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The Third Day

"I observe, dear Marchesa," said Mrs. Fothergill at breakfast on
Thursday morning, "that we still follow the English fashion in our
breakfast dishes.  I have a notion that, in this particular
especially, we gross English show our inferiority to the more
spirituelles nations of the Continent, and I always feel a new
being after the light meal of delicious coffee and crisp bread and
delicate butter the first morning I awake in dear Paris."

"I wonder how it happens, then, that two goes of fish, a plateful
of omelette, and a round and a half of toast and marmalade are
necessary to repair the waste of tissue in dear England?" Van der
Roet whispered to Miss Macdonnell.

"It must be the gross air of England or the gross nature of the--"

The rest of Miss Macdonnell's remark was lost, as the Marchesa
cried out in answer to Mrs. Fothergill, "But why should we have
anything but English breakfast dishes in England? The defects of
English cookery are manifest enough, but breakfast fare is not
amongst them.  In these England stands supreme; there is nothing to
compare with them, and they possess the crowning merit of being
entirely compatible with English life. I cannot say whether it may
be the effect of the crossing, or of the climate on this side, or
that the air of England is charged with some subtle stimulating
quality, given off in the rush and strain of strenuous national
life, but the fact remains that as soon as I find myself across the
Channel I want an English breakfast.  It seems that I am more
English than certain of the English themselves, and I am sorry that
Mrs. Fothergill has been deprived of her French roll and butter.  I
will see that you have it to-morrow, Mrs. Fothergill, and to make
the illusion complete, I will order it to be sent to your room."

"Oh no, Marchesa, that would be giving too much trouble, and I am
sure you want all the help in the house to carry out the service as
exquisitely as you do," said Mrs. Fothergill hurriedly, and
blushing as well as her artistic complexion would allow.

"I fancy," said Mrs. Sinclair, "that foreigners are taking to
English breakfasts as well as English clothes.  I noticed when I
was last in Milan that almost every German or Italian ate his two
boiled eggs for breakfast, the sign whereby the Englishman used to
be marked for a certainty."

"The German would probably call for boiled eggs when abroad on
account of the impossibility of getting such things in his own
country.  No matter how often you send to the kitchen for properly
boiled eggs in Germany, the result is always the same cold slush,"
said Mrs. Wilding; "and I regret to find that the same plague is
creeping into the English hotels which are served by German
waiters."

"That is quite true," said the Marchesa; "but in England we have no
time to concern ourselves with mere boiled eggs, delicious as they
are.  The roll of delicacies is long enough, or even too long
without them.  When I am in England, I always lament that we have
only seven days a week and one breakfast a day, and when I am in
Italy I declare that the reason why the English have overrun the
world is because they eat such mighty breakfasts.  Considering how
good the dishes are, I wonder the breakfasts are not mightier than
they are."

"It always strikes me that our national barrenness of ideas appears
as plainly in our breakfasts as anywhere," said Mrs. Gradinger.
"There is a monotony about them which--"

"Monotony!" interrupted the Colonel.  "Why, I could dish you up a
fresh breakfast every day for a month.  Your conservative
tendencies must be very strong, Mrs. Gradinger, if they lead you to
this conclusion."

"Conservative! On the contrary, I--that is, my husband--always
votes for Progressive candidates at every election," said Mrs.
Gradinger, dropping into her platform intonation, at the sound of
which consternation arose in every breast.  "I have, moreover, a
theory that we might reform our diet radically, as well as all
other institutions; but before I expound this, I should like to say
a few words on the waste of wholesome food which goes on.  For
instance, I went for a walk in the woods yesterday afternoon, where
I came upon a vast quantity of fungi which our ignorant middle
classes would pronounce to be poisonous, but which I--in common
with every child of the intelligent working-man educated in a board
school where botany is properly taught--knew to be good for food."

"Excuse me one moment," said Sir John, "but do they really use
board-school children as tests to see whether toadstools are
poisonous or not?"

"I do not think anything I said justified such an inference," said
Mrs. Gradinger in the same solemn drawl; "but I may remark that the
children are taught from illustrated manuals accurately drawn and
coloured.  Well, to come back to the fungi, I took the trouble to
measure the plot on which they were growing, and found it just ten
yards square.  The average weight of edible fungus per square yard
was just an ounce, or a hundred and twelve pounds per acre.  Now,
there must be at least twenty millions of acres in the United
Kingdom capable of producing these fungi without causing the
smallest damage to any other crop, wherefore it seems that, owing
to our lack of instruction, we are wasting some million tons of
good food per annum; and I may remark that this calculation pre-
supposes, that each fungus springs only once in the season; but I
have reason to believe that certain varieties would give five or
six gatherings between May and October, so the weight produced
would be enormously greater than the quantity I have named."

Here Mrs. Gradinger paused to finish her coffee, which was getting
cold, and before she could resume, Sir John had taken up the
parole.  "I think the smaller weight will suffice for the present,
until the taste for strange fungi has developed, or the pressure of
population increased.  And before stimulating a vastly increased
supply, it will be necessary to extirpate the belief that all
fungi, except the familiar mushroom, are poisonous, and perhaps to
appoint an army of inspectors to see that only the right sort are
brought to market."

"Yes, and that will give pleasant and congenial employment to those
youths of the working-classes who are ambitious of a higher career
than that of their fathers," said Lady Considine, "and the
ratepayers will rejoice, no doubt, that they are participating in
the general elevation of the masses."

"Perhaps Mrs. Gradinger will gather a few of her less deadly fungi,
and cook them and eat them herself, pour encourager les autres,"
said Miss Macdonnell.  "Then, if she doesn't die in agonies, we may
all forswear beef and live on toadstools."

"I certainly will," said Mrs. Gradinger; "and before we rise from
table I should like--"

"I fear we must hear your remarks at dinner, Mrs. Gradinger," said
the Marchesa.  "Time is getting on, and some of the dishes to-day
are rather elaborate, so now to the kitchen."



  Menu -- Lunch.

  Risotto alla Genovese.  Savoury rice.
  Pollo alla Villereccia.  Chicken alla Villereccia.
  Lingue di Castrato alla cucinira. Sheeps' tongues alla cucinira.

  Menu -- Dinner

  Zuppa alla Veneziana.  Venetian soup.
  Sogliole alla giardiniera.  Sole with Vegetables.
  Timballo alla Romana.  Roman pie.
  Petto di Castrato alla salsa di burro.  Breast of mutton with butter sauce.
  Verdure miste.  Mixed vegetables.
  Crema rappresa.  Coffee cream.
  Ostriche alla Veneziana.  Oyster savoury.