A Matter of Haut-Gout

Usually I like to cook, but the other day I home late and was too lazy to go to the store.  Luckily my neighborhood offers plenty of take-out options; I ordered out from a Chinese place down the street.  I had never eaten there, but it’s usually pretty busy whenever I walk by.  The Yelp reviews said it specialized in something called “meatless chicken.”  It was the most popular thing on the menu. 

I ordered the so-called meatless chicken, along with lo mein and an order of pot-stickers.  But when the order arrived and I swallowed a forkful, I found the dish a little suspicious.  The meatless chicken tasted unmistakably chicken-y – that part they got right.  It was chopped up into small cubes and the texture felt a little spongy, spongy enough to pass as tofu.  But it felt firm enough to also pass as chicken, chicken so heartlessly raised and artificially processed, I worried, that it barely qualified as chicken at all.  Could the restaurant have made a mistake?

#meatlesschicken #hautgout #deepfriedgoodness

The only way to find out for certain was to order the meatless chicken again, which I decided to do for lunch today.  (Note to self: they have a great lunch special.)  This time I was relieved to experience the same type of meatless meat I had ordered the first time.  I now believed myself to like meatless chicken.  The texture felt more assuredly tofu-like, and the flavor somehow less artificial.

Why was meatless chicken considered such a delicacy at this place? Yelpers called it a “specialty” that “brings me back to my childhood,” and “the best fake meat I ever had.”  The glowing reviews made clear that the appeal of meatless chicken also depended on a combination of appearance, taste, and texture: “tasty fried, slightly chewy goodness!”  A combination of sensory and social qualities made meatless chicken an acquired taste. 

What conditions must be satisfied in order to transport a food from the realm of the disgusting to the delicious?  Our enjoyment of food has little to do with just one taste or one texture, but food’s ability to conform to our expectations of what it ought to taste like.  Confirmation of the chicken’s meatlessness exhorted me to re-evaluate my former sensory observations. 

Has this always been the case?[1]  As some readers might know, I have been working on a history of food connoisseurship during the 18^th century, and I often find myself struck by the passionate responses that new edible delicacies aroused.  Take, for example, the dawn of the 18^th century, when well-to-do tables were invaded by French styles of cooking.[2]  The English found French cuisine distinctive for the culinary artistry that went into making rich cullises, dainty poupetons, the fricassees and ragouts.  The flavors of these new dishes were considered so strong, so peculiar and so indescribable that a new word entered the English lexicon to describe them: they had haut-gout.

Most French cooks working in Britain were male,
but this was the best picture I could find!

What was haut-gout?  Well, it’s hard to say.  While the OED traces it back to 1645, using it in the same phrase as a “pickant sawce,” haut-gout wasn’t exactly a flavor.  You won’t find it in an English cookbok. Even so, haut-gout connoted rich and highly seasoned properties that could not be described in words.[3]  For example, the pungency of soy sauce –- enthusiastically described in 1736 as having “the highest gust in the world” –– opened the taste buds to pleasurable new sensations.  Others, such as Jonathan Swift, were more dubious.  “If a lump of soot falls into the soup … stir it well,” he sarcastically advised in Directions to Servants (1731) “and it will give the soup a high French taste.”[4]  Because haut-gout didn’t represent one particular flavor, what it actually tasted like was anyone’s guess.  Tasting “expensive” could adopt a variety of guises, leading one to confuse it with the all-out revolting. 

 

Smell also wielded power over the likeability of various foods.  In the Comical Don Quixote (1702) the stench of garlic breath might be so bad as to deal a man a “double death” yet it added a “curious hautgoust” to one’s dinner.  Moreover, smell ensured haut-gout’s ability to invade personal deoderized spaces.  “I have some curious green rabbits,” a fictional French character observed in a 1719 play, “with an haut-gout that may be smelt from the forecastle to the great cabbin.”[5]

Finally, haut-gout was closely linked to the new textures of food.  Indeed, English writers dwelled upon the French sauce –– viscous, rich and pungent sauce –– that provided each dish a little something extra.  But what kind of meat swam in the creamy goo?  Who was to say that the meat was what the cook said it was?  How do we know it hadn’t spoiled? Sauce provided a dish a sense of artful mystery, but it also exhorted the diner to trust in the cook’s expertise and benevolence.  (Indeed, it’s no surprise that the saucier is still the highest paid position in a French kitchen.)  Perhaps our cultural ambivalence about sauce is innate.  The famous British anthropologist Mary Douglas noticed that “polluting” substances are often sticky or viscous.  Halfway between a solid and a liquid, sauces defy easy classification. 

But coming back to my original question, did we arbitrate between disgust and delight the same way then as we do now?  I have noticed that 18^th century ambivalence towards haut-gout often emanated not only from the strange sensations it elicited, but also from fears over where a new food’s enjoyment could lead.  Eating foods with questionable sauces or smells was believed to have psychologically addicting properties, inevitably leading connoisseurs to seek out new gustatory thrills.  Such an affliction could cause genteel eaters to consume substances that lacked culture or cultivation –– substances such as these dishes below.  So much for the civilizing process.  

This image, as well as the French bill of fare above
come from the Universal Journal, or British Gazetteer:
April 15, 1727

Post-script: By the way, the meatless chicken was ordered from Big Lantern –– 16^th street and Guerrero.  Try it out sometime! 

---

[1] Over the past fifty years or so, scholars of various disciplinary backgrounds have

 written about taste and disgust.  The experimental psychologist Paul Rozin has published oodles of articles about preferences and disgust, famously linking disgust to fears of our animal origins.  In his lucid and fascinating book, The Anatomy of Disgust, William Ian Miller treats disgust as an emotion that organizes the social and moral universe.  I’m still searching for more work on transforming associations of disgust into associations of taste, so if you know of any work please let me know!

[2] The rise of French cuisine has been well documented by scholars.  For the culinary changes happening in France, see Susan Pinkard, A Revolution in Taste: The Rise of French Cuisine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009).  For the reception of French cookery in Britain, see Gilly Lehman, The British Housewife and Stephen Mennell, All Manners of Food: Eating and Taste in England and France from the Middle Ages to the Present (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1996).

[3] During the late 17^th century, botanists became exceedingly interested in creating taxonomies of flavor, the most famous of which was devised by F.R.S Nehemiah Grew.  (I’ll talk about him in an upcoming post.)  Yet nowhere in Grew’s taxonomy or anywhere else does “haut-gout” gain any scientific elaboration.

[4] I’ve always wondered whether Jonathan Swift got food poisoning from a French fricassee, for he loved to mock Augustan food fashions.  The Modest Proposal –– which recommended turning Irish babies into culinary delicacies –– can certainly be read as an indictment of connoisseurial eating.  

[5] Thomas D’Urfey, The Younger Brother, or the Sham Marquis (London, 1719).

Tempeh Taco Tuesday

Have you ever had an authentic San Francisco “tempeh taco”?  They are hearty, healthy, delicious, and oh so easy to make.  

Tempeh Tacos: A vegan, gluten-free bite of goodness!  

I’d love to take credit for the invention of the tempeh taco, but that honor belongs to my old roommate.  If you ever get to San Francisco and manage to find him, make sure you ask him to whip some up!

Now, I would love to enlighten my clever and efficacious readers with a tale about how the tempeh taco singlehandedly shaped centuries of British culinary history.  Maybe I'd add an epilogue that chronicles the exploits of the tempeh-loving diaspora now in the United States.  But I don’t think the British ate very much tempeh in those days.   

However, tempeh-tacos broach another question in the history of food: the history of “substitutions.”  Now, substitutions are timeless facts of cookery.  We make use of them all the time: when we want something healthier, something tastier … or when we’re just too lazy to go to the store. 

How might one write a history of the substitute?

On the one hand, the substitute provided men of limited means with vicarious enjoyment that would otherwise be out of their reach.  Shortly after turtle feasting took the British public by storm during the 1750s, “mock turtle” made its culinary debut.  It was made from calves brains and forced meat and dressed up with a few Creole influences, such as Madeira and cayenne pepper, to remind people of the real thing.  Indeed, mock turtle wasn't all that different from “calves head hashed:” an older traditional stand-by.  It used similar ingredients, similar methods of preparation and required the same amount of labor to prepare.[1] Calling the dish “mock turtle,” however, implies some degree of culinary expertise, a familiarity with real turtle, and a finished product that is somehow more than the simple sum of its ingredients.  There was nothing very embarrassing or humiliating about this substitute at all.  In fact, it was often served alongside real turtle!  

This is the first reference to "calves head turtle" I have found
Dated November 27, 1760

By the turn of the 19^th century, however, it seemed as if the substitute’s status began to decline.  War, a few bad harvests and impending bread riots prompted social ‘reformers’ to devise all kinds of wacky substitutes for bread.  The pamphlet below, published in 1796, included an entire glossary of underutilized comestibles that that were sure to please the pauper’s palate.  "Dogstone" soup, anyone?

Historians of this age have also linked edible substitutions to the abstracted impersonality of industrial life.[2]   As men and women became increasingly disconnected from the food they ate, they came to be nourished on spurious imitations that, in society's eyes, did not even count as food, robbing them of the last vestiges of humanity.

The reigning king of all substitutes, unquestionably, was the potato.  This is the Irish lumper, known colloquially as the “famine potato.”  

A student recoiled in horror when she saw these warty, mutant potatoes.
"However might one peel such a thing?"  

Yet the potato seemed to create even more controversy over substitutes.  Potatoes grew like weeds, they were easy to store, and they didn’t even require any preparation.  In many ways they resembled fast food: simply boil and serve.  Potatoes unarguably provided a lot of nutritional bang for the buck, yet they raised serious red flags even for the most well-meaning and morally upstanding 19^th century social reformer.  According to the literary critic Catherine Gallagher, there was something a little dirty and blasphemous about the fact that it was the “substitute for the very food that most commonly stood as a signifer for all food.”  Second, given the pauper’s overly picky palate, how could one encourage the poor to choose tubers over wheat?  And last, in a political climate where the mere sight of a poor person chowing down portended Malthusian apocalypse, reformers wondered whether all these edible substitutes were really such a good thing after all.[3]  

Alas, noble readers.  Have the processes of industrialization robbed the substitute of its soul?  For many Britons, the most visceral (and painful) reminders of World War II were the fascinating edible inventions –– margarine, powdered eggs, snoek piquante –– that sought to artificially approximate feelings of culinary normalcy in war-time.[4]  But perhaps we are today turning a culinary tide in the history of substitutions.  After all, many of today’s most expensive breads now regularly eschew glutinous wheat in favor of beets, turnips, almonds and rice …. the edible symbols of poverty at the turn of the 19^th century.

How to Make Tempeh Tacos

What you need:

--1 package of tempeh (I like the flax kind from Whole Foods)

--Half of an onion, diced
--A handful of shiitakes, chopped

--Corn tortillas

--Salsa

--Hummus

--Kale

--Pumpkin or sunflower seeds

Sauté your onions, shiitakes and crumbled pieces of tempeh in a skillet with olive oil.  Add add soy sauce in small intervals and mix vigorously.  Add the kale last to the mixture … it tastes best when it retains a little crunch.  In a separate sauce pan, sauté some pumpkin seeds in olive oil mixed with a teaspoon of cayenne pepper.  Keep your eye on the pumpkin seeds … they’ll keep browning well after you take them off the heat.  Add the tempeh mixture on top of the corn tortilla.  Now comes the magic.  Reader, I know what you’re thinking … salsa and hummus … together?!  But these contrasting flavor properties actually work surprisingly well together.  If you are lucky enough to live in the Bay Area, try to snag a bottle of salsa from Papalote Tacqueria.  Spicy, creamy and smooth, this hummus-salsa combination is divine.  Top with your crunchy-spicy cayenne-pumpkin seeds.  Enjoy!

---

[1] To compare the two dishes, I drew on a recipe for “Calves Head Hashed” from Susanna Carter’s The Frugal Housewife (London, 1759) and a recipe for “Mock Turtle” in Francis Collingwood’s The Universal Cook (London, 1792.)  Both call for many of the same ingredients, are around the same length, and involve the same number of “steps” to prepare the dish.   

[2] See, for example, Sandra Sherman, Imagining Poverty: Quantification and the Decline of Paternalism (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2001)

[3] The original, published in 1798, doesn't mention potatoes much, but by the time the 6^th edition of the Essay on the Principle of Population came out in 1817, Malthus had added a bunch of extra sections devoted to potatoes in Ireland.  The potato's many roles in British (and Irish) history are meticulously documented in Redcliffe Salaman’s The History and Social Influence of the Potato (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1949) an “oldie but a goodie” to say the least.  But my favorite piece of potato-eating scholarship is Catherine Gallagher, “The Potato in Materialist Imagination” in Practicing New Historicism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000). 

[4] See Lizzie Collingham, The Taste of War: World War II and the Battle for Food (London: Allan Lane, 2011).  Also check out Ina Zweiniger-Bargeiolowska's Austerity in Britain: Rationing, Controls and Consumption 1939-1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 

What to Eat after a Wedding Feast

It is not uncommon to take a few days to recover one's appetite after indulging in a wedding feast.

In the jubilant spirit of mingling and merry-making –– seeing old relatives all grown up, and old friends all dressed up, and in my case, a whole lot of new people –– one eats and drinks freely and unhurriedly.  Restraint is exercised only in the interest of having sufficient stomach-space to enjoy everything brought to the table ... being sure to save room for the cake.  And why should there be any reason to refrain, especially when there are such delightful options available?  Beginning around noon, the guests were entertained with fat bacon wrapped scallops, dainty cubes of butternut squash topped with dollops of arugula pesto, and balls of coarsely chopped root vegetables encased in a breadcrumb crust, fried lightly enough that each one melted in the mouth and left but a touch of sweet oil on the thumb and the forefinger.

For Philip Miller, vegetable
cultivation was no laughing matter:
The cover of "The Gardener's Dictionary"

These gastronomical amusements, of course, constituted a mere fraction of the sundry wedding appetizers served.  And let it be known, voracious reader, that the main fare was equal if not superior in flavor to the above-mentioned dainties, even though I have neither the time nor the space to describe them all.

But what might one like to eat after such a feast (and two slices of rich pumpkin cake frosted with three layers of buttercream)?  Reader, I wanted a kale salad.

Were such concoctions available in 18th century Britain, I wondered?  (I admit that I often wonder about such things.)  It is likely that they were; the chief gardener to the Chelsea Physic Garden, Philip Miller, listed six of them in his chef d'oeuvre of 1731: The Gardener's Dictionary.  (Actually, he admitted that there were many additional varieties in existence, but claimed that they are not "cultivated for culinary use, being fit only for ornament or curiosity.")  However, he seemed to value kale (which he called borecole) primarily for its hardiness in bad weather rather than for its flavor, although he had some nice things to say about the Buda, or the "Russian Kail."

Lacking a bona fide historical recipe, I considered my 21st century options.  Perhaps I could replicate the blanched Lacinato conception (dressed with a blend of olive oil, lemon, dijon mustard and all the fresh rosemary and thyme I had on hand at the time) that I had tinkered with the week before?

Attempt #1: Blanched Kale and Shaved Parmesan

But there are many ways to love a kale salad, and last night I desired nothing but the one I had tasted for the first time at the rehearsal dinner.  The kale was served completely raw, but was chopped so finely that its texture –– light and ethereal –– betrayed none of the kale's natural fibrousness.  Sort of like tabouleh.

At Last: Travel-Weary and Salad-Happy 

"Before and After a Wedding" Kale Salad

- Lightly toast one cup of quinoa in olive oil over medium heat, and cook through (making sure to retain a little crunch).  Add generous amounts of parmesan cheese and a little olive oil and mix it up.
- Remove the stems of a large bunch of red kale, and chop very finely.  Do the same thing with half of a (large) bunch of Italian parsley.  Toss around in a bowl, and add a mixture of olive oil, salt, pepper, one or two garlic cloves, and about a tablespoon of lemon juice (and a little zest if you like).  Add the quinoa and mix it up again.
- Cook a handful of pumpkin seeds in some olive oil and add to the salad, along with some dried currants and more parmesan cheese.  



The whole thing takes about 20 minutes and 90% of the work is in the kale and parsley chopping.  It's hearty enough that the salad can be a dinner on its own if you wish, but it is particularly tasty when complemented with beer and pizza.  

Resolutions for Blue-Stockings

Worthy Readers of this Blog might hath detected the Absence of the Hungry Quixote, who, being much engaged in the writing of her Dissertation, hath cruelly neglected to report upon her Peregrinations around the various Libraries and Archives of this Empire, all in the Service of finding pleasing, healthfull and oeconmical Lunches to be enjoy'd by young Scholars.

Fortunately, the Hungry Quixote has had the Opportunity to spend last week at the Huntington Library of San Marino, in hopes of educating her Self upon the Dishes most enjoyed by fashionable Gentlemen and Ladies of Leisure during the 18th century.  I particularly relished the letters penned by the well-known London socialite and Blue-Stocking, Elizabeth Montagu.  Her early letters don't betray many enlightened musings upon the flavors of the age; seems like girlfriend pretty much lived on tea and spa water from Bath and consumed, as a daily exercise regimen, "two dishes of chocolate" then a "walk round the garden, and at home before the family goes to breakfast."  However, as any promising young socialite is wont to do, she was all too eager to lend her opinions on the eating habits of others.

She looks pretty good:
Bath Water = Enlightenment Kombucha?

In 1740, she infers that a man's prodigious appetite might belie an unhealthy penchant for frugality, suggesting, "I believe, in his oeconomy, he saves a dinner when he is invited to supper, for he eat a forequarter of lamb, a chicken with a plentiful portion of ham, potted beef and jellies innumerable..." 

And then a few months later, she couldn't wait to be rid of an overly zealous locavore:

"We this day had an Epicure to dine with us who talk'd so much of eating that his conversation gave one a dinner, the Gentleman was just come from abroad and declared he thought nothing he had met in travelling equal to a Haunch of English Venison, and declared for his part he preferr'd England to any other Country because Eatables of all sorts were here in the greatest perfection.  He was so loquacious and so voracious it was impossible to determine whether he eat or talk'd most, but for two hours his unwarried employment was the praise and practice of eating..." 

Reading all of this talk of Gormandizing, however, made it impossible for me to suppress the growing Hunger in my Stomack.  And as long-time Readers of this Blog know that its Authoress is particularly fond of Salleting, around 12 of the clock I retired to the Botanick Gardens, lusting after the Delights of the Vegetable Kingdom.

The Desert Garden

The Chinese Garden offer'd pleasing Exotick Fare
But the prodigious Line hinder'd all Hope of Expediency

In the Rose Garden, I finally stumbled upon a Cafe, where the Reader will learn there were plenty of the choicest Sallets and sundry Dainties to be found:

Day One: The Holyday Special
Chicken, Blew Cheese, Pecans, Cranberries and Balsamick

Day Two: Thai Tofu Sallet:
Cashews, Cabbage, Carrots and Scallions

While I found the latter to be more grateful to my Taste, both Sallets were compos'd of the freshest of Ingredients and garnish'd with the most agreeable of Sawces.  To compleat my Felicity, I was not obligated to wait in Line for the Grill'd Items, but passed through the Cafe with expeditious Ease. This allowed me to pass my Lunch-Hour, as a Blue-Stocking would, among the Gayer and Politer Enjoyments of the Gardens.

The Peripatetic Imbiber

I recently noticed something both curious and delightful during my thrice-weekly commute to Berkeley via Montgomery Street.

(For those unacquainted with the Authoress’s current whereabouts, the Lady of Quality has of since departed from the UK and now resides next to a strip club in a particularly libertine quarter of North Beach, San Francisco.)

But I digress.  Taking notice of the immanent opening of this Coffee-Bar made me realize how urban rhythms are so often dictated by patterns of taste, connoisseurship, and, of course, caffeine addiction.  When I was working at the Westminster City Archives back in August, for example, it was always a delight to conclude my commute at Old Pye Street, where I would down a deliciously decadent flat white before spending the rest of the day monotonously scrolling through parish soup-house records on microfilm.  (I mean, with a name like this, how could one not expect to find something appetizing?) 

At Old Pye Street: Perking up to study paupers

I’m not sure if this San Francisco Coffee-Bar will offer flat whites (an Australian concoction of creamy espresso infused goodness).  Nevertheless, I find it very probable that this establishment will soon be incorporated into my morning commute.

Indeed, urban topographies are inflected by thousands of minute decisions having to do with our culinary preferences and how far we are willing to walk for them.  But to what extent did this hold true in 18^th century London?  Judging from this map below of the City, it seems like little has changed. 

19 coffee houses concentrated in about 3 blocks?  That’s a tough act to follow, even for 21^st century San Francisco.  But it shows us how savvy coffee shop proprietors were quick to set up shop wherever they could expect to profit from the sustained pedestrian traffic of financiers and merchants, who were equally eager for the caffeine fix and the exchange of information.  Not only were coffee-houses intimately associated with financial institutions, but every so often, they became the financial institutions themselves.  Jonathan's (number 9 on the map above) grew into the London Stock Exchange, and Lloyd's (number 17) became the insurance company that still exists today.  

At last: Flat Whites at NEAT

Post-Script- For those of my Readers, who, having managed to get through this post, are now desirious of a flat white, I finally managed to order one at NEAT Cafe in Darien, CT.  (And, in case the photo to the right isn't enough to whet your appetite, it was so good that it even managed to sway my generally caffeine-averse companion.)  Next time any of my readers happen to find themselves in Fairfield County, it is most certainly worthy of a detour.  

A Connection of One's Own, or Tis Three Weeks Since

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well,” a noble woman once said.  But in addition to this Certitude, gentle readers, which, I believe amounts to veritable Law, there is, these Days, one additional Necessity.  Nay, this Authoress needs no Room (or Closet) of her own; but only a solid Wifi Connection, the persistent absence of which has hindered the Frequency of her Posts.  Therefore, wouldst thou, gentle reader, allow the Authoress of this Blog to offer her humble Apologies for her hiatus from the Pen, heretofore employed to educate the efficacious Publick upon the Tastes and Cookery enjoyed in these Modern Times.  But before she proceeds to her Accounts of Lunch enjoyed in the Archives, this Authoress thought it would interest her Readers to read of a True Account that occurred Three Weeks Ago. 

The Hero of this Tale

The Hero of this Following Post was an avid connoisseur of foods of all kinds.  He was particularly well acquainted with the Salted Meats of Parma, the Cheeses of Bethmale, and all of the Flemish Sours that have exercised themselves upon the refined Palate.  Yet as a youth, he had spent much time in examining the tree of his genealogy, which, emblazoned with many an emblematic mark of honour and heroic achievement of his Scotch Ancestors, hung upon the well-varnished wainscot of his hall.  And it came to pass, noble reader, that he came to be beckoned northwards in order to visit these ancient and noble Relations, and, by the bye, taste some of the local fare too. 

Alas, worthy Reader.  Lady Fortune did not favour our weary Traveler, as he arrived in the City of Edinburgh confront’d with a violent downpour of Rain.  Having difficulty finding suitable Lodgings –– all the Rooms being fill'd with Patrons of Bon Jovi –– and running low on Provisions, we (for the Authoress of this Blog happened to be there as well) stumbled upon The D------- Tavern on H----- Street.  And around One Of the Clock, we dined.   

Lunch

--Haggis with Turnip Hash with Fried Duck Egg – This dish was admirably good, upon spearing the Egg, it hath melted over all over the Dish, the Taste of which was well deserving of Mr Burns' Encomium.  

--Devilled Ox Liver, Bacon, Mushrooms on Toast – The Liver, cut in slices, was well stew'd with Vegetables and Spices, giving the dish a rich and delicate Flavour.

--Bedfordshire Clanger- This oddly shaped Pye was made from three quarters minc’d meat, and one quarter stewed Peaches.  Yet regardless of its Shape it hath pleased the need for sweet and savory at once, and was serv’d with a fresh and healthful Sallet of Arugala. 

Our meal was wash'd down with Tankards of Ale, but my learned Readers must know that it would be a grave misfortune to leave this wild and mysterious Country without treating oneself to the delights of their Spirituous Liquors.  

This one fit the bill.  Peaty and smoky, a Bumper of this fine Whisky soon seduc'd our Palates with the mysterious Allures of the Scotch Countryside.  The kind of thing that is perfect for Toasts of more aqueous intentions, confesses,

Your humble and and obedient Servant,

N.A.,

or

H.Q

The Missionite Abroad

Dear Reader,

Only two Months hath pass'd since I first journey'd to this Kingdom, but Experience hath already shewn that one need not look far in this Towne to find a goodly Meal.  It is hard to walk outside and turn the Corner without being offer’d the choicest Selection of Pyes, Curries and sweet Puddings.  Nor can I open my Lap Top without reading twenty new Tweets rhapsodizing upon Pop-Up Burgers, Flat Whites and Custard Doughnuts.  Yet I confess, gentle Reader, that from Time to Time I long for my native Fare, and I often wonder how my Missionite Brethren would find the peculiar Tastes of this foreign Land.

Sean, a Paragon of Missionite Taste

My former Flat-Mate, Sean, for example, loyally follows the Missionite Diet.  Doth this gentle Creature entertain an Appetite for Cheese and Plumb Puddings, Sausage Rolls and Scotch Eggs?  Nay, gentle reader!  How could he rehearse with his Band, or exercise at the Climbing Gym, with both Body and Soul fatigue'd by these odious made-dishes?  No, this delicate Palate craves but the finest of Dainties: Crackers of Spirulina season'd with Algae Flakes, the elegant pleasures of the Gogi-Berrie.  He likes neither meat, nor stews, nor salt, and had never tasted Gltutenous Ales straight.  Excellent lentils, tofu steaks, sprouts, fruit; those are his daily fare, and were it not for sustainably raised fish of which he is also is very fond, he would be a true Pythagorean.

For weeks I endeavour’d to find these Dainties in London with no Reward.  But only yesterday, Lady Fortune hath decided to smile upon this hungry Quixote.  Just up E----- Road, I stumbl’d upon a virtuous Missionite Grocer, who was so kindly as to allow me to wander inside.  

For my Readers Perusal, I hath attached a Bill of Fare for my Missionite Supper, design'd to please Sean's tender Palate:

First Course

Raw Flax Crackers

Second Course

Wasabi Wheatgrass Kale Chips 

Organic Zucchini

Taifun Organic smoked Tofu

To Drink: 

Karma Kombucha (Ginger)

Even with the 10% Off Yoga Practitioners Discount, the total came to nearly 15 pounds, a costly expense, methinks, for a rather simple Supper.  But as my Thoughts and Opinions are not intended for my own Wealth and Gain, but solely for the Benefit of the noble Publick, I obligingly spared the Expense. 

Clockwise: Raw Flax Crackers, Organic Zuchini,
Smoked Tofu Steak, Kale Chips

To Drink

And the Review:

--Karma Kombucha: How my palate had long'd for this tart and healthful Nectar!  The Taste was not excessively sweet, but cool and refreshing, although the Savours of Ginger were slightly too subtle for my Taste.

--Raw Handmade Flax Crackers: At first, these brightly crimson cover'd dainties confounded both the Eye and Tongue.  For who hath tasted a Cracker containing Beetroot, Apples and Melons?  But I found its hints of Nuts and Cinnamon mild and nice.  I confess, dear Reader, I ate them all.  

--Organic Taifun Smoked Tofu: It proclaim'd to be season'd with almonds and sesame seeds, but this added little to the overall Flavour, which was insufficiently smoked and a little too salty to my taste.  But it added a pleasant Texture nevertheless. 

--The Wasabi Wheatgrass Raw Dehydrated Kale Chips were the definite winner.  Even though they came from Camden High Street (sufficiently Local in Origin) the relish of Tahini and lemon, coupl’d with its grateful Crunch, hath tasted just like Home.  

And so I am as ever, your faithful and obliging

New Arabella,

or,

THE HUNGRY QUIXOTE


Post-script- The Zucchini, the only Item upon which the Authoress could practice her arts of Cookery, was, in case you are wondering, excellent good.  

The Sandwich-Man of Clerkenwell

In my last Treatise to the Publick, I promised my Readers that I would address a very peculiar Rumour concerning Sandwiches in Clerkenwell that are fresh, healthfull, and pleasing to both the Taste and Wallet.  My Curiosity piqu'd, and Appetite whet (I had been reading about the Lord Mayor's Banquet all Morning) I set out to taste these Sandwiches of legend.

This journey from the Archive was but severall Blocks, and when I came to the Destination (a Garage on E------ Street) my Eyes were confounded by the impressive Selection at hand.

Selection at the Sandwich-Man

Persons of all Kinds grappled for Chicken Piri-Piri Baguettes, and rifled through Hummus Wraps, and so I was loathe to excessively linger.  But just as I was about to pay for my Sandwich, I became privy to a whole Range of additional Offerings: Sallets, Samosas, Muffins, Crisps, Granola Bars and fresh Fruit.  And as the female Palate is inevitably prejudiced in Favour of the Vegetable Kingdom, I readily purchased two Sallets in addition to the Sandwich.  Total cost: 3.30.

Roast-Beef and Egg-and Cress (90p)

The Egg-Sallet hath much Flavour and a pleasing Texture.  The Roast-Beef with Arugala was a little dry to my Palate, which I believe could have been partially ameliorated by dressing the Sandwich with Mayo in addition to the French Mustard.

Halloumi Sallet (90p)

The Halloumi Sallet contain'd Tomatoes, Snap Pease, Halloumi Cheese, Spinage, Cabbage and Rice, accompany'd with a Balsamick Dressing on the Side.  While the Cheese was a little Salty to my Taste (as Halloumi is often wont to do) and the Rice slightly deficient in Flavour (and methinks slightly superfluous to the overall Sallet Composition at large) I nevertheless found the Ingredients fresh, and well worth the 90p price tag.

The Winner: Chicken Biryani
Sallet (1.50)

As my Eye's Lust had far exceeded that of my Appetite, I was not able to give you an account of the Chicken Biryani Sallet: which contain'd Rice, Tomatoes, Cucumbers, Chickpeas, Sultana-Grapes and Grilled-Chicken.  However, I had the good Fortune to eat this Hindoo Delight just now, wash'd down with a goodly English Ale.  In terms of Flavour, it hath far exceeded the rest; the Chicken was tender and well season'd to the Taste, containing hints of Coriander, Mint and Lemon.



But the Hour grows late, worthy Reader, and so I put down my pen, writes,

The New Arabella,

or,

THE HUNGRY QUIXOTE

To Eat in or Take-Away? The Best and Worst Archive Lunches

A Meditation upon the Inimical Cost of VICTUALS in the Archives in LONDON

or,

A QUEST for a Goodly and Healthfull LUNCH

Compleat with a Review of the Best and Worst Meals to be had in the Archives

which the Author hopes will be of Particular use to Commoners, Paupers, Labourers, and Graduate Students.

(In the Manner of CERVANTES)

---

It is a melancholy Object to those who walk through this great Towne or travel in the Country, when they see the Food-Carts, the Pubs, the Restaurants, crowded with Students of both Sexes, holding their Mole-Skines, their Eye-Pads, their Lap-Tops, all in Fleece and importuning each Vendor for a Sample.  These Students, unable to subsist on their meager University-Funding, are forc’d to employ all their time trolling Sainsbury’s for Two-for-One ‘Innocent’ Smoothies and Pumpkin and Sunflower Seed Oat-Cakes.  Indeed, blessed Readers, even some of the more modest London Eating Houses can wreak harm upon the Student's Purse.  And as Diogenes, the Cynick, hath so publickly (and perhaps disgracefully) shewn, Man’s Hunger cannot be sated with the mere Rubbing of his Stomack.

Our History is rife with tales of foolish Hidalgos, and innocent Maidens, who are seduc’d by the most ludicrous and puerile Romances.  Yet permit me to inquire, my gentle Reader, which be more inimical to the Imagination: the Romance? Or the Bill of Fare?  What happens to the young and impressionable Lady, who, occasion’d by this strange and unnatural Hobby-Horse, hath ingested too many Cookery Books?  Alas, dear Reader, I pity the poor Soul who hath developed a Taste for Haunches of Venison and Croquants of Pine Apple, but is unjustly compell’d to subsisteth on Ale and Butter’d Bread!  The wicked and hungry Eye may causeth humble Chicken-Fingers to look like Roast Fowles with Bacon, or common Cyder to look like Champagne, just like the dying Man in the Desert believes he sees Water where there existeth nothing but Sand.  But the Palate never deceiveth.  And so these cursed Souls are coerc’d by Necessity to practice the Virtues of Pythagorus, but never by Lady Taste alone. 

I have painted for my Readers a woefull Picture.  However, for the Benefit of the wise and judicious Publick (particularly those in want of Monies) I hath compil’d a few Words regarding the Midday-Fare in the Archives of London, so that they may have an agreeable and oeconomical Meal.

Best: The Royal Society on Carlton Terrace.  A Grand-Sallet unrivalled by those of Mr. Evelyn costeth but 2.0.45.  Don’t expect too much from the Made-Dishes (Fish Currie over a Jacket Potatoe = not the best)  but when it comes to traditional English Fare, even the most delicate Palates will be pleas’d with the Cod, Chips and Mushy Pease. 

Worst: The Wellcome Institute on E------ Road.  The Café is catered by Peyton and Byrne, which generally pleaseth the Palate … if your Appetite is not suppress’d by the great Expense (ie. you’re going to shell out 10-15 bones).  Furthermore, the Variety and Selection is far inferior to that of the British Library, and if one dare to bringeth his own Lunch, he can only eat it in the corner of the Lobby, adjacent to a scientifick Exhibit on “DIRT.” 

If Any Body wishes to lend his Thoughts and Opinions upon this very urgent Matter, please either write to the Lady of Quality or leave a Comment to the Publick, requests

Your humble and obedient Servant,

THE NEW ARABELLA

Post-Script- My next Treatise will address a very peculiar Rumour that there are healthfull and pleasing Sandwiches near the Archive in Clerkenwell that costeth but 90d.  

Stay Tuned.