‘You know how interesting the purchase of a sponge-cake is to me’1
Using food and meals in your writing
Jane Austen made clever use of food and meals in her novels. She also often commented in her letters on menus and what was going on in the kitchen. Depending on your potential readers, you will have plenty of scope to do likewise. Is there a child who wouldn’t want to join Ratty and Mole on their picnic inThe Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame?
The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest with a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into the soft cushions. ‘WHAT a day I’m having!’ he said. ‘Let us start at once!’
‘Hold hard a minute, then!’ said the Rat. He looped the painter through a ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole above, and after a short interval reappeared staggering under a fat, wicker luncheon-basket.
‘Shove that under your feet,’ he observed to the Mole, as he passed it down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and took the sculls again.
‘What’s inside it?’ asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.
‘There’s cold chicken inside it,’ replied the Rat briefly; ‘coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssandwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater—’
‘O stop, stop,’ cried the Mole in ecstacies: ‘This is too much!’
‘Do you really think so?’ enquired the Rat seriously. ‘It’s only what I always take on these little excursions; and the other animals are always telling me that I’m a mean beast and cut it VERY fine!’
USING FOOD TO PIN YOUR WORK IN PLACE AND TIME
Read this piece by Josh Sutton. It appeared in the Guardian on 18 April 2012.2
Blyton wrote twenty-one Famous Five books; the first, Five on a Treasure Island, was published in 1942. As Dr Joan Ransley, Honorary Lecturer in Human Nutrition at the University of Leeds, notes: ‘The food eaten in the books anchors the Famous Five to a definite period in dietary history. During and immediately after the Second World War British children ate well but austerely and Blyton is true to this.’ In other words, they ate healthily but not heartily. Well over half of the books were written during food rationing. Perhaps Blyton is consciously enticing her readers with elaborate descriptions of foods way beyond the ration book allowance.
In that first book, a simple spread of cold ham, salad, bacon and eggs, plums and a ginger cake fuelled the discovery of gold ingots on Kirrin Island. But over the years, as the five go off in a caravan, or camping on Billycock Hill, the author has discovered the importance of food in recounting a good yarn: ‘A large ham sat on the table, and there were crusty loaves of new bread. Crisp lettuces, dewy and cool, and red radishes were side by side in a big glass dish, great slabs of butter and jugs of creamy milk’ – simple descriptive skills which make the food hugely appealing. Menu writers take note.
Jane Austen sends the characters in Emma on a picnic to Box Hill, but perhaps because she wasn’t writing for children she doesn’t say much about the actual food. The servants on the trip are invisible, and it’s interesting to speculate what the day must have been like for them. The characters also go strawberry picking at Donwell Abbey. Picnics and outdoor events are excellent ways of getting your characters together.
EXERCISE: SEND YOUR CHARACTERS OUT ON A PICNIC
The event might be romantic, funny, disastrous or surreal. Who brings the food? What do they bring? What does that tell the reader?
Jane Austen loved to use food as an indicator of character. Mr Woodhouse is such a worrier that his guests at Hartfield in Chapter 3 of Emma are in danger of going hungry if his daughter doesn’t intervene.
She [Emma] was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes [Harriet Smith’s], in talking and listening, and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, that the evening flew away at a very unusual rate; and the supper-table, which always closed such parties, and for which she had been used to sit and watch the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to the fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse of a spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing every thing well and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted with its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of the meal, and help and recommend the minced chicken and scalloped oysters with an urgency which she knew would be acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples of their guests.
Upon such occasions poor Mr Woodhouse’s feelings were in sad warfare. He loved to have the cloth laid, because it had been the fashion of his youth, but his conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him rather sorry to see anything put on it; and while his hospitality would have welcomed his visitors to every thing, his care for their health made him grieve that they would eat.
Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own, was all that he could, with thorough self-approbation, recommend; though he might constrain himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to say:‘Mrs Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body. I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body else; but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you see – one of our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a little bit of tart – a very little bit. Ours are all apple tarts. You need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the custard. Mrs Goddard, what say you to half a glass of wine? A small half glass, put into a tumbler of water? I do not think it could disagree with you.’
Emma allowed her father to talk – but supplied her visitors in a much more satisfactory style, and on the present evening had particular pleasure in sending them away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was quite equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction had given as much panic as pleasure; but the humble, grateful little girl went off with highly gratified feelings, delighted with the affability with which Miss Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually shaken hands with her at last!
In Mansfield Park Dr Grant dies after overindulging – ‘Dr Grant had brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institutionary dinners in one week’ (Chapter 48) – and Mrs Norris is adept at scrounging and sponging, while in Pride and Prejudice (Chapter 8) Mr Hurst loses interest in Lizzy Bennet when he discovers she prefers plain sauces. Perhaps Jane is being patriotic here – Elizabeth is expressing a preference for English food during the Napoleonic Wars – but she is definitely showing us how greedy Mr Hurst is.
At five o’clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil enquiries which then poured in, and, among which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr Bingley’s, she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves, and then thought no more of the matter; and their indifference towards Jane, when not immediately before them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.
Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the others. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards, who, when he found her prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.
In ‘The Beautifull Cassandra’, which was written when Jane Austen was very young, her rebellious heroine devours six ices, refuses to pay for them, and escapes.
Even when her own health was failing, Jane Austen could poke fun at fussiness as well as overindulgence. Here is an evening with the Parkers in Sanditon.
‘If I were bilious,’ he continued, ‘you know, wine would disagree with me, but it always does me good. The more wine I drink – in moderation – the better I am. I am always best of an evening. If you had seen me today before dinner, you would have thought me a very poor creature.’
Charlotte could believe it. She kept her countenance, however, and said, ‘As far as I can understand what nervous complaints are, I have a great idea of the efficacy of air and exercise for them – daily, regular exercise – and I should recommend rather more of it to you than I suspect you are in the habit of taking.’
‘Oh, I am very fond of exercise myself,’ he replied, ‘and I mean to walk a great deal while I am here, if the weather is temperate. I shall be out every morning before breakfast and take several turns upon the Terrace, and you will often see me at Trafalgar House.’
‘But you do not call a walk to Trafalgar House much exercise?’
‘Not as to mere distance, but the hill is so steep! Walking up that hill, in the middle of the day, would throw me into such a perspiration! You would see me all in a bath by the time I got there! I am very subject to perspiration, and there cannot be a surer sign of nervousness.’
They were now advancing so deep in physics that Charlotte viewed the entrance of the servant with the tea things as a very fortunate interruption. It produced a great and immediate change. The young man’s attentions were instantly lost. He took his own cocoa from the tray, which seemed provided with almost as many teapots as there were persons in company – Miss Parker drinking one sort of herb tea and Miss Diana another – and turning completely to the fire, sat coddling and cooking it to his own satisfaction and toasting some slices of bread, brought up ready-prepared in the toast rack; and till it was all done, she heard nothing of his voice but the murmuring of a few broken sentences of self-approbation and success.
When his toils were over, however, he moved back his chair into as gallant a line as ever, and proved that he had not been working only for himself by his earnest invitation to her to take both cocoa and toast. She was already helped to tea – which surprised him, so totally self-engrossed had he been.
‘I thought I should have been in time,’ said he, ‘but cocoa takes a great deal of boiling.’
‘I am much obliged to you,’ replied Charlotte. ‘But I prefer tea.’
‘Then I will help myself,’ said he. ‘A large dish of rather weak cocoa every evening agrees with me better than anything.’
It struck her, however, as he poured out this rather weak cocoa, that it came forth in a very fine, dark-coloured stream; and at the same moment, his sisters both crying out, ‘Oh, Arthur, you get your cocoa stronger and stronger every evening,’ with Arthur’s somewhat conscious reply of ‘Tis rather stronger than it should be tonight,’ convinced her that Arthur was by no means so fond of being starved as they could desire or as he felt proper himself. He was certainly very happy to turn the conversation on dry toast and hear no more of his sisters.
‘I hope you will eat some of this toast,’ said he. ‘I reckon myself a very good toaster. I never burn my toasts, I never put them too near the fire at first. And yet, you see, there is not a corner but what is well browned. I hope you like dry toast.’
‘With a reasonable quantity of butter spread over it, very much,’ said Charlotte, ‘but not otherwise.’
‘No more do I,’ said he, exceedingly pleased. ‘We think quite alike there. So far from dry toast being wholesome, I think it a very bad thing for the stomach. Without a little butter to soften it, it hurts the coats of the stomach. I am sure it does. I will have the pleasure of spreading some for you directly, and afterwards I will spread some for myself. Very bad indeed for the coats of the stomach – but there is no convincing some people. It irritates and acts like a nutmeg grater.’
He could not get command of the butter, however, without a struggle; his sisters accusing him of eating a great deal too much and declaring he was not to be trusted, and he maintaining that he only ate enough to secure the coats of his stomach, and besides, he only wanted it now for Miss Heywood.
Such a plea must prevail. He got the butter and spread away for her with an accuracy of judgement which at least delighted himself. But when her toast was done and he took his own in hand, Charlotte could hardly contain herself as she saw him watching his sisters while he scrupulously scraped off almost as much butter as he put on, and then seizing an odd moment for adding a great dab just before it went into his mouth. Certainly, Mr Arthur Parker’s enjoyments in invalidism were very different from his sisters’ – by no means so spiritualized. A good deal of earthy dross hung about him. Charlotte could not but suspect him of adopting that line of life principally for the indulgence of an indolent temper, and to be determined on having no disorders but such as called for warm rooms and good nourishment.
In one particular, however, she soon found that he had caught something from them. ‘What!’ said he. ‘Do you venture upon two dishes of strong green tea in one evening? What nerves you must have! How I envy you. Now, if I were to swallow only one such dish, what do you think its effect would be upon me?’
‘Keep you awake perhaps all night,’ replied Charlotte, meaning to overthrow his attempts at surprise by the grandeur of her own conceptions.
‘Oh, if that were all!’ he exclaimed. ‘No. It acts on me like poison and would entirely take away the use of my right side before I had swallowed it five minutes. It sounds almost incredible, but it has happened to me so often that I cannot doubt it. The use of my right side is entirely taken away for several hours!’
‘It sounds rather odd to be sure,’ answered Charlotte coolly, ‘but I dare say it would be proved to be the simplest thing in the world by those who have studied right sides and green tea scientifically and thoroughly understand all the possibilities of their action on each other.’
Write a scene or scenes in which your characters’ food choices communicate more than a hill of beans to the reader. Of course not everybody can choose or afford what they would really like to eat.
Jane Austen understood very well the sensual and symbolic importance of food. At Pemberley Georgiana’s shyness is demonstrated by her lack of prowess with the tea things, while exotic and seasonal fruits show Lizzy how sweet life with Mr Darcy would be (Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 45).
Convinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley’s dislike of her had originated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how very unwelcome her appearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know with how much civility on that lady’s side, the acquaintance would now be renewed.
On reaching the house, they were shewn through the hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows, opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chesnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.
In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in London. Georgiana’s reception of them was very civil; but attended with all that embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs Gardiner and her niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her.
By Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsey; and, on their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be, succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind of discourse proved her to be more truly well bred than either of the others; and between her and Mrs Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a short sentence, when there was least danger of its being heard.
Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley, and that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without calling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity of saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished, she feared that the master of the house might be amongst them; and whether she wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss Bingley’s voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold enquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal indifference and brevity, and the other said no more.
The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many a significant look and smile from Mrs Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole party; for though they could not all talk, they could all eat; and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected them round the table.
While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr Darcy, by the feelings which prevailed on his entering the room; and then, though but a moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to regret that he came.
In Emma Robert Martin offers good things to Harriet Smith and will work hard to get them for her, something that Emma doesn’t appreciate (Chapter 4).
With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number and meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr Martin, and there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured and obliging. He had gone three miles round one day, in order to bring her some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and in every thing else he was so very obliging. ‘He had his shepherd’s son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could sing a little himself. She believed he was very clever, and understood every thing. He had a very fine flock, and, while she was with them, he had been bid more for his wool than any body in the country. She believed every body spoke well of him. His mother and sisters were very fond of him. Mrs Martin had told her one day (and there was a blush as she said it) that it was impossible for any body to be a better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever he married, he would make a good husband. Not that she wanted him to marry. She was in no hurry at all.’
Write a scene in which you utilize the symbolic or sensual qualities of food. How might a character use food as a gift? Will the intended recipient accept it?
SET PIECES – WAYS OF GETTING EVERYBODY ONSTAGE
Meals and parties are so useful to writers. You can get lots of people onstage and have them interact in new and unexpected ways with endless potential for drama and comedy. Here is Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 13.
Mr Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr Bennet, indeed, said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that, in this instance, fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, but Mrs Bennet, who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily,
‘You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly.’
‘You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.’
‘Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things, I know, are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.’
‘I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, – and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted—’
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr Collins’s admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined and praised; and his commendation of every thing would have touched Mrs Bennet’s heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too, in its turn, was highly admired; and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour.