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Eating in Two or Three Languages by Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury) Cobb
page 13 of 34 (38%)
oatmeal porridge. Moreover, this dab of sugar was to be my full day's
allowance, it seemed. There was no cream for the porridge either, but,
instead, a small measure of skimmed milk so pale in colour that it had
the appearance of having been diluted with moonbeams.

Furthermore, I was informed that prior to nine-thirty I could have no
meat of any sort, the only exceptions to this cruel rule being
kippered herrings and bloaters; and in strict confidence the waiter
warned me that, for some mysterious reason, neither the kippers nor
the bloaters seemed to be up to their oldtime mark of excellence just
now. From the same source I gathered that it would be highly
inadvisable to order fried eggs, because of the lack of sufficient fat
in which to cook them. So, as a last resort, I ordered two eggs,
soft-boiled. They were served upended, English-fashion, in little
individual cups, the theory being that in turn I should neatly scalp
the top off of each egg with my spoon and then scoop out the contents
from Nature's own container.

Now Englishmen are born with the faculty to perform this difficult
achievement; they inherit it. But I have known only one American who
could perform the feat with neatness and despatch; and, as he had
devoted practically all his energies to mastering this difficult alien
art, he couldn't do much of anything else, and, except when eggs were
being served in the original packages, he was practically a total loss
in society. He was a variation of the breed who devote their lives to
producing a perfect salad dressing; and you must know what sad affairs
those persons are when not engaged in following their lone talent.
Take them off of salad dressings and they are just naturally null and
void.

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