Food Questions.

“We have to consider,” I said, “the question of what food to take and how to cook it.”

“Camping out,” said Sylvia, “ought to be a complete holiday from the food bother. Why not live on unfired food, such as tinned tongue, sardines and bottled shrimps?”

Thereupon Felix laughed a great laugh, and said: “Just try and do a thousand miles on sardines.”

Felix is Sylvia's brother, who has spent some twenty years in America, travelling for weeks through country that contained no people, and spending nearly two years in a single journey to Dawson City and home again. He plainly knows far more about bed-rock camping than anyone else in the family and we allowed him to take the floor for a time.

“The first thing is bread.” said Felix, “because you can't do without bread. You must take some yeast or else some baking-powder with you to make it rise, or you must bake it very quickly so that the steam aerates it. You might take a Dutch oven with you, but it's nothing like the Dutch oven that you know in this country. It is an iron pot on three legs, with an iron lid. You stand it in the fire and cover the lid with hot brands and you can cook anything inside it—ducks and chunks of venison, and bread of course.”

“But Mr Freeman has barred the oven,” said Sylvia, “and if we are not going a thousand miles from home perhaps we can do without it.”

“As you like,” answered Felix. “I only mention it so that you can get hold of the general principle. You can make very good bread in a frying-pan. You must mix the dough up stiff so that when the pan is nearly upright it won't tumble out. You fix the pan up with a prop behind it so that the dough faces the fire, quite close, and you draw some more fire behind it so that the back is warmed as well. When it burns a good crust on both sides it is done.”

“What are flap-jacks,” I asked.

“Just pan-cakes made without eggs or milk,” said Felix. “You mix a quart of flour with a tablespoonful of baking-powder and put in water till it is just so thin that when you take up a spoonful and let it drop back you can see the shape of it for a few seconds before it melts into the rest. You fry the batter in bacon fat or butter just like pan-cakes, and the cakes are very good.”

A Summer Idyll

“That's a good tip for us,” I said, “and another good thing to take is cuddy biscuits, a kind of captain's biscuit. Soak them a few minutes in water or milk and fry them. They're nice with tomatoes or anything, or by themselves.”

“Mebbe,” said Felix, and his tone said, “Mebbe not.” “I'm only discussing general principles, and you've got to work your own way out in the light of them. I've known an outfit come away without a frying-pan. How do you make bread then?”

We had to give it up, and Felix went on: “Open your flour sack, turn down the edge like it is in a baker's shop, make a little hole in the flour and pour in water to make a pond. Mix in what flour you want to use and get your dough into the shape of a snake, wind it round a stick and cook it like that. You've got your bread then like a French roll, and very good it is.”

We all liked the idea of making bread every day and eating it hot. Here was something to be had in camp that you could not get at home. And we liked the idea of learning our cooking by means of first principles. Whether we liked it or not, Felix liked talking about it, and he began to grow anecdotal.

“Once,” he said, “I met a whole lot of men, ten of them I should think, camped on a cold frosty night with nothing to eat. They were trying to do a journey of thirty miles on rough prairie and their horses were tired and they could not get on. They had brought their lunch and eaten it long ago, and they told me they were starving. They had nothing to eat, nothing to do any cooking with and no wood to make a fire with. I never saw such hungry people. They were new settlers just out from England and it was up to me to do something for them.

“‘What have you got in that great waggon?’ I asked. They told me they had some sacks of flour and two frozen quarters of beef, but there was nothing to cook it in and no wood to make a fire.

“There was any amount of cow-dung on the prairie, and it was dry as chips. I set them collecting that and soon enough had a fire. I filled a bucket with water and put it on to boil. I chopped off some meat and put it in. Then I made some dumplings and put them in. You just put them into boiling water, you know, and then they cook at once on the outside and don't come to pieces. If they boil too much they get pappy, and if not done through they're not good. Most dumplings you eat in England are not done, but mine were just right and those ten hungry men had just as good a supper as anyone could wish for.”

“Tell us about the coffee you used to make,” said Sylvia. “What horrible stuff it must have been.”

“The very best coffee ever I drank,” said Felix.

“We used to make it in a pot that was nearly a yard high. We never turned out the grounds, but let them settle and put in a little more every time we made coffee, till the pot was so full that it wouldn't hold any more water.”

“I don't see anything against it,” I said, when Sylvia and Gertrude were both expressing their horror. “There is no tannin or other bad principle in coffee and you never get anything worse out of it than you do at the first soaking.”

“The fellows that work the logs on the river have their own kind of coffee that they call drip coffee,” said Felix. “They have a tall pot like ours was and they tie the coffee in a sack above the water, so that the water never touches it, but the steam goes up and fetches it out in drops. They don't change the sack every time, but keep adding coffee till it won't hold any more.”

“The moral of which is?” said Basil, who had for some time been growing impatient.

“That there are plenty of ways of cooking an egg besides frying it,” said Felix, “and that a bit of common-sense is about the best article you can take with you out camping. Take your food as raw as you can get it and know how to cook it. Also know a good herb when you see it, and never overlook a chance of getting a meal from the country that will save your stores.”

C.R. Freeman.

Food reformers will have their own opinion about a diet of shrimps, sardines, tinned tongue and stale coffee when camping out: the most important part of the outfit is doubtless an adequate supply of common-sense.—[Eds.]

SEASICKNESS: SOME REMEDIES.

In the April and May numbers of the present year we published an article by Mr Hereward Carrington entitled “Seasickness: How Caused, How Cured.” The following supplementary suggestions by the same well-known writer will be useful to many readers.—[Eds.]

A very good plan, when you think of undertaking a voyage, is to begin to prepare for it several days in advance. For three or four days, before embarking, eat only very simple and somewhat laxative foods—such as fruits—so as to open the bowels well and tone up the system. This simple diet should be followed for the first two or three days aboard—of course not so rigidly, but taking care not to indulge in many heavy, greasy dishes. Unfortunately, the food on board is usually very rich and plentiful, and tempts one to eat. If one suffers from seasickness, there is not this same temptation, to be sure; but the malady may certainly be warded off, in the majority of cases, if only reasonable care be taken of the diet before and during the voyage, and if instructions herein laid down be followed.

As before stated, drugs are as a rule useless for the cure of seasickness; but on occasion a “seasick cure” of some kind may prove effective. The harm which results from the drug may perhaps be more than counterbalanced by the benefits which the system derives from the cessation of seasickness. A preparation of this kind which is very highly recommended by many travellers is known as “Antimermal,” and though none of these remedies are to be recommended with assurance, this one—and perhaps one or two others—might at least be tried, in cases of dire necessity, when seasickness has already supervened.

It is hardly necessary to say that the patient should remain in the open air continuously, until all symptoms of seasickness have paused. Live in your deck chair until you feel quite well and able to get up and walk round. Do not attempt to go downstairs into the dining-saloon to meals, if you feel in the slightest “squirmish.” Rather have some hot soup or broth of some kind sent up to you, and drink it sitting in your chair. Do not be afraid to drink water at all times, even if you feel ill—as the water is easily returned, and it is less strain on the stomach to be able to bring up something than to find nothing in the stomach when an effort is made to eject what is not there. Water will serve to allay this strain, and thus serve a useful purpose.

In very severe cases of seasickness, the stomach of the patient should be emptied and washed out at once. This is usually an easy matter. Have the patient drink one or two glasses of water, warm or cold, with a little salt or bi-carbonate of soda added—say a teaspoonful to a pint of water. This will have the desired result! In extreme cases of seasickness, dry cold, such as ice-bags, placed behind and about the ears, will sooth the patient, and help to allay his suffering. Cold cloths to the forehead will also prove helpful. Full baths had best be omitted, until the attack has worn off, as they are injudicious on account of the reactions they induce.

In prolonged cases of seasickness, there is often a craving for acids and fruit juices. The continued absence or diminution of the acid contents of the stomach, and the privation from normal food, accounts in part for this, and it is highly proper to satisfy such a craving—providing due care is taken not to add to the stomach's distress by taking too much juice, or the juice of unripe fruit, or by swallowing the fibre of the fruit, which is allowable only when recovery is complete.

Hereward Carrington.

IMPORTANT.

If readers who possess copies of the first number of The Healthy Life (August 1911) will send them to the Editors, they will receive, in exchange, booklets to the value of threepence for each copy.

A SYMPOSIUM ON UNFIRED FOOD.

In the November number we published a letter from a reader containing the excellent suggestion that readers who had experimented to any fair extent with unfired diet should be invited to contribute to a conference on the subject in The Healthy Life, and that the symposium should be gathered round the following points:—

Two letters were published in the January number. Two more in February. Others will appear in future issues. We are anxious to receive a large number of personal experiences, but they must be brief, and classified under the above heads as far as possible.—[Eds.]

St Albans.

In response to your invitation I am sending you my experience with vegetarian dietary. Although, as you will see, this has not been altogether “unfired,” I think it should be of interest to many.

(1) I became a vegetarian at the time of my marriage, nearly three years ago, my husband being already a vegetarian of eleven years. I considered this a good opportunity to commence. Previous to this I had for some time suffered from indigestion, which continued for a few months after marriage. I attribute the cure to the change of diet, and drinking hot water after meals.

(2) We have one child eighteen months old, totally breast fed for twelve months, and another four months: on breast and Ixion Food and some fruit juice.

She has never had any disease whatever, and so far her teeth are perfect and she has cut them quite easily. She is a bonny, sturdy little girl, and very intelligent.

(3) With regard to childbirth, I previously followed the advice of Dr Alice Stockholme in “Tokology,” avoiding flesh meats and bone-making food and adopting a diet of fruit (chiefly lemons) and rice, brown bread and nut butter, wearing no corsets and taking frequent baths. The effect during pregnancy was highly satisfactory. I enjoyed perfect health the whole time, free from the usual discomforts, and at childbirth I received similar results: a speedy and safe delivery. Indeed, since marriage, my husband, baby and myself, have been singularly free from even minor complaints.

(4) As we do not have the specially prepared, expensive vegetarian foods (supposed to substitute meat), but mainly the simple foods, I consider the diet less costly than the meat diet.

(5) We are honestly quite free from the craving for meat or meat foods.

(6) In the summer-time we live principally on salads, cheese, rissoles, etc., made from beans, peas, lentils, etc., fresh fruits, brown bread and nut butter. In the very cold weather we seem to need rather warmer stuffs, such as porridge (carefully cooked) and cooked vegetables, etc.

D. Godman.

Brighton.

I have read with the greatest interest the correspondence in The Healthy Life on the unfired diet. As the majority of your correspondents have not been living exclusively on unfired food, or have only done so for short periods, may I suggest that some of your correspondents or contributors live on an entirely unfired diet, excluding dairy produce, for a period of six or twelve months and then relate their experiences. In this way some valuable evidence would be obtained. At any rate I am prepared to do this myself.

With reference to living on the unfired diet on 4d. a day, I have often had two unfired meals for less than 4d., and two meals a day are sufficient for anyone. Of course to do this one has to buy the food which is in season and therefore cheap. Dried fruit and nuts, followed by a cress salad with oil and lemon dressing, does not cost more than 2d. An unfired rissole made from grated carrot and flaked peanuts cost at most a penny, and if followed by dates or figs would be a sufficient meal, and 2d. would cover the cost.

In conclusion, I have no difficulty in producing a “two course” unfired meal for 2d.—but perhaps I should have left the subject of cost for Dr Bell to deal with. Yours faithfully,

Alfred le Huray.

MORE ABOUT TWO MEALS A DAY.

With reference to my article, “Two Meals a Day,” which appeared in the May issue of The Healthy Life, several correspondents have asked me to give more particulars about my life and diet. I do so gladly; but I must be brief, as the demand upon space in this magazine is now very great.

Resolved into a single sentence, what all my correspondents wish to know is this: Is a two-meal dietary best for all?

To this question, however, a definite answer cannot be given, for the simple reason that scientific experimentation with respect to food quantities and times of meals, etc., has gone such a little way, so that it would be presumptuous to set a limit in regard to meals and food reduction. To my mind, apart from the question of the quantity of food to be taken, there is a great and important field of inquiry open with respect to the effect of rest upon the stomach and the intestines, upon the digestive and assimilative powers of the body.

Now the whole purpose of my article was to show that a reduction of one's dietary was a matter of training, of gradual adaptation, but also—and this is the important fact-of gradual strengthening. My theory is that the two-meal plan is possible owing to the immense economy in digestive energy that is effected through giving the stomach adequate rest, and also through keeping the blood stream pure and unclogged, almost absolutely free from surfeit matter. A rested stomach will get more nutriment out of a small amount of food-stuff than an overworked stomach will get out of a much larger quantity. But experimentation which is sudden and covers a few weeks only, is worse than useless, as it tends to disprove the very principles that a saner method of experimentation would probably establish. And if I can impress this fact upon the reader I shall have performed a good service.

Carefully undertaken, and properly graduated, I believe there are few people in these days who would not greatly benefit by a reduction in the number of meals and in the quantity of food they take. By means of a healthy and cheerful habit of introspection—not morbid and feverish—I am firmly convinced that by cutting down their meals most people would not only greatly improve their health, but their mental and spiritual condition as well, and also greatly increase their capacity for work ... And if in this way we can effect such an improvement in our life and condition it does not really matter whether we get to the two or even one meal basis or not.

As to myself, my work is chiefly literary and my life moderately sedentary. But the fact is that I now have two moderate meals a day whereas I used to have four pretty good ones. But I have many friends whose work is mechanical, and demands much muscular energy, who are two-mealists. One lady I know, who is one of the healthiest, strongest and best physically developed persons I have ever met, is a two-mealist, and not only does she work at a mechanical occupation for ten hours a day, but on several evenings each week conducts a ladies gymnastics class as well. But in her case, as in mine, the two meal was an ideal that was gradually and slowly attained, and not a sudden reform. Indeed, the main thing to remember is that it is all a matter of training, it being quite impossible to say where the limit is. For of one thing I am quite sure—viz. that most people, were they to adopt a slow process of food and meals reduction, on the lines I suggested in my article, would be astonished at the result. The number of people one meets, chiefly among those whose life is more or less sedentary, who say they can't work as they should, are subject to pains and heaviness in the head, constipation and indigestion, is simply appalling; and on questioning such people I come to the conclusion that in the majority of cases it is because they eat too much or too often.

My meals are very simple, and the simpler they are the better I like them. I like a cold lunch about noon, and a hot meal about six. I have tried a wholly uncooked diet, but as yet my body does not seem ready for it: perhaps it will be after a little while. The first meal usually consists of wholemeal bread and fruit, green or vegetable salads, just according to my needs at the time. In winter I take a more liberal supply of dried fruits and nuts. Pulses I eschew altogether. My second meal consists of a substantial entrée with one or two conservatively cooked vegetables—occasionally I have a soup and a sweet in addition. But of course it is for everyone to find out his or her own ideal diet; and let me say that it is worth while to do so, even though it involves much confusion and perplexity during the period of experimentation.

Wilfred Wellock.

A BALLADE OF SKYFARING.

Ye whom bonds of the city chain,
Yet whose heart must with Nature's be;
Ye who, bound to a bed of pain,
Dream there of torrent and tower and tree,
Here behold them—the magic key,
Turned by a thought in yon gates of blue,
Even now has revealed to me
Alps and Mediterranean too.

Why of the bondage of earth complain?
Wide as heaven is our liberty!
Where are the streets and their smoke and stain
When to the land of the lark we flee?
Where is the sight that we may not see,
Cloudland's citadel passing through?
Switzerland beckons with Sicily,
Alps and Mediterranean too.

Here, 'twixt walls with the marble's vein,
Oared on a river of gold are we;
There we watch, on a sapphire main,
White fleets voyage to victory.
Day unto day flashes grief or glee;
Night to night utters speech anew,
Figuring forest and lane and lea—
Alps and Mediterranean too.