MIDDLE-CLASS MEALS.
[To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.]
Sin,—We have survived four years of war and waded through four years of peace, and now find ourselves in a much modified world ; but we have not yet adapted ourselves—or we have only just begun to do so—to our straitened circumstances by getting out of the grooves which suited our opulent past. I want to consider the household of the professional man, in which there are supposed to be father and mother, three or four children of school and nursery ages, and one, two or three maids, and to apply my criticism to the meals which such households accept as a matter of course, ill-adapted though they are to present- day conditions.
The first meal, breakfast, is a ceremony, above criticism ; it is sublime. But the sequence, luncheon, tea and dinner, is plainly ridiculous, and neither convenient for, nor popular with, the members of the family as a whole. From eleven o'clock in the forenoon cook is tied to her kitchen preparing luncheon, but she puts little heart into the work, because master is never at home till evening. And the children envy their elders the good things at dinner that they never share. Baby wakes up cross from his mid-day sleep, disinclined for a heavy meal, and unless there are some ravenous fourteen-year- olds the monotony at table only vanishes with the fruit. On Sundays the preparation of luncheon interferes with the
servants going to church, and it is never the luncheon that gets missed out
By tea-time the small fry are at their hungriest and a huge banquet must be spread in the dining-room. A well-known children's specialist of our day has pointed out the error of crowding all the rich nourishment into the early part of the day and making the last meal so light. School-children frequently need an egg or sardine, beside bread and butter, to keep them going till next moniing and prevent restless nights. Hence the necessity of a good, square meal.
Should callers come, two teas must be put up, boisterous tea in the dining-room and elegant tea in the parlour ; a maximum effort for the maid and yet a minimum result for at least one of the party, namely father, who may take a cup or two on his return home, but declines to spoil his appetite for dinner. Dinner comes on at eight o'clock, and cook does her best for the master, but he alone eats heartily. In order to appear sociable, mother pecks a little at the dishes, but this is not her favourite meal, so she brings her knitting to table and' spends the time in conversation and work.
Now, why not break away from such an obsolete tradition ? Why not have afternoon tea at one o'clock and luncheon-cum- dinner at six p.m., or thereabouts ? The plan is, of course, not a new one ; it is followed in all' the labourers' homes. There, the midday meal is the light one ; the cottage child can take it to school in his pocket and the cottage father can take his in his bag ; while the heavy meal is the one at evening time. Why not take a leaf out of the workman's book, now that we can no longer be as prodigal as in the past ?
One o'clock tea, served with fruit, will make a cheery meal, and the hockey team could stiffen it up with a slice of cheese. It will be convenient for the servants and on no day more so than on Sunday. The proper time to pay calls will fall at one o'clock, an hour when the mother of a family is least pre-occupied. The children have their afternoon lessons to do, and she can then seize an occasional chance of going out for tea and tennis, or a matinee, and can get back in time for the children's evening hour.
Six o'clock dinner is the crux of the whole matter. The shoe does not always pinch father, and he is very conservative. He may, or may not, appreciate his dinner face to face with his offspring. It all depends on father ! We will imagine that he accepts the inevitable when refreshed by a hot bath and change on coming home. Dinner will be hearty enough when everyone is equally hungry. On Sundays it can be served cold, and at an hour that does not clash with Evensong. For the rest of the week it is well-timed for evening work or evening play. In London it will fill an hour when there is nothing doing abroad, and will never have to be hurried for the theatre. In the country it will allow more time to be spent out of doors on lovely summer evenings.
All things considered, it will be strange if we do not very soon adopt a system presenting so many attractions.---I am,
[The reconstruction of the hours of meals to suit our changed circumstances is a most interesting subject. Most of us find dinner at a late hour pleasant and sociable ; but from some points of view, including perhaps those of health, it can hardly be defended. 'Life was more leisurely when people used to dine at six o'clock, and we fear that the "daily btead- winners " in offices who have to make considemble journeys after their work could not reach home in time for dinner at six o'clock. And even now do most people who live outside London and have to be ready for an early start in the -morning dine as late as eight o'clock ? Another point occurs to us. Grown-up persons who go to bed, say, between 10.30 'p.m. and 11.30 p.m. would probably be hungry by that time if they had dined at six o'clock. A late supper of cocoa—quite a good "nightcap "—might meet the case. Most Americans dine rather earlier than we do, and their breakfasts and J.un cheons arc, as one would expect, less solid than ours.—En. Spectator.]
Previous page
