CULT OF THE KIPPER

Evening Star, Issue 20058, 26 December 1928, Page 13

CULT OF THE KIPPER

CHANGE IN FEMININE APPETITES Gone are the days when a young man took a fair lady to d.ne and had the privilege of ordering a long oXd exotic dinner and then watching her eat it. The bill was long, bat it was spectacular (writes “ A Fairly Modern Young Man,” in the ‘Daily 'jail )■ Nowadays young men- may - still inwardly sigh at the fact that ine costs of hospitality in no way diminish, but, or, what shadows, what ghosts of meals do they represent! Imagine for a moment the corner of a smart, expensive restaurant and a table for two, perfect in all its appointments. Says the very young man to the modern girl; “Cigarette?” The gold case is perfect, too, and it is full of fat cigarettes, richlooking, expensive. “No, thanks,” says she. “Like my own,” and whips out her own case (or it-is most likely a packet), and begins to fill the restaurant with the smoke of the cheapest brand there is. “Cavaire?” he whispers to her. “ Melon . . . dressed crab . . . or what about a little trout?” No. Neither he nor the maitre d’hotel, hovering near, can manage to save her gastronomic soul. “ What I really feel like,” she says in a cold, steely tone, “is a herring, fried (no, no sauce), and after that—oh, some sausages, just nicely browned. And some mashed potatoes and cabbage. After that I’ll see what I feel like.” This is not an exaggerated picture. I believe that five, six, even seven girls out of ten to-day almost invariably indulge in this inverted form of snobbishness, which it actually is. There may be reasons, of course. A few genuinely think that by snubbing the menu, so to speak, and ordering bourgeois dishes they are letting their escorts down lightly as regards the bill. (Oh, dear, fair ladies, what a fallacy that is!) But for the most part I think it is that dishes, like herrings, bacon and eggs, plates of cold meat, and so on, have taken on a kind of risque naughtiness, especially when observed being eaten in fashionable surroundings. The night club gave them that. (I have forgotten to mention the kipper, chef d’oeavre of the night club in its early hours, by the way.) And they spurn expensive wine for ginger beer ! There is only one way to cure these mad, bad girls. 1 have found it unfailing. For two or three occasions pre-suppose these uninteresting wants. Make them eat their bacon and eggs, their kippers and mashed potatoes, or haddocks; and drink their ginger beers. For then, out of sheer perversity, they will gradually turn their thoughts to more romantic realms of dining, and the gentle hospitable art will como back into its deserved own.,