Part 3
We import about 13 or 14 tons of gelatine a year from France, besides what is made at home, and the greater part of what passes under this name is, I believe, used for food. The Americans, some years ago, tried to pass off upon us isinglass made from fish bones, but it would not go down.
Gelatine of all kinds has usually been considered wholesome and nourishing; and while few object to cow-heel or calf’s foot jelly, very many are possibly unaware of the sources of much of the gelatine vended in shapes so beautifully transparent, but which is made from bones and hide clippings, and parchment shavings. It is said that a pair of lady’s gloves have ere now made a ragout; and there is a hiatus in the parchment specifications at the Patent Office, caused by an unlucky boy, who changed them away for tarts, in order that they might be converted into jellies.
The dust of the ivory turner in working up elephants’ tusks forms an excellent material for jellies, and is commonly sold for this purpose, at about 6_d._ per lb.
M. Payen has recently been at pains to disprove the vulgar notion that bones make good soup. The celebrated _Gelatine Commission_, some years ago, declared, as the results of many experiments, that gelatine was not nutritious; and this result has been repeated in almost every text-book of physiology as conclusive, and is adopted by M. Payen, who tests it in another series of experiments. He boiled in one pot a portion of beef completely divested of bone, and in another the bone taken from the beef, with only a little salt. After five hours’ slow boiling, the liquid from the beef was perfectly limpid, and of a light amber colour, leaving that aroma and delicate taste known to belong to good beef tea. The liquid from the bones was whitish-gray, troubled and opaque, having a very slight odour, and a not agreeable taste. Nothing could be more opposed than the two soups thus produced. In another experiment, he repeated this process with the addition of some vegetables, and even some drops of caramel. The beef-soup here maintained its delicious aroma, agreeably combined with that of the vegetables; its limpidity was the same, but its colour of course stronger. The bone-soup had a dominant odour of vegetables, but its troubled and opaque aspect made it very unappetising. From these experiments M. Payen concludes that the prejudice in favour of the addition of bones to the soup is a prejudice, and that, in fact, bones are not at all nutritious.
Liebig also, in his _Letters on Chemistry_, pp. 424 and 425, says:--‘It has now been proved by the most convincing experiments, that gelatine, which by itself is tasteless, and when eaten excites nausea, possesses no nutritive value; that even when accompanied by the savoury constituents of flesh, it is not capable of supporting the vital process, and when added to the usual diet as a substitute for plastic matter, does not increase, but on the contrary diminishes the nutritive value of the food, which it renders insufficient in quantity and inferior in quality; and that its use is hurtful rather than beneficial, because it does not, like the non-nitrogenous substances provided by nature for respiration, disappear in the body without leaving a residue, but overloads with nitrogenous products, the presence of which disturbs and impedes the organic processes.’ And he further observes, that ‘the only difference between this and joiner’s glue is its greater price.’ Jellies no doubt were considered most nutritious during the Peninsular war, but we have learned many things since then, of which our poor soldiers ought to have the benefit.
Portable soup is prepared in a very simple manner. The meat is boiled, and the scum taken off as it rises, until the soup possesses the requisite flavour. ‘It is then suffered to cool, in order that the fat may be separated. In the next place it is mixed with the whites of five or six eggs, and slightly boiled--this operation serves to clarify the liquid, by the removal of opaque particles, which unite with the white of egg, at the time it becomes solid by the heat, and are consequently removed along with it. The liquor is then to be strained through flannel, and evaporated on the water bath, to the consistence of a very thick paste, after which it is spread rather thin upon a smooth stone, then cut into cakes, and lastly dried in a stove, until it becomes brittle. These cakes may be kept four or five years, if defended from moisture. When intended to be used, nothing more is required to be done than to dissolve a sufficient quantity in boiling water.’[2]
For some years past there have been imported into the Continent rather large quantities of dried meat from the southern countries of America, where it is known under the name of _assayo_. It gives a soup nearly similar to that of fresh meat. Another sort of food which is prepared in Texas, the _meat-biscuit_, is generally used in the American navy; but, although greatly appreciated at the Great Exhibition of London, it has not yet entered into general use in Europe. It is made of boiled beef free from grease, the liquor of which is evaporated to the consistency of syrup, and this is mixed with wheaten flour in sufficient proportion to form a solid paste. This paste is then spread out by a rolling pin, is pierced with a number of little holes, is cut into the ordinary dimensions of sea biscuits, and then baked and properly dried. The biscuit is eaten dry, or may be broken, boiled in twenty or thirty times its weight in water, for from twenty-five to thirty minutes, and then seasoned with salt or other things.
The following is the process of manufacturing this biscuit:--
There are four wooden caldrons or tubs for boiling the meat and evaporating the liquid or broth--the two for boiling the meat, holding 2,300 gallons, will each boil 7,000 lbs. of meat in twelve to sixteen hours. The other two, for evaporating, will contain some 1,400 gallons each. All the tubs are heated or boiled by steam passing through long coiled iron pipes, supplied at pleasure, either from the escape steam from the engine, or direct from the boiler.
When the meat is so far boiled or macerated, that the liquid or broth contains the entire nutriment, the meaty, or solid portions are separated by a simple process of filtering, so that the broth goes into the evaporator pure and free from fibrous matter. It is then evaporated to a degree of consistency resembling the golden or Stewart’s sugar house syrup, its uniform density being determined by a liquid or syrup gauge. Two pounds of this syrup or extract contains the nutriment of some eleven pounds of meat (including its usual proportion of bone) as first put into the caldron. This is then mixed with the best and finest flour, kneaded and made into biscuit by means of machines. The biscuit is baked upon pans in an oven so constructed as to produce an uniform firmness. The proportion is as two pounds of extract are to three pounds of flour, but by baking, the five pounds of dough is reduced to four pounds of biscuit, and this will make what the inventor claims--the nutriment of over five pounds of meat in one pound of bread, which contains, besides, over ten ounces of flour.
The biscuit resembles in appearance a light coloured sugar-cake. It is packed in air-tight casks or tin canisters of different sizes, part of the biscuit being pulverized by grinding in a mill for the purpose, and then packed with the whole biscuit.
In discussing the extension of our resources of animal food, it is strange to notice that while we eat the blood of pigs and fowls, we throw aside as waste the blood of oxen, sheep, goats, calves, &c. Now blood contains all the principles out of which the tissues are formed, and must, one would therefore imagine, be eminently nutritious. Why prejudice has excluded these, while admitting the blood of pigs, is an anomaly which I cannot understand.
In France, where there are not, as in America, large quantities of animals which are killed simply for the sake of their hides, it would be impossible to prepare or supply at a low price either the assayo or the meat biscuit; but the idea of using the blood of animals killed, which blood is at present wasted without profit, or, at best, is used as manure, might have occurred to some one. M. Brocchieri has conceived this idea. In treating the blood of our slaughter-houses by means which he has invented, and uniting to flour of the best quality, the albumen and fibrine which he extracts from it--he makes bread and biscuits which are easily preserved, and which may be employed to make very nutritious soups.
At the Great Exhibition, in 1851, he produced _bon-bons_ made of the blood of the ox, cow, sheep, and hog; biscuits and patties of the blood of the bull, and delicacies made of calves’ blood. I have specimens of these preserved in my private museum, although I have not ventured to taste them.
Generally speaking in England, we do not do much with the blood of animals, at least, in the shape of food--unless it be in those strings of black-puddings, with tempting little bits of fat stuck in them, which stare us in the face in some shops.
But M. Brocchieri has attempted to utilize the nutritious principles of the blood of animals killed for food, by reducing it to a concentrated and dried state, for preservation during long periods. The first step is to prepare a liquid, considered innocuous and antiseptic by the inventor, by which various bloods are kept fluid and apparently fresh. Samples of these were shown, and the series of specimens illustrated the solid parts forming the crassamentum or clot, in a dried and semi-crystalline state. These solid constituents, including the gelatine, albumen, and fibrine are next produced, combined with small proportions of flour, in the form of light, dry masses, like loaves, cakes, or biscuits. These are inodorous, almost flavourless, and may be made the bases of highly nutritious soups. They are very uniform in composition, containing half the nitrogen of dried blood, or forty-four per cent. of dry flesh, the equivalent of double the nutritive value of ordinary butcher’s meat. Both the bull’s and calf’s blood gave 6·6 per cent. of nitrogen, equal to forty-three per cent. of flesh-forming principles. Combined with sugar, the cakes have been made into _bon-bons_.
The evidence, as to the value of the process, in preserving the samples in an undecomposed state, is now satisfactorily arrived at. It was stated in 1851, that the preparations had been advantageously employed in long voyages. The samples I have in my collection have now been kept seven years, and have not shown any tendency to decay. Thus proving that the first attempt has been successful, in rendering available for food, and portable in form, the otherwise wasted blood of cattle.
This notice of blood recalls to my recollection a laughable story told in a French work, of the life of an unfortunate pig.
‘A French curé, exiled to a deserted part of our forests--and who, the whole year, except on a few rare occasions, lived only on fruit and vegetables--hit upon a most admirable expedient for providing an animal repast to set before the curés of the neighbourhood, when one or the other, two or three times during the year, ventured into those dreadful solitudes, with a view of assuring himself with his own eyes that his unfortunate colleague had not yet died of hunger. The curé in question possessed a pig, his whole fortune: and you will see the manner in which he used it. Immediately the bell announced a visitor, and that his cook had shown his clerical friend into the parlour, the master of the house, drawing himself up majestically, said to his housekeeper: ‘Brigitte, let there be a good dinner for myself and my friend.’ Brigitte, although she knew there were only stale crusts and dried peas in her larder, seemed in no degree embarrassed by this order; she summoned to her assistance ‘Toby the Carrot,’ so called because his head was as red as that of a native of West Galloway, and leaving the house together, they both went in search of the pig. This, after a short skirmish, was caught by Brigitte and her carroty assistant; and, notwithstanding his cries, his grunts, his gestures of despair, and supplication, the inhuman cook, seizing his head, opened a large vein in his throat, and relieved him of two pounds of blood; this, with the addition of garlic, shalots, mint, wild thyme, and parsley, was converted into a most savoury and delicious black-pudding for the curé and his friend, and being served to their reverences smoking hot on the summit of a pyramid of yellow cabbage, figured admirably as a small Vesuvius and a centre dish. The surgical operation over, Brigitte, whose qualifications as a seamstress were superior, darned up the hole in the neck of the unfortunate animal: and as he was then turned loose until a fresh supply of black-puddings should be required for a similar occasion, this wretched pig was never happy. How could he be so? Like Damocles of Syracuse, he lived in a state of perpetual fever; terror seized him directly he heard the curé’s bell, and seeing in imagination the uplifted knife already about to glide into his bosom, he invariably took to his heels before Brigitte was half-way to the door to answer it. If, as usual, the peal announced a diner-out, Brigitte and Gold-button were soon on his track, calling him by the most tender epithets, and promising that he should have something nice for his supper--skim-milk, &c.,--but the pig with his painful experience was not such a fool as to believe them. Hidden behind an old cask, some fagots, or lying in a deep ditch, he remained silent as the grave, and kept himself close as long as possible. Discovered, however, he was sure to be at last, when he would rush into the garden, and, running up and down like a mad creature, upset everything in his way. For several minutes it was a regular steeplechase--across the beds, now over the turnips, then through the gooseberry-bushes--in short, he was here, there, and everywhere; but, in spite of all his various stratagems to escape the fatal incision, the poor pig always finished by being seized, tied, thrown on the ground, and bled: the vein was then once more cleverly sewn up, and the inhuman operators quietly retired from the scene to make the curé’s far-famed black-pudding. Half-dead upon the spot where he was phlebotomized, the wretched animal was left to reflect under the shade of a tree on the cruelty of man, on their barbarous appetites; cursing with all his heart the poverty of Morvinian curates, their conceited hospitality, of which he was the victim, and their brutal affection for pig’s blood.’
Sir George Simpson, speaking of some of the northern tribes of Indians in America, says, the flexibility of their stomachs is surprising. At one time they will gorge themselves with food, and are then prepared to go without any for several days, if necessary.
Enter their tents; sit there if you can for a whole day, and not for an instant will you find the fire unoccupied by persons of all ages cooking. When not hunting or travelling, they are in fact always eating. Now it is a little roast, a partridge or rabbit perhaps; now a tit-bit, broiled under the ashes; anon a portly kettle, well filled with venison, swings over the fire; then comes a choice dish of curdled blood, followed by the sinews and marrow-bones of deer’s legs, singed on the embers. And so the grand business of life goes unceasingly round, interrupted only by sleep.
Dining within the arctic circle, when such a thing as dinner is to be had, is a much more serious matter than when one undergoes that pleasing ceremony at a first-rate eating house, hotel, or club.
In arctic banquets, the cheerful glass is often frozen to the lip, or the too ardent reveller splinters a tooth in attempting to gnaw through a lump of soup. We, in these temperate climes, have never had the pleasure of _eating_ ship’s rum, or _chewing_ brandy and water. It is not only necessary to ‘first catch your fish,’ but also essential to _thaw_ it; and there is no chance of the fish being limber, although it is not unusual for heat to bring them to life after they have been frozen stiff a couple of days. In the arctic circle even the very musquitoes, which, by the way, are frightfully large and numerous, become torpid with the intense cold, and are frozen into hard masses, which the heat of the sun, or fire, may restore to animation.
Dr. Sutherland, in his voyage in Baffin’s Bay, says--‘It was necessary to be very careful with our drinking cups. Tin never suited, for it always adhered to the lips, and took a portion of the skin along with it. A dog attempting to lick a little fat from an iron shovel stuck fast to it, and dragged it by means of his tongue, until by a sudden effort, he got clear, leaving several inches of the skin and adjacent tissue on the cold metal. One of the seamen, endeavouring to change the size of the eye of the splice in his tack-rope, put the marling spike, after the true sailor fashion, into his mouth; the result was that he lost a great portion of his lips and tongue.’
We hear frequent jokes of the partiality of the Russians for tallow candles, and, like all inhabitants of the polar regions, the Esquimaux are very fond of fat, the physiology of their craving for fat is now known to everybody. My esteemed friend, the late Mr. Hooper, one of the officers of H.M.S. _Plover_, in his account of his residence on the shores of Arctic America, states, that ‘one of the ladies who visited them was presented, as a jest, with a small tallow candle, called a purser’s dip. It was, notwithstanding, a very pleasant joke to the damsel, who deliberately munched it up with evident relish, and finally, drew the wick between her set teeth to clean off any remaining morsels of fat.’
He gives also in detail, the history of a Tuski repast of the most sumptuous nature, to which he and his companions were invited, and I must find room for some portion of it.
‘First was brought in, on a huge wooden tray, a number of small fish, uncooked, but intensely frozen. At these all the natives set to work, and we essayed, somewhat ruefully it must be confessed, to follow their example; but, being all unused to such gastronomic process, found ourselves, as might be expected, rather at a loss how to commence. From this dilemma, however, our host speedily extricated us, by practical demonstration of the correct mode of action; and, under his certainly very able tuition, we shortly became more expert. But, alas! a new difficulty was soon presented; our native companions, we presume, either made a hasty bolt of each morsel, or had, perhaps, a relish for the flavour of the viands now under consideration. Not so ourselves--it was sadly repugnant to our palates; for, aided by the newly-acquired knowledge that the fish were in the same condition as when taken from the water, uncleaned and unembowelled, we speedily discovered that we could neither bolt nor retain the fragments, which, by the primitive aid of teeth and nails, we had rashly detached for our piscatorial share. It was to no purpose that our host pressed us to ‘fall to;’ we could not manage the consumption of this favourite preparation (or rather lack thereof), and succeeded with difficulty in evading his earnest solicitations. The next course was a mess of green stuff, looking as if carefully chopped up, and this was also hard frozen. To it was added a lump of blubber, which the lady presiding, who did all the carving, dexterously cut into slices with a knife like a cheesemonger’s, and apportioned out at different quarters of the huge tray before mentioned, which was used throughout the meal, together with a modicum of the grass-like stuff, to the company; the only distinction in favour of the strangers and guests of high degree being, that their slices were cut much thinner than for the rest. We tasted this compound, and ... we didn’t like it: at this no one will wonder--the blubber speaks for itself; and the other stuff, which really was not very unpalatable, we discovered in after-times to be the unruminated food of reindeer which had been slaughtered--at least, so we were told: but I am not quite clear on this point. Our dislike to the dish had no offensive effect upon our host, who only seemed to be astonished at our strange want of taste, and, with the rest of the guests, soon cleared the board; the managing dame putting the finishing stroke by a rapid sweep of her not too scrupulously clean fingers over the dish, by way of clearing off the fragments to prepare for the reception of the next delicacy. After this interesting operation she conveyed her digits to her mouth, and, engulfing them for a brief period, withdrew them, quite in apple pie order once more. The board was now again replenished, this time with viands less repellent to our unnurtured tastes. Boiled seal and walrus flesh appeared, and our hospitable friends were greatly relieved when they beheld us assist in the consumption of these items, which, being utterly devoid of flavour, were distasteful only from their extreme toughness and mode of presentation; but we did not, of course, desire to appear too singular or squeamish. Next came a portion of whale’s flesh, or rather whale’s skin. This was perfectly ebony in hue, and we discovered some apprehensions respecting its fitness as an article of food; but our fears were groundless. It was cut and re-cut crosswise into diminutive cubes; venturing upon one of which we were agreeably surprised to find it possessing a cocoa-nut flavour, like which it also cut, ‘very short;’ indeed, so much astonished were we on this occasion, that we had consumed a very considerable number of these cubes, and with great relish too, before we recovered from our wonder. The dish was ever afterwards a favourite with me. On its disappearance, a very limited quantity of boiled reindeer meat, fresh and fat, was served up, to which we did ample justice; then came portions of the gum of the whale, in which the ends of the bone lay still embedded; and I do not hesitate to declare that this was perfectly delicious, its flavour being, as nearly as I can find a parallel, like that of cream cheese. This, which the Tuski call their sugar, was the wind-up to the repast and ourselves, and we were fain to admit that, after the rather unpleasant auspices with which our feast commenced, the finale was by no means to be contemned.’
A merchant at a banquet to which he was invited with several respectable Greenlanders, counted the following dishes:--Dried herrings; dried seal’s flesh; the same boiled; half-raw, or putrid seal’s flesh, called Mikiak; boiled auks; part of a whale’s tail in a half-putrid state, which was considered as a principal dish; dried salmon; dried reindeer venison; preserves of crow-berries mixed with the chyle from the maw of the reindeer; and lastly, the same enriched with train oil.