Evening star., 1942-09-08


Henry McLemore. the one of
Gandhi shows Indias best-dressed
man smacking his lips and loosen
ing his loin cloth belt in antcipa-
ton of a six-course meal of goats
milk, goats milk, goats milk and
some more goats milk.
The restaurants menu features
all sorts of imitation cuts of meat.
One of the most popular dishes, the
proprietor told us, is spinach SIR
loin, and he suggested that We try
one. In this dish, it was patiently
explained, the best cuts of spinach
(they come from Kansas City.fwe
believe) are nodded into the shape
of a sirloin, broiled over charcoal,
dressed up with dashes of sauce apd
served on a sizzling platter.
SO we ordered one. A medium
rare one. You won't be able to
tell it from the finest cut of west
ern beef" the owner said. He would
have been dead right if we had not
been blessed with such normal
human attributes as sight, taste
buds, teeth, palate and stomach.
The first bite of it had the same
effect on us that the sight OF Liv-
ingstone lolling in a hammock had
on Stanley. On seeing Livingstone,
the book says, Stanley leaped back
ward, uttered cry of surprise and
then leaped backward once more.
of
That is exactly what We did on
tasting the medium rare spinach
sirloin. 1t didn't even taste like
spinach. The aging process (the
spinach is hung two weeks, we un-
derstand, although the chef is the
one that should have been given
the treatmenD had robbed the
spinach of what little flavor it had
ever had. 1t now had taken on
the qualities of a hearth broom,
and as it travelled down the little
road to my stomach all the things
it encountered cried Uncle" u
Our companion was so startled
that he stopped his fork in midair
and escaped taking bite of his
ersatz lamb stew that he had ord
cred on the suggestion of the waiter,
a fellow, by the way, who bore
marked resemblance to the Borgia
| family.
Let us try the fake lamb stew"
we said. We figured there was no
use in both of us having to order a
/ doctor. "a
| In appearance, the imitation
| lamb stew resembled the real thing.
1t had the same appetizing chunks,
| the same rich sauce and it was rot
until the aroma reached the nose
that one knew something funny was
going on. It didn't smell like lamb
stew, which, as you know, has an
aroma that yields to nothing, not
even Chanel No. ia, Christmas
Night, Tabu or real Hoyt's cologne.
| fA
We took a bite. We motioned to
the waiter not to tell us what 1t
was made of, but to let us guess.
The meat" was a mixture of pota-
toes, the bark of the eucalyptus
tree, Brazil nuts and the center cut
from an old Christmas stocking,
from which the bell on the toe had
not been removed. At least, that's
what we guessed, and as the waiter
didn't correct us we figured we were
either right Or that he didn't know
either.
The remainder of the stew was
composed of the first Is pages of
a Burpee seed catalogue. There was
everything in it. The more you ate
of it, the less you wanted of it. A
dish of it could safely be put on "a
desert island with four maroond men
without causing even one mouth to
water.
The rest of the vegetarian restau-
rant menu ran true to form. There
were imitation chops and outlets,
fake meat pies and T-bone and
porterhouse steaks. -
Later, while enjoying a genuine
hamburger we decided that when
the meatless days come, when We
get ration cards holding us to two
and one-haf pounds of meat. we
are not going to try to trick our
palate with ersatz dishes. Our palate
has served us long and faithfully.
and is too good a friend to ever
have to put up with q pork chop
fashioned from beets and coat but.
tons.
But two and one-half pounds OF
meat per week isn't bad at that
when you remember that in the
Axis countries f1let of flee is all
whole family gets for week,
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