We have the word of history for it that Vienna was originally
settled by the Celts, but you would hardly notice it now. On first
impressions you would say that about Vienna there was a noticeable
suggestion - a perceptible trace - of the Teutonic; and this applies
to the Austrian food in the main. I remember a kind of Wiener-schnitzel,
breaded, that I had in Vienna; in fact for the moment I do not
seem to recall much else about Vienna. Life there was just one
Wiener-schnitzel after another.
In order to spread sweetness and light, and to the end, furthermore,
that the ignorant people across the salted seas might know something
of a land of real food and much food, and plenty of it and plenty
of variety to it, I would that I might bring an expedition of
Europeans to America and personally conduct it up and down our
continent and back and forth crosswise of it.
And if I had the money of a Carnegie or a Rockefeller I would do
it, too, for it would be a greater act of charity than building
public libraries or endowing public baths. I would include in my
party a few delegates from England, where every day is All Soles'
Day; and a few sausage-surfeited Teutons; and some Gauls, wearied
and worn by the deadly poulet routine of their daily life, and a
scattering representation from all the other countries over there.
In especial I would direct the Englishman's attention to the broiled
pompano of New Orleans; the kingfish filet of New York; the sanddab
of Los Angeles; the Boston scrod of the Massachusetts coast; and
that noblest of all pan fish - the fried crappie of Southern Indiana.
To these and to many another delectable fishling, would I introduce
the poor fellow; and to him and his fellows I fain would offer a
dozen apiece of Smith Island oysters on the half shell.
And I would take all of them to New England for baked beans and
brown bread and codfish balls; but on the way we would visit the
shores of Long Island for a kind of soft clam which first is steamed
and then is esteemed. At Portsmouth, New Hampshire, they should
each have a broiled lobster measuring thirty inches from tip to
tip, fresh caught out of the Piscataqua River.
Vermont should come to them in hospitality and in pity, offering
buckwheat cakes and maple sirup. But Rhode Island would bring a
genuine Yankee blueberry pie and directions for the proper consumption
of it, namely - discarding knife and fork, to raise a crusty,
dripping wedge of blueberry pie in your hand to your mouth, and
to take a first bite, which instantly changes the ground-floor
plan of that pie from a triangle to a crescent; and then to take
a second bite, and then to lick your fingers - and then there isn't
any more pie.
