. In the fierce struggle for existence they resort to all sorts of tricks to deceive customers--an evil of which enough has been said in these pages. If one-half of these retailers could be transferred to the country, to become growers of food instead of distributors, there would be few failures and the cost of living would be reduced. There is no doubt whatever that the ever-rising price of foodstuffs is due chiefly to the alarming increase in the number of consumers, with a corresponding decrease in the number of producers. Particularly unfortunate is the disinclination of farmers to raise vegetables and small fruits for the market, or even for their own tables in many cases. "Western Canada," we read, "presents the peculiar anomaly of a wonderfully productive agricultural country importing most of its food products." Special efforts were made during 1911 "to awaken the farmers to the value of mixed farming," but without much success. The same trouble exists in the United States, even in regions where the soil is less adapted for the growing of wheat by the mile than in Western Canada. Yet it has been proved again and again that much more money can be made by intensive methods on small farms than by growing grain on a large scale. It was this discovery that led to the decrease in the acreage of wheat grown in California and Oregon. "I have made a careful study of the conditions of agriculture in the Santa Clara, San Jose and Sacramento valleys, and I am irresistibly led to the conclusion that the great ranches must be broken up into small holdings before permanent prosperity can come to the farmers of the Pacific Coast," remarks Professor Isaac Roberts, Dean of the College of Agriculture, Cornell University, in an admirable little book published by the Orang Judd Company. It is entitled "Ten Acres Enough," and is just the book for those who feel inclined to leave the overcrowded cities and lead a busy but prosperous life in the country. [Illustration: Chinese Canal] To realize what could be done to increase this country's natural resources, read Professor F. H. King's article in the "National Geographic Magazine" for October, 1912, describing China's wonderful system of canals for transportation, drainage, irrigation, and fertilization, with the aid of which a population of 400,000,000, tilling a region not a third as large as the United States, has subsisted for thousands of years. We need not go as far as China, however, for a good example. The market gardens of Paris, to which reference was made in Chapter VII, convincingly prove the commercial wisdom of intensive farming and of providing city folk with the tenderest and most flavorsome vegetables, berries, and fruits. We have too much "long-distance food" (canned or frozen); what we want is short-distance produce. Paris is the model for us; it enjoys what Professor Ferrero, in _Le Figaro_, has rightly called the ideal condition, being a city fed by fresh supplies from the adjacent country. Our aim should be to make each of our large cities a "hub" connected by thousands of spokes with suburban market gardens. In these gardens women as well as men can find employment; it has been claimed that their careful truck farming in garden and field shows better results than the work of men. Short-distance farming increases profits by decreasing transportation charges. A vivid illustration of future possibilities is given by an expert in these words: "Long Island is about the size of Holland. Its population is about the same. The produce taken out of the soil in Holland is twenty-one times that which is taken from the soil of Long Island. If Long Island were brought under proper cultivation it alone would produce the larger part of the vegetable products required by the six millions of people in New York City and vicinity." The retail middleman and the parcel post would in that case suffice. At present the big profits in the food business go chiefly to the gambling middlemen--the jobbers. This must be changed. Possibly the prices will not become lower; but if the method just suggested is carried out, the quality (flavor) of the food we eat will be vastly improved and the profits will go to those who deserve them--the market gardeners. Let us do all we can to make their work as alluring and profitable as possible in order to greatly increase their numbers. To the lowering of the cost of food we ourselves can largely attend by stopping our sinful waste and taking to heart the methods taught in the preceding pages of economizing in our food without lowering its nutritive value or diminishing its pleasurableness. [Illustration] XIII GASTRONOMIC VALUE OF ODORS SWEET, SOUR, SALT, AND BITTER. In the London "Zoo" one day, as we were nearing the bear den, we heard the most heartrending cries on the part of one of its denizens. It sounded as if some bruin were being murdered or vivisected. In reality, the wails and tears were all due to the fact that one of the animals "wanted more"--more of the jam which an attendant was distributing to his charges in turn by the spoonful. That bear had a particularly "sweet tooth"; but is not bruin proverbial for his love of wild honey? It is a _casus belli_ with many a swarm of bees. If you wish to make a horse love you, let him take cubes of sugar from the palm of your hand. As for dogs, they are supposed to be about as carnivorous as carnivorous can be; yet I have heard of a dog who, for months, daily brought a basket of meat from the village butcher and never touched it; but one morning some horehound candy was put in the basket and that was too much for his integrity; he stopped on the way and ate it all up. I felt inclined to doubt that story until I found that Laddie, my own beautiful collie, invariably was much more eager for sugar than for meat (with the possible exception of imported Lyons sausage). Candy and sweetened cream are his ideas of ambrosia and nectar. To make friends with cows and sheep you need salt. With a few handfuls of it in your pocket you can soon make them leave the richest grass and come crowding around you when you take your daily walk in the fields. We ourselves crave salt in food, but we do not lick it eagerly as some domestic as well as wild animals do. In Central Africa, however, where it is a luxury hard to get, men and women devour it with the same zest that our youngsters show for candy. So far as I know, no animal likes sour things; plain water would be invariably preferred to lemonade. Cows and pigs, to be sure, eagerly eat apples, and other fruits, and so do horses; they eat them though they be sour; but if you give them a whole bushel, they pick out the sweet ones first. The liking for sour things is a human attribute. School children are often more eager for a pickle than for a stick of candy; and adults as well as the young ones enjoy tart or sub-acid fruits of all kinds. What could be better than a pie or a tart made of green gooseberries or sour currants? I would give all the confectionery and sweet cakes in the world for a tree of sour cherries. Of the delights of sour salads I wrote at length in the chapter on French supremacy. Bitter herbs are eaten sometimes by browsing animals, but I doubt if they would select them by choice. The liking for bitter foods and drinks is not only a human attribute; it is a specifically epicurean trait. How very much better Scotch marmalade made of bitter oranges is than marmalade made of ordinary oranges! Slightly bitter also is the best pomelo. Bitter almond is a favorite flavoring for cakes and candies. The best of all salads, escarole and the endive tribe in general, are bitter. Bottled "bitters" are widely used as appetizers. Physicians of all periods have agreed that bitter substances increase the appetite. Professor Pawlow considers them the strongest of all stimulants to a jaded palate. He inclines to the belief that "bitters not only act directly on the gustatory nerves in the mouth, but that they also act on the mucous membrane of the stomach in such a way that sensations are generated which contribute to the passionate craving for food." A COMEDY OF ERRORS. While thus admitting the gastronomic and therapeutic value of bitters, I must nevertheless call attention to the fact that their allurements, as mere sensations of _taste_, are not considerable. We would not care so much for Scotch marmalade as we do were it not for the pungent fragrance of the Seville orange which accompanies its bitter taste; or for the bitter grapefruit were it not so highly perfumed. Hops are valued for their tonic bitter but still more for their agreeable odor, without which beer, for instance, is a flat failure. We never eat quinine for fun, because it has no fragrance to modify its intense bitter; nor, for the same reason, would we use strychnine as a condiment even though it were as harmless as sugar. Now, what is true of bitter, is true also of all other sensations of taste--salt, sour, and sweet. Considered as mere sensations of taste they have no great gastronomic value--not great at any rate when compared with the sensations of smell. On this point I need not dwell, as I discussed it briefly in Chapter II under the headings of "An Amazing Blunder" and "A New Psychology of Eating," in which I pointed out that there is only one unvarying kind of sour and one unvarying kind of sweet and that all the varied and countless pleasures of the table are due chiefly to the sense of smell which enables us to enjoy them if we breathe out through the nose while munching our food. To this day it seems almost incredible that it should have remained for me to make this extremely important discovery; yet all my researches have failed to bring to light a psychologist who anticipated me. My surprise abated somewhat at the time when the theory was first announced that mosquitoes are responsible for malaria. Having just read Humboldt's travels in South America and Stanley's "Darkest Africa," I remembered that both of these writers had come within an inch of the truth, yet missed it completely. The case of Stanley is really comic. Emin Pasha had informed him that he "always took a mosquito curtain with him, as he believed that it was an excellent protector against miasmatic exhalations of the night." Now, how in the world could these "miasmatic exhalations" (which were held responsible for malaria) have been kept out by a mosquito net when, as Stanley does not fail to note, the same air "enters by the doors of the house and under the flaps and through ventilators to poison the inmates"? Just as in this case the fixed idea that bad air (_malaria_) must be responsible for the disease obscured the truth, so the undeserved homage bestowed on the sense of taste blinded those who wrote on this subject, including Brillat-Savarin. In his "Physiology of Taste" he has a chapter on the senses in which he beats around the bush in the most ridiculous way. He knew that if you have a cold, or hold your nose while eating, "no flavor is perceived in anything that is swallowed"; yet from this he inferred that "all sense of _taste_ is obliterated," although the simplest experiment would have shown him that a cold does not affect the sensations of sweet, sour, salt, bitter, alkaline, or metallic in the least; and after several pages of argumentation he comes to the absurd conclusion that "there is no complete perception of taste unless the sense of smell have a share in the sensation," and that, in fact, "smell and taste form only one sense, having the mouth as laboratory with the nose for fireplace or chimney." You might as well say that sight and hearing form only one sense. Dr. Charles Henry Piesse, member of the Royal College of Surgeons, is another author who came within half an inch of the truth, yet missed it. He wrote a little volume, "Olfactics and the Physical Senses," which is full of interesting facts and suggestions. Two citations, the first from "The Art of Perfumery," written by Dr. Piesse's father, the second from "Olfactics," will show "how warm" these two men got in their search, as the children say in their play. To the unlearned nose all odors are alike; but when tutored, either for pleasure or profit, no member of the body is more sensitive. Wine merchants, tea brokers, drug dealers, tobacco importers, and many others, have to go through a regular educational nasal course. A hop merchant buries his nose in a pocket, takes a sniff, and then sets his price upon the bitter flower. The odors have to be remembered, and it is noteworthy here to remark with what persistence odors do fix themselves upon the memory; and were it not for this remembrance of an odor, the merchants in the trades above indicated would soon be at fault. An experienced perfumer will have two hundred odors in his laboratory, and can distinguish every one by name. When the breath is held the most odorous substances may be spread in the interior of the nostrils without their perfume being perceived. This observation was first made by Galen. It has been frequently remarked that odors are smelt only during inspiration; the same air, when returned through the nostrils, always proving inodorous. But this is true only when the odor has been admitted from without by the nostrils, for when it is admitted by the mouth, as in combination with articles of nutrition, it can be perceived during expiration through the nose. Yet this man, who thus came so near the truth, missed it as widely as all the others! Throughout his books he talks as if _taste_ were "it." The number of "different tastes, or flavors" is, "of course, unlimited," he says; whereas, let me say it once more, there are only six tastes: sweet, salt, sour, bitter, metallic and alkaline. Again, he remarks that "the importance of possessing a pure and cultivated sense of taste is very great in certain trades and professions, as, for instance, the occupation of a wine-taster, a tea-taster, a coffee-taster. These persons are all gourmets; the word gourmet signifying a taster." Wrong, from beginning to end. Coffee, tea, and wine "tasters"--the men who sample these articles to adjudge their commercial value--are guided entirely by their Flavor, that is, their appeal to the sense of smell; while epicures owe nine-tenths of their enjoyment of food to that sense and only one-tenth to the sense of taste. Even Professor Dr. Gustav Jäger, the famous apostle of "all-wool for man's wear," missed the mark. He wrote a book, "Die Entdeckung der Seele," in which he tried to prove that smell is really the most important of our senses, the olfactory nerve being in fact the seat of the soul! Yet this ardent advocate entirely failed to see the truth I have set forth in this book--the fact that to the sense of smell we owe most of the countless pleasures of the table, with all their important digestive and hygienic consequences. Just like all the other misguided writers on this subject, he speaks of differences in _taste_ between lobster and crawfish, or between the eggs of hens, ducks, geese, and so on, although it is the nose and not the tongue that enables us to tell them apart. HOW FLAVOR DIFFERS FROM FRAGRANCE. Throughout this volume I have used the word Flavor as if it were virtually synonymous with odor, fragrance, aroma. Strictly speaking, it is not, for taste usually enters as an ingredient; but from a gastronomic point of view the taste is usually so subordinate that it is almost negligible. To say it once more, we hardly enjoy vinegar unless it is fragrant, and while we like the taste of sugar we gladly pay from five to thirty times as much for it when it is flavored and sold as candy. In the great Oxford Dictionary two definitions of the word _flavor_ are given. It means, in the best literary usage, either a smell, odor, aroma, pure and simple; or it means "the element in the taste of a substance which depends on the coöperation of the sense of smell." If asked for my own definition I should say that "_flavor is the odor of a substance as perceived in breathing out through the nose while we are eating, and usually accompanied by a sweet, sour, salt, or bitter taste_." This distinguishes _flavor_ from _fragrance_, which we perceive in _breathing in_ through the nose; as, the fragrance of a rose or a violet--and this is not accompanied by a taste. A strawberry has both fragrance and flavor. Persons who cannot eat strawberries may still enjoy their fragrance, which is subtler and more delicious than the flavor. We must try to overcome the foolish prejudice against "smelling at things" (apples, oranges, etc.) at table; for the fragrance of foods also stimulates the appetite and thus helps digestion. When quinces or "pomegranates" (melon gourds) are ripe I often carry one in my pocket, so that I may enjoy its exquisite and beneficial fragrance after meals. Cantaloupes, pineapples, pomelos (grapefruit), ripe peaches, and some apples and plums are fruits with a fragrance which is even more delicious than their flavor. In other cases--particularly cherries and pears--the flavor is much more important; and in some instances the fragrance is positively disagreeable while the flavor is exquisite. This is true of the durion. Dr. Paludanus informs us that "to those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions, but immediately they have tasted it they prefer it to all other food." The great naturalist, Alfred Russell Wallace, says of it in his great work on the Malayan Archipelago that "the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat durions is a rare sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience." I remember reading in the London "Telegraph," many years ago, an editorial, presumably by Sir Edwin Arnold, entitled "The King Is Eating Durions." It described His Majesty as being so completely absorbed in this task that his subjects had orders, on penalty of death, not to disturb him even if war should suddenly be declared. The natives give it honorable titles, exalt it, make verses on it. Cannot our Bureau of Plant Industry acclimate this gastronomic marvel somewhere within hailing distance? Tobacco is one of those things the fragrance of which is more agreeable than the flavor. The time will come when smoking will be given up and tobacco simply burnt, like incense. That will make it harmless, although it will still be as offensive to some as to others it is delightful. IMPORTANT FUNCTIONS OF THE NOSE.