CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Jonathan's Table.—Danger of Steel Knives.—The Americans are Water-drinkers.—I discover a Snake in my Tumbler.—The Negro Waiter Comforts Me.—Accommodation for Travellers.—The Menu.—Abbreviated Dinner.—The Little Oval Dishes.—Turkey and Cranberry Sauce.—A not very Tempting Dish.—Consolation of Knowing that the Waitresses are well cared for.—Something to Eat, for Heaven's Sake!—Humble Apologies to Mine Host.
he great mass of the American people live on tough meat uncooked, and iced water unfiltered.
I take it for granted that sheep and cattle are born at as tender an age in America as elsewhere; but the Society for the Protection of Animals probably prevents their being killed for food while they are young enough to enjoy life, and so the patriarchs alone are reserved for the table.
That which renders the problem of dining almost past solving is, that the meat has to be attacked with plated knives, which tear but do not cut it. I suppose that, as half the lower-class Americans still eat with their knives, it was necessary to abandon the idea of having steel knives, for fear of their accidentally gashing their faces. If sharp steel knives were in general use in America, the streets would be full of people with faces scarred and seamed like those of the Heidelberg students.
The Americans drink little else but water at table, and one cannot help wondering how it is that the filter seems to be an almost unknown institution in the land. Leave your glass of water untouched on the table, and, in a few moments, a thick sediment of mud or sand will be visible at the bottom of it.
Down south it is worse still.
At Jacksonville, I was waited upon at table by an extremely obliging negro.