"That was a good place. I remember there was stewed beef once with a lot of barley—such good barley!"
"Every country has its glories. One talks of the cookery of northern countries and then suddenly one thinks of curry, with lots of rice."
"And lots of chicken!"
"And lots of hot curry powder, very hot. And look at America! Here's a people who haven't any of them been out of Europe for centuries, and yet they have as different a table as you could well imagine. There's a kind of fish, planked shad, that they cook on resinous wood—roast it, I suppose. It's substantial, like nothing else in the world. And how good, too, with turkey are sweet potatoes. Then they have such a multitude of cereal things; stuff like their buckwheat cakes, all swimming in golden syrup. And Indian corn, again!"
"Of course, corn is being anglicized. I've often given you corn—latterly, before we came away."
"That sort of separated grain—out of tins. Like chicken's food! It's not the real thing. You should eat corn on the cob—American fashion! It's fine. I had it when I was in the States. You know, you take it up in your hands by both ends—you've seen the cobs?—and gnaw."
The craving air of Labrador at a temperature of -20° Fahrenheit, and methodically stinted rations, make great changes in the outward qualities of the mind. "I'd like to do that," said Marjorie.
Her face flushed a little at a guilty thought, her eyes sparkled. She leant forward and spoke in a confidential undertone.
"I'd—I'd like to eat a mutton chop like that," said Marjorie.
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