{"id":3494,"date":"2013-02-04T17:38:32","date_gmt":"2013-02-04T22:38:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.rootedcook.com\/wp\/?p=3494"},"modified":"2022-11-15T13:21:15","modified_gmt":"2022-11-15T18:21:15","slug":"hurrah-for-the-porridge-a-vegetarian-hymn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/2013\/02\/04\/hurrah-for-the-porridge-a-vegetarian-hymn\/","title":{"rendered":"Hurrah for the porridge! A vegetarian hymn"},"content":{"rendered":"

There’s no better courage for a cold winter’s morning than a good hot bowl of Irish oatmeal — say, with apple pie spice and brown sugar and a drizzle of cream. And, as some of you know, few things cheer me up like bad nineteenth-century poetry<\/a>. So imagine my delight at stumbling across bad nineteenth-century poetry about oatmeal!<\/em> <\/p>\n

All right, try harder, then.<\/p>\n

This little ditty first appeared in an English magazine called Vegetarian Messenger<\/cite> in about 1850. For centuries oatmeal had been daily fare in Scotland and the North of England, but as wheat flour grew cheaper in the nineteenth century, white bread began to displace it. In reaction to the growing supply of cheap starch, cheap sugar, and cheap meat, Victorian-era health reformers promoted not only vegetarianism but whole grains. Note the allusions in the poem to old-fashioned goodness and especially to rustic Scotland, as well as the jabs against the nasty sort of meat available to most people. If that juxtaposition sounds familiar, well, the tone of health reform hasn’t changed much in a hundred fifty years.<\/p>\n

Here’s the poem in its entirety. I rather think it should be sung, probably to the tune of a sturdy old Methodist hymn. But I can’t decide which one. <\/p>\n

\n

The sensible breakfast<\/h2>\n

From the south to the north, and St. David’s to Norwich,
\nThere’s no breakfast to equal good oatmeal porridge!
\nTell me not of tit bits of beef, mutton or pork,
\nFrizzled — broil’d — underdone — or yet done to a cork:
\nName not ham, brawn, or bacon, or aught from the pig:\u2014
\nPotted veal, beef, and bloaters are not worth a fig:
\nAll fish, flesh, and fowl, are to me filthy forage;
\nAnd against all your breakfasts I’ll back oatmeal porridge!
\nThen hurrah for the porridge! good coarse oatmeal porridge!<\/span>
\nHurrah for the porridge that smokes in the morn!<\/span><\/p>\n

If this build not the man, prithee tell me what will:\u2014
\nIs it porridge, or flesh works the Lancashire mill!
\nThe bairn1<\/a><\/sup> of the north has a cheek like the rose:\u2014
\nIs it porridge, or flesh whence the ruddy cheek glows!
\n‘Twill not make the blood fev’rishly course through
\nIncreasing the pulse, and enfeebling the brains;
\nBut the frame shall be stronger, the blood more refined,
\nAnd the body be less of a clog to the mind.
\nThen hurrah for the porridge! good coarse oatmeal porridge!<\/span>
\nHurrah for the porridge that clogs not the mind!<\/span><\/p>\n

Why your bairn cannot relish beef, mutton, or ham,
\nOr the mangled remains of the innocent lamb:\u2014
\nEven fowl, roast, or boil’d, back or breast, wing or limb;
\nThough they’re dainties, present no attractions to him.
\nBehold you the contrast:\u2014 at breakfast, elate,
\nHe watches the steam rising up from his plate,
\nAs the mess of thick porridge is placed on the board,
\nAnd the rich stream of milk in the basin is pour’d.
\nThen hurrah for the porridge! good coarse oatmeal porridge!<\/span>
\nHurrah for the porridge that smokes on the board!<\/span><\/p>\n

With an appetite keen does the little one wait,
\nTo demolish the savoury food on his plate;
\nFor he dreams not of gristle, or fat to reject;
\nOf toughness, queer taste, or putrescent defect;
\nSo he dips in the juice of the sweet central pool;2<\/a><\/sup>
\nAnd he bathes it in milk so delicious and cool;
\nAnd he knows that no food so refreshing and sweet
\nCould be possibly made from a lump of dead meat!
\nThen hurrah for the porridge! good coarse oatmeal porridge!<\/span>
\nHurrah for the porridge, refreshing and sweet!<\/span><\/p>\n

Let the taste of the child, unperverted and true,3<\/a><\/sup>
\nBe a lovely and tender example for you;
\nNever more let your feast be the offspring of pain,
\nBut the ripe luscious fruit, and the rich golden grain:
\nFear not hunger, or weakness, or languid disease;
\nWholesome diet will soon banish fancies like these;
\nAnd you’ll soon be convinc’d that there’s no kind of forage
\nFor breakfast, can equal good coarse oatmeal porridge!
\nThen hurrah for the porridge! good coarse oatmeal porridge!<\/span>
\nHurrah for the porridge that smokes in the morn!<\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
    \n
  1. A child, in Scotland and the North of England. In other words, those Scottish children in are so adorable<\/em>! Don’t you want your kiddies to be just like them? Except for the poverty, of course. And for actually being Scottish. ↵<\/a><\/span><\/li>\n
  2. A note in The Journal of Health<\/cite>, which reprinted the poem in 1852, says, “For the information of those who are not accustomed to partake of this nutritious and healthful breakfast, it may be well to state, that a pool is frequently made in the centre of the porridge, by scooping out a portion of the porridge, when treacle is poured in, and each spoonful of porridge is dipped in for a taste; milk is also used, both to cool it, and to add to the relish.” ↵<\/a><\/span><\/li>\n
  3. Reformers talked of children’s natural tastes being “perverted” by meat, spices, and rich food. Since eating those things was thought to have moral consequences, the choice of words was no accident. ↵<\/a><\/span><\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    An 1852 poem called “A Sensible Breakfast” praising oatmeal and all things vegetarian. Imagine a cross between a Pooh hum and a Methodist hymn.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true},"categories":[18],"tags":[55,173,256,276,278,544,545],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p8I1ci-Um","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3494"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3494"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3494\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6478,"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3494\/revisions\/6478"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3494"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3494"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.davidwalbert.com\/dw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3494"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}