The Chemistry of Cookery

by W. Mattieu Williams

All the popular stimulants, refreshing drugs, and ‘pick-me-ups’ have two distinct and opposite actions—an immediate exaltation which lasts for a certain period, varying with the drug and the constitution of its victim, and a subsequent depression proportionate to the primary exaltation, but, as I believe, always exceeding it either in duration or intensity, or both, thus giving as a nett or mean result a loss of vitality.

Dr. Smith’s experiments only measured the carbonic acid exhaled from the lungs during the first stage, the period of exaltation. His experiments were extended to 50 minutes, 71 minutes, 65 minutes, and in one case to 1 hour and 50 minutes. It is worthy of note that, in Experiment 1, 100 grains of black tea were given to two persons, and the duration of the experiment was 50 and 71 minutes; the average increase was 71 and 68 cubic inches per minute, while in No. 6, with the same dose and the carbonic acid collected during 1 hour and 50 minutes, the average increase per minute was only 47·5 cubic inches. These indicate a decline of the exaltation, and the curves on his diagrams show the same. His coffee results were similar.

We all know that the ‘refreshing’ action of tea often extends over a considerable period. My own experiments on myself show that it continues about three or four hours, and that of beer or wine less than one hour (moderate doses in each case).

I have tested this by walking measured distances after taking the stimulant and comparing with my walking powers when taking no other beverage than cold water. The duration of the tea stimulation has been also measured (painfully so) by the duration of sleeplessness when female seduction has led me to drink tea late in the evening. The duration of coffee is about one-third less than tea.

Lehmann’s experiments extending over weeks (days instead of minutes), measured the whole effect of the alkaloid and oil of the coffee during both the periods of exaltation and depression, and, therefore, supplied a mean or total result which accords with ordinary everyday experience. It is well known that the pot of tea of the poor needlewoman subdues the natural craving for food; the habitual smoker claims the same merit for his pipe, and the chewer for his quid. Wonderful stories are told of the long abstinence of the drinkers of maté, chewers of betel-nut, Siberian fungus, coca-leaf, and pepper-wort, and the smokers and eaters of haschisch, &c. Not only is the sense of hunger allayed, but less food is demanded for sustaining life.

It is a curious fact that similar effects should be produced, and similar advantages claimed, for the use of a drug which is totally different in its other chemical properties and relations. ‘White arsenic,’ or arsenious acid, is the oxide of a metal, and far as the poles asunder from the alkaloids, alcohols, and aromatic resins in chemical classification. But it does check the waste of the tissues, and is eaten by the Styrians and others with physiological effects curiously resembling those of its chemical antipodeans above named. Foremost among these physiological effects is that of ‘making the food appear to go farther.’

It is strange that Liebig or any physiologist who accepts his views of vital chemistry, should claim this diminution of the normal waste and renewal of tissue as a merit, seeing that, according to Liebig, life itself is the product of such change, and death the result of its cessation. But in the eagerness that has been displayed to justify existing indulgences, this claim has been extensively made by men who ought to know better than to admit such a plea.

I speak, as before, of the habitual use of such drugs, not of their occasional medicinal use. The waste of the body may be going on with killing rapidity, as in fever, and then such medicines may save life, provided always that the body has not become ‘tolerant,’ or partially insensible, to them by daily usage. I once watched a dangerous case of typhoid fever. Acting under the instructions of skilful medical attendants, and aided by a clinical thermometer and a seconds watch, I so applied small doses of brandy at short intervals as to keep down both pulse and temperature within the limits of fatal combustion. The patient had scarcely tasted alcohol before this, and therefore it exerted its maximum efficacy. I was surprised at the certain response of both pulse and temperature to this most valuable medicine and most pernicious beverage.

The argument that has been the most industriously urged in favour of all the vice-drugs, and each in its turn, is that miserable apology that has been made for every folly, every vice, every political abuse, every social crime (such as slavery, polygamy, &c.), when the time has arrived for reformation. I cannot condescend to seriously argue against it, but merely state the fact that the widely-diffused practice of using some kind of stimulating drug has been claimed as a sufficient proof of the necessity or advantage of such practice. I leave my readers to bestow on such a plea the treatment they may think it deserves. Those who believe that a rational being should have rational grounds for his conduct will treat this customary refuge of blind conservatism as I do.

I recommend tea drinkers who desire to practically investigate the subject for themselves to repeat the experiment that I have made. After establishing the habit of taking tea at a particular hour, suddenly relinquish it altogether. The result will be more or less unpleasant, in some cases seriously so. My symptoms were a dull headache and intellectual sluggishness during the remainder of the day—and if compelled to do any brain-work, such as lecturing or writing, I did it badly. This, as I have already said, is the diseased condition induced by the habit. These symptoms vary with the amount of the customary indulgence and the temperament of the individual. A rough, lumbering, insensible navvy may drink a quart or two of tea, or a few gallons of beer, or several quarterns of gin, with but small results of any kind. I know an omnibus-driver who makes seven double journeys daily, and his ‘reglars’ are half a quartern of gin at each terminus—i.e. 1¾ pints daily, exclusive of extras. This would render most men helplessly drunk, but he is never drunk, and drives well and safely.