Instinct speaks pretty plainly to those whose instruments of Digestion are in a delicate state—and is an infinitely surer guide than any Dietetic rules that can be contrived.
That the Food which we fancy most—generally sits easiest on the Stomach—is a fact which the experience of almost every individual can confirm.
The functions of Digestion go on merrily when exercised by Aliment which the Stomach asks for—they often labour in vain when we eat merely because it is the usual hour of Dining—or out of necessity, to amuse the Gastric juices, and “lull the grinding stomach’s hungry rage.”
To affirm that any thing is wholesome, or unwholesome,—without considering the subject in all the circumstances to which it bears relation, and the unaccountable peculiarities of different Constitutions,—is, with submission, talking nonsense.
Let every Man consult his Stomach;—to eat and drink such things—and in such quantities—as agree with that perfectly well, is wholesome for him, whilst they continue to do so[90]:—that which satisfies and refreshes us, and causes no uneasiness after, may safely be taken in moderation—whenever the Appetite is keen—whether it be at Dinner or Supper.
What we have been longest used to, is most likely to agree with us best.
The wholesomeness, &c. of all Food, depends very much on the quality of it—and the way in which it is cooked.
Those who are poor in Health, must live as they can;—certainly the less Stimulus any of us use the better, provided it be sufficient to properly carry on the Circulation:—I sometimes hold it lawful to excite Appetite when it is feeble by Age, or debilitated by Indisposition.
Those Stimuli which excite the circulation at the least expense of nervous irritation—and afford the greatest quantity of nutriment, must be most acceptable to the Stomach, when it demands restorative diet.
A healthful impetus may be given to the System by a well seasoned Soup, or a restorative Ragout, at half the expense to the machinery of Life, than by the use of those Spirituous Stimuli—which fan a feverish fire—exciting action without supplying the expenditure of the principle producing it—and merely quicken the circulation for a few minutes, without contributing any material to feed the Lamp of Life—which, if it be originally or organically defective—or is impaired by Time or Disease—will sometimes not burn brightly, unless it be supplied with the best oil, and trimmed in the most skilful manner.