CURIOSITIES OF FOOD.
What is the prevailing food of the people? Is it chiefly animal or vegetable, and whence is it derived in the two kingdoms? Do they trust to what the bounty of Nature provides, or have they the means of modifying or controlling production, whether in the cultivation of vegetables, or the rearing of animals? Describe their modes of cooking, and state the kinds of condiments they employ. Have they in use any kind of fermented liquor? What number of meals do they make, and what is their capacity for temporary or sustained exertion?
These are some of the enquiries to which a traveller is directed to pay attention, if he wishes to furnish and diffuse useful information.
I do not intend to go over this wide field of investigation in the systematic and scientific manner shadowed forth by these enquiries, but merely desire to assist the reader to pass a leisure hour, although he may probably glean some useful information at the same time.
I propose bringing under notice some of the Animal food in which people in various countries indulge, not that I wish persons to test these meats, or to live upon them, unless they please. I do not deal in them, and have no interest in their collection or sale, but I merely desire to introduce them to notice that the reader may ascertain the opinions entertained of them, think over them, and know how much better an Englishman is fed than any one else in the world. So that, despite our habit of grumbling, there is at least this undeniable fact before us, that the middle classes are in very easy circumstances; and that English workmen earn good wages, or they could not consume the quantity of animal food they do at the present prices.
According to Vauban, Bossuet, and La Grange, the richest and most comfortable nation is that which eats the most meat. At the present prices of this article here, it certainly must be so, for a poor nation could not indulge in the luxury.
Beef and mutton, and mutton and beef, no matter what their price, John Bull will not dispense with; and although they are 40 or 50 per cent. dearer now than they were ten years ago, and although we import animals largely from abroad, and our cattle-breeders do their best to meet the demand, cattle and sheep will not increase and multiply fast enough to bring down the price for the consumer.
A writer in Household Words thus alludes to our national weakness.—‘Next to the Habeas Corpus and the Freedom of the Press, there are few things that the English people have a greater respect for and a livelier faith in than beef. They bear, year after year, with the same interminable, unvarying series of woodcuts of fat oxen in the columns of the illustrated newspapers; they are never tired of crowding to the Smithfield Club cattle-show; and I am inclined to think that it is their honest reverence for beef that has induced them to support so long the obstruction and endangerment of the thoroughfares of the metropolis by oxen driven to slaughter. Beef is a great connecting link and bond of better feeling between the great classes of the commonwealth. Do not Dukes hob and nob with top-booted farmers over the respective merits of short-horns and Alderneys? Does not the noble Marquis of Argentfork give an ox to be roasted whole on the village green when his son, the noble Viscount Silvercoral, comes of age? Beef makes boys into men. Beef nerves our navvies. The bowmen who won Cressy and Agincourt were beef-fed, and had there been more and better beef in the Crimea a year or two ago, our soldiers would have borne up better under the horrors of a Chersonesean winter. We feast on beef at the great Christian festival. A baron of beef at the same time is enthroned in St. George’s Hall, in Windsor’s ancient castle, and is borne in by lacqueys in scarlet and gold. Charles the Second knighted a loin of beef, and I have a shrewd suspicion that the famous Sir Bevis of Southampton was but an ardent admirer and doughty knight-errant in the cause of beef. And who does not know the tradition that even as the first words of the new-born Gargantua were ‘A boyre, à boyre,’ signifying that he desired a draught of Burgundy wine—so the first intelligible sounds that the infant Guy of Warwick ever spake were ‘Beef, beef!’ When the weary pilgrim reaches the beloved shores of England after a long absence, what first does he remark—after the incivility of the custom-house officers—but the great tankard of stout and the noble round of cold beef in the coffee-room of the hotel? He does not cry ‘Io Bacche! Evöe Bacche!’ because beef is not Bacchus. He does not fall down and kiss his native soil, because the hotel carpet is somewhat dusty, and the action would be, besides, egregious; but he looks at the beef, and his eyes filling with tears, a corresponding humidity takes place in his mouth; he kisses the beef; he is so fond of it that he could eat it all up; and he does ordinarily devour so much of it to his breakfast, that the thoughtful waiter gazes at him, and murmurs to his napkin, ‘This man is either a cannibal or a pilgrim grey who has not seen Albion for many years.’
It has been well observed, that there are few things in which the public have so great and general an interest, and concerning which they possess so little real knowledge, as of the provision trade and the wholesale traffic in animals live and dead, in their own and other countries. When, where, and how raised, and what processes meat passes through before it reaches their tables, are questions which, though highly important, are very seldom asked by the consumers—all that they usually trouble themselves with is, the current retail price, and the nature of the supply.