It was, indeed, a wonderful achievement that to-day, in Berlin, one
thousand State cookshops, each one capable of accommodating 1,000
persons, should have been opened at one stroke. True, those persons
who had imagined that it would be like the _table d’hôte_ of the great
hotels of the past days, where a pampered upper class continually
revelled in every refinement of culinary art--such persons, I say, must
feel some little disappointment. As a matter of course, we have here
likewise no trim, swallow-tailed waiters, no bills of fare a yard long,
and no such paraphernalia.
In the State cookshops everything, even to the smallest details, has
been anticipated and settled beforehand. No one person obtains the
smallest preference over others. The picking and choosing amongst the
various State cookshops cannot, of course, be tolerated. Each person
has the right to dine at the cookshop of the district in which his
dwelling is situated. The chief meal of the day is taken between 12
o’clock and 6 in the evening. Everyone has to report himself at the
cookshop of his district, either during the mid-day rest or at the
close of the day.
I am sorry to say that I can now no longer take my meals with my
wife except on Sundays, as I have been accustomed to do for the last
twenty-five years, inasmuch as our hours of labour are now entirely
different.
Upon entering the dining-room an official detaches the dinner coupon
from your book of money certificates, and hands you a number which
indicates your turn. In the course of time others get up and go away,
and your turn comes, and you fetch your plate of victuals from the
serving tables. The strictest order is maintained by a strong body of
police present. The police to-day--their number has now been augmented
here to 12,000--rather gave themselves airs of importance in the State
cookshops, but the fact is, the crowd was a very big one. It seems to
me that Berlin proves itself to be on too small a scale for the vast
undertakings of Socialism.
As each one takes his place just as he comes from his work the groups
sometimes have a somewhat motley appearance. Opposite to me to-day sat
a miller, and his neighbour was a sweep. The sweep laughed at this more
heartily than the miller. The room at the tables is very cramped, and
the elbows at each side hinder one much. However, it is not for long,
the minutes allowed for eating being very stingily measured. At the
expiration of the meagrely apportioned minutes--and a policeman with a
watch in his hand stands at the head of each table to see that time is
strictly kept--you are remorselessly required to make room for the next.
It is an inspiring thought to reflect that in every State cookshop in
Berlin on one and the same day exactly the same dishes are served. As
each establishment knows how many visitors it has to count upon, and as
these visitors are saved all the embarrassment of having to choose from
a lengthy bill of fare, it is clear that no time is lost; whilst there
is also none of that waste and loss consequent upon a lot of stuff
being left, which circumstance used so much to enhance the price of
dining at the restaurants of the upper classes. Indeed, this saving may
well be reckoned amongst the most signal triumphs of the socialistic
organisation.
From what a neighbour of ours, who is a cook, tells us, it had
originally been intended to serve up various dishes on the same day. It
soon appeared, however, that there would be a manifest want of equality
in such an arrangement; inasmuch as those persons who, from any reason,
were prevented from coming in good time would not have the chance of
dining off such dishes as were “off,” but would have to take whatever
was left.
All the portions served out are of the same size. One insatiable
fellow to-day who asked for more was rightly served by being heartily
laughed at; for what more deadly blow could be levelled at one of the
fundamental principles of equality? For the same reason the suggestion
to serve out smaller portions to women was at once indignantly
rejected. Big, bulky men have to put up with the same sized portions,
and to do as best they can. But, then, for such amongst them who, in
their former easy circumstances, used to stuff themselves, this drawing
in of their belt is quite a good and wholesome thing. For the rest
people can bring with them from their homes as much bread as they
like, and eat it with their meals. Furthermore, any persons who find
their portions larger than they care for are not prohibited from giving
a part to their neighbours.
According to what our neighbour the cook says, it appears that the
Ministry of Public Nourishment has grounded its bill of fare on the
experience gathered by scientific research as to the number of grains
of nitrogenous matter and of hydro-carbonaceous matter that it is
necessary to introduce into the body in order to keep the same intact.
Each person’s daily portion is about one-third of a pound of meat, with
either rice, groats, or some vegetable or other, to which is generally
added a plentiful supply of potatoes. On Thursdays we get sauerkraut
and peas. Posters announce what is to be cooked on each day, and these
posters give you the bill of fare for the whole week, just as they used
to announce the plays at the theatres for the entire week.
Where, I should like to know, in the whole world, has there ever
been a people every individual of which was assured, day by day, of
his portion of flesh-meat, as is now the case with us? Even a king
of France, ruminating once on such matters, could form to himself no
higher ideal than that on Sundays every peasant should have his fowl in
the stew-pan. Then, too, we must remember that outside the system of
nourishment provided by the State it is left to the taste of everybody
to treat himself to whatever he fancies both in the morning and
evening--that is to say, provided it be within the bounds of the money
certificate.
No more poor, starving, wretched, homeless creatures! For every man,
as the day comes round, his portion of beef! The thought of having
attained such ends as these is so inspiring that one can readily pardon
any trifling inconveniences which the new system has brought with it.
True, the portions of meat would be none the worse for being a little
larger, but then our circumspect Government adopted the wise plan of
not dealing out, at the commencement, more meat than had previously
on an average been consumed here. Later on these things will all be
different, and in process of time, when the new arrangements shall have
more and more approached completion, and the period of transition is
past, we shall have everything on a vaster and more magnificent scale.
But there is one thing which hinders my pinions taking the lofty flight
they otherwise would, and that is the concern which my good wife shows.
She is become very nervous, and her state gets worse day by day. During
all the twenty-five years of our married life we have never had so many
painful scenes and explanations as since the beginning of the new era.
The State cookshops, too, are not a bit to her taste. The food, she
says, is barracks’ rations, and a poor substitute for the wholesome
fare people used to have at their own homes. She complains of the meat
being done too much, of the broth being watery, and so on. She says,
too, that she at once loses all appetite by knowing beforehand what she
has to eat during a whole week. And yet how often she had complained
to me that, with the high prices of things, she was at her wits’ end
to know what to cook. Formerly she was rejoiced, when we now and then
took a day’s excursion, to think she was released for that day from the
bother of cooking anything. Well, this is the way with women, and they
always have something to say against whatever they have not had a hand
in cooking. My hope is, however, as soon as my wife shall have paid
visits to the children and her father at the Benevolent Institutions,
and have found them hearty and contented, that that equanimity will
be restored to her which in old times never deserted her even in our
severest trials.