Chapter II: may be regarded as an Intermezzo--but a most important one, (11)

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.

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."

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.

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.