ed for at the full adult rates. And, having by now exhausted our capacity for sea foods, we wound up with an alleged dessert in the shape of three drowned prunes apiece, the remains being partly immersed in a palish custardlike composition that was slightly sour.
"Never mind," I said to my indignant stomach as we left the table--"Never mind! I shall make it all up to you for this mistreatment at breakfast to-morrow morning. We shall rise early--you and I--and with loud gurgling cries we shall leap headlong into one of those regular breakfasts in which the people of this city and nation specialise so delightfully. Food regulators may work their ruthless will upon the dinner trimmings, but none would dare to put so much as the weight of one impious finger upon an Englishman's breakfast table to curtail its plenitude. Why, next to Magna Charta, an Englishman's breakfast is his most sacred right."
This in confidence was what I whispered to my gastric juices. You see, being still in ignorance of the
An American war correspondent's memoir of the privations and triumphs of dining amid rationing in Britain and France during World War I. Told lightly and with humor, this short piece is of interest to food historians and other seeking information about life during those difficult times, but it doesn't reach the heights of gourmet porn foodies will be looking for.