The French physiologist Longet and the German anatomist Henle were,
so far as I could find, the only experts who had an inkling of the
gastronomic importance of the sense of smell; but they did not go so
far as to formulate the theory I have just expressed in italics. My
experiments showed me that not only is it impossible, with the nose
clasped (or closed by a cold), to tell the difference between various
kinds of meats, or cheeses, or cakes, or vegetables, but also--which
no one had ever pointed out--that even in the case of sweet and sour
substances which do gratify the palate, _the sense of smell is much
more important than the sense of taste_.
Vinegar, for example, is absolutely uninteresting unless it has a
"bouquet"--the aroma of the cider, wine, or malt of which it is made.
And why is it that we are willing to pay from five to twenty times
as much for candy as for plain sugar? Because the sugar appeals only
to the taste, whereas the candy is usually perfumed with the aroma
of sarsparilla, wintergreen, vanilla, chocolate, and a hundred other
flavoring ingredients the fragrance of which we enjoy by _exhaling
through the nose while eating it_.
The emphasis lies on the word _exhaling_. It is considered a breach of
etiquette to smell of things at the table in the ordinary way, because
it implies a doubt as to the freshness of the food. But there is a
second way of smelling of which most persons are unconscious, although
they practise it daily. Anatomy shows that only a small portion of the
mucous membrane which lines the nostrils is the seat of the endings of
the nerves of smell. In ordinary expiration the air does not touch this
olfactory region. But when we eat in the right way we unconsciously
guide the air impregnated with the Flavors of the food we are munching,
into that region, and that is the way we enjoy our food. We do this
unconsciously, I say; but now try and do it consciously, guiding the
expired air _very slowly_ through the nose, and your enjoyment of a
meal will be quintupled.
Obviously Kant made the mistake of his life when he said the sense
of smell was not worth cultivating. It not only provides us with
additional table pleasures, the hygienic and tonic value of which
has been sufficiently dwelt upon, but it is a fact of unspeakable
importance that the more we educate the nose, the more discriminating
we make it, and the more stubbornly therefore we insist on having
wholesome food only.
This new psychology of eating I set forth for the first time in the
"Contemporary Review" (London, November, 1888), under the title of "The
Gastronomic Value of Odors." It was commented on as a psychological
curiosity, but otherwise attracted little attention. At that time
there was not the same general interest that there is now in the food
question. Even Gladstone's directions regarding eating were more
frequently smiled at than followed.
Since his day many things have happened to give the food question
an aspect of superlative importance, particularly the wholesale
adulterations described in the preceding pages. That among those who
have helped to awaken the public to a realizing sense of the importance
of this subject no one deserves more credit than Mr. Fletcher--who has
been immortalized in the dictionaries by the inclusion of the verb "to
Fletcherize"--has been stated before. So beneficent, on the whole, has
been his influence that I hesitate to point out any of his mistakes;
but as some of them obscure the truth, I will do so.
He first made public his views, in a crude form, eleven years after
the appearance of my article on the gastronomic value of odors. That
article anticipates some important details of his doctrines, but he
evidently never saw it, because in his books he makes only one brief
reference to the sense of smell and perpetuates all the old errors
regarding that insolent pretender, the sense of taste. This is to be
regretted, for it left his followers groping in the dark as to the best
way of getting the most pleasure and benefit out of their food, at home
and at their "munching parties."
There is one detail of Fletcherism which every epicure will fight with
his last drop of ink. If we all followed his example, living on griddle
cakes, butter, and syrup (at a cost of eleven cents a day), or some
other equally simple menu, as he advises, what would become of that
delectable variety which is the spice of gastronomy, and what of the
farmers, and the hundreds of industries which supply this variety?
True gastronomic progress, I maintain, lies in the direction of
multiplying the pleasures of the table--an important phase of our
subject which will be discussed in a later chapter.
We must now turn the limelight once more on Ungastronomic America.
[Illustration]