"Of making books there is no end," and as this is no less true of cookery books than of those devoted to each and every other subject of human interest, one rather hesitates to add anything to the sum of domestic literature. But while every department of the culinary art has been elaborated ad nauseam, there is still considerable ignorance regarding some of the most elementary principles which underlie the food question, the relative values of food-stuffs, and the best methods of adapting these to the many and varied needs of the human frame. This is peculiarly evident in regard to a non-flesh diet. Of course one must not forget that there are not a few, even in this age, to whom the bare idea of contriving the daily dinner, without the aid of the time-honoured flesh-pots, would seem scarcely less impious than absurd, as if it threatened the very foundations of law and order. Still there is a large and ever increasing number whose watch word is progress and reform, who would be only too glad to be independent of the abattoir (I will not offend gentle ears with the coarse word slaughter-house), if they only knew how. In summertime, at least, when animal food petrifies so rapidly, many worried housekeepers, who have no prejudice against flesh-foods in general, would gladly welcome some acceptable substitute. The problem is how to achieve this, and it is with the view of helping to that solution that this book is written.
Now, as I said, while there is no lack of the stereotyped order of domestic literature, there seems to be a wide field over which to spread the knowledge of "Reform" dietary, and how to adapt it to the needs of different people, and varying conditions. And while protesting against all undue elaboration—for all true reform should simplify life rather than complicate it—we should do well to acquire the knowledge of how to prepare a repast to satisfy, if need be, the most exacting and fastidious.
Another need which I, as a Scotswoman, feel remains to be met, is a work to suit the tastes and ideals of Scottish people. Cosmopolitan as we now are, there are many to whom English ways are unfamiliar. Even the terms used are not always intelligible, as is found by a Scotswoman on going to live in England, and vice-versa. We could hardly expect that every London stoneware merchant would be able to suit the Scotch lass, who came in asking for a "muckle broon pig tae haud butter;" but even when English words are used, they may convey quite different ideas to Scottish and English minds. Indeed, several housewives have complained to me that all the vegetarian cookery books, so far as they can learn, are intended solely for English readers, so that we would hope to overcome this difficulty and yet suit English readers as well.
Before starting to the cookery book proper, I would point out some of the commonest errors into which would-be disciples of food reform so often fall, and which not unfrequently leads to their abandoning it altogether as a failure. Nothing is more common than to hear people say most emphatically that vegetarian diet is no good, for they "have tried it." We usually find upon enquiry, however, that the "fair trial" which they claim to have given, consisted of a haphazard and ill-advised course of meals, for a month, a week, or a few days intermittently, when a meat dinner was from some reason or other not available. One young lady whom I know, feels entitled to throw ridicule on the whole thing from the vantage-ground of one day's experience—nay, part of a day. It being very hot, she could not tackle roast beef at the early dinner, and resolved with grim heroism to be "vegetarian" for once. To avoid any very serious risks, however, she fortified herself as strongly as possible with the other unconsidered trifles—soup, sweets, curds and cream, strawberries, &c., but despite all her precautions, by tea-time the aching void became so alarming that the banished joint was recalled from exile, and being "so famished" she ate more than she would have done at dinner. Next day she was not feeling well, and now she and her friends are as unanimous in ascribing her indisposition to vegetarianism, as in declaring war to the knife—or with the knife against it evermore.
Now, there are certainly not many who would be so stupid or unreasonable as to denounce any course of action on the score of one spasmodic attempt, but there are not a few who are honestly desirous to follow out what they feel to be a better mode of living, who take it up in such a hasty, ill-advised way as to ensure failure. It is not enough merely to drop meat, and to conclude that as there is plenty food of some or any sort, all will be right, unless it has first been ascertained that it will contain the essential elements for a nourishing, well-balanced meal. It is not the quantity, however, which is so likely to be wrong as the proportions and combination of foods, for we may serve up abundance of good food, well cooked and perfectly appointed in every way, and yet fail to provide a satisfactory meal. I would seek to emphasise this fact, because it is so difficult to realise that we may consume a large amount of food, good in itself, and yet fail to benefit by it. If we suffer, we blame any departure from time-honoured orthodoxy, when, perhaps we ought to blame our wrong conception or working out of certain principles. It is never wise, therefore, to adopt the reform dietary too hastily, unless one is quite sure of having mastered the subject, at least in a broad general way; for if the health of the household suffers simultaneously with the change, we cannot hope but that this will be held responsible. Other people may have "all the ills that flesh is heir to" as often as they please. A vegetarian dare hardly sneeze without having every one down upon him with 'I told you so.' 'That's what comes of no meat.'
A frequent mistake, then, is that of making a wrong selection of foods, or combining them unsuitably, or in faulty proportions. For example, rice, barley, pulses, &c., may be, and are, all excellent foods, but they are not always severally suitable under every possible condition. Rice is one of the best foods the earth produces, and probably more than half of the hardest work of the world is done on little else, but those who have been used to strong soups, roast beef, and plum pudding will take badly with a sudden change to rice soups, rice savoury, and rice pudding. For one thing, so convinced are we of the poorness of such food, that we should try to take far too much, and so have excess of starch. Pulse foods, again,—peas, beans, lentils—are exceedingly nutritious—far more so than they get credit for, and in their use it is most usual to heavily overload the system with excess of nitrogenous matter. One lady told me she understood one had to take enormous quantities of haricot beans, and she was quite beat to take four platefuls! 'I can never bear the sight of them since,' she added pathetically. Another—a gentleman—told me vegetarianism was 'no good for him, at any rate, for one week he swallowed "pailfuls of swill," and never felt satisfied!' While yet a third—no, it was his anxious wife on his behalf—complained that 'he could not take enough of "that food" to keep up his strength.' He had three platefuls of the thickest soup that could be contrived, something yclept "savoury"—though I cannot of course vouch for the accuracy of that definition—a substantial pudding, and fruit. He 'tried' to take two tumblers of milk, but despite his best endeavours could manage to compass only one! I sympathised heartily with the good lady's anxiety, and urged that they go back to their "morsel of meat" without delay, and dispense with the soup, the "savoury," the milk, and either the fruit or the pudding. In reply to her astonished look, I gravely assured her that it was evident vegetarianism would not do for them, and her look of relief made it clear that she never suspected the mental reservation, that the tiny bit of meat was invaluable if only to keep people from taking so much by way of compensation.
Another mistake to be guarded against, is that of reverting too suddenly to rather savourless insipid food. It is certainly true that as one perseveres in a non-flesh diet for a length of time, the relish for spices and condiments diminishes, and one begins to discern new, subtle, delicate flavours which are quite inappreciable when accustomed to highly seasoned foods. As one gives up these artificial accessories, which really serve to blunt the palate, rarer and more delicious flavours in the sweet natural taste come into evidence. But this takes time. There is a story told of some Londoners who went to visit at a country farm, where, among other good things, they were regaled with new-laid eggs. When the hostess pressed to know how they were enjoying the rural delicacies, they, wishing to be polite yet candid, said everything was very nice, but that the eggs had not "the flavour of London ones!"
It were thus hopeless to expect those who like even eggs with a "tang" to them, to take enthusiastically to a dish of tasteless hominy, or macaroni, but happily there is no need to serve one's apprenticeship in such heroic fashion. There is at command a practically unlimited variety of vegetarian dishes, savoury enough to tempt the most fastidious, and in which the absence of "carcase" may, if need be, defy detection. Not a very lofty aspiration certainly, but it may serve as a stepping-stone.
When the goodman, therefore, comes in expecting the usual spicy sausage, kidney stew, or roast pig, do not set before him a dish of mushy barley or sodden beans as an introduction to your new 'reform bill' of fare, or there may be remarks, no more lacking in flavour than London eggs. Talking of sausage, reminds me that one of the favourite arguments against vegetarian foods is that people like to know what they are eating. What profound faith these must have in that, to us cynical folks, 'bag of mystery,' the sausage! But then, perhaps, they do know that they are eating——!
Now, I fear most of the foregoing advice on how to "Reform" sounds rather like Punch's advice to those about to marry, so after so many "don'ts" we must find out how to do. And to that end I would seek rather to set forth general broad guiding principles instead of mere bald recipes. Of course a large number of the items—puddings, sweets, &c., and not a few soups, are the same as in ordinary fare, so that I will give most attention to savouries, entrees, and the like, which constitute the real difficulty.