Eating in Two or Three Languages | Page 5

notwithstanding, I
had my thoughts set upon rashers of crisp Wiltshire bacon, and broad
segments of grilled York ham, and fried soles, and lovely plump
sausages bursting from their jackets, and devilled kidneys paired off on
a slice of toast, like Noah and his wife crossing the gangplank into the
Ark.
Need I prolong the pain of my disclosures by longer withholding the
distressing truth that breakfast next morning was a failure too? To
begin with, I couldn't get any of those lovely crisp crescent rolls that
accord so rhythmically with orange marmalade and strawberry jam. I
couldn't get hot buttered toast either, but only some thin hard slabs of
war bread, which seemingly had been dry-cured in a kiln. I could have
but a very limited amount of sugar--a mere pinch, in fact; and if I used
it to tone up my coffee there would be none left for oatmeal porridge.
Moreover, this dab of sugar was to be my full day's allowance, it
seemed. There was no cream for the porridge either, but, instead, a

small measure of skimmed milk so pale in colour that it had the
appearance of having been diluted with moonbeams.
Furthermore, I was informed that prior to nine-thirty I could have no
meat of any sort, the only exceptions to this cruel rule being kippered
herrings and bloaters; and in strict confidence the waiter warned me
that, for some mysterious reason, neither the kippers nor the bloaters
seemed to be up to their oldtime mark of excellence just now. From the
same source I gathered that it would be highly inadvisable to order
fried eggs, because of the lack of sufficient fat in which to cook them.
So, as a last resort, I ordered two eggs, soft-boiled. They were served
upended, English-fashion, in little individual cups, the theory being that
in turn I should neatly scalp the top off of each egg with my spoon and
then scoop out the contents from Nature's own container.
Now Englishmen are born with the faculty to perform this difficult
achievement; they inherit it. But I have known only one American who
could perform the feat with neatness and despatch; and, as he had
devoted practically all his energies to mastering this difficult alien art,
he couldn't do much of anything else, and, except when eggs were
being served in the original packages, he was practically a total loss in
society. He was a variation of the breed who devote their lives to
producing a perfect salad dressing; and you must know what sad affairs
those persons are when not engaged in following their lone talent. Take
them off of salad dressings and they are just naturally null and void.
In my crude and amateurish way I attacked those eggs, breaking into
them, not with the finesse the finished egg burglar would display, but
more like a yeggman attacking a safe. I spilt a good deal of the insides
of those eggs down over their outsides, producing a most untidy effect;
and when I did succeed in excavating a spoonful I generally forgot to
season it, or else it was full of bits of shell. Altogether, the results were
unsatisfactory and mussy. Rarely have I eaten a breakfast which put so
slight a subsequent strain upon my digestive processes.
Until noon I hung about, preoccupied and surcharged with inner
yearnings. There were plenty of things--important things, too, they
were--that I should have been doing; but I couldn't seem to fix my mind

upon any subject except food. The stroke of midday found me briskly
walking into a certain restaurant on the Strand that for many decades
has been internationally famous for the quality and the unlimited
quantity of its foods, and more particularly for its beef and its mutton.
If ever you visited London in peacetime you must remember the place I
mean.
The carvers were middle-aged full-ported men, with fine ruddy
complexions, and moustaches of the Japanese weeping mulberry or
mammoth droop variety. On signal one of them would come promptly
to you where you sat, he shoving ahead of him a great trencher on
wheels, with a spirit lamp blazing beneath the platter to keep its
delectable burden properly hot. It might be that he brought to you a
noble haunch of venison or a splendid roast of pork or a vast leg of
boiled mutton; or, more likely yet, a huge joint of beef uprearing like a
delectable island from a sea of bubbling gravy, with an edging of
mashed potatoes creaming up upon its outer reefs.
If, then, you enriched this person with a shilling, or even if you didn't,
he would take in his brawny right hand a knife with a blade a foot long,
and with this knife he would cut off from