Tuesday, January the 13th, 2009
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According to the Press Association, Scientists will serve gruel to the public today after recreating the porridge made famous by Oliver Twist. Members of the Royal Society of Chemistry produced the recipe, consisting of water, oats and milk, after consulting historic sources as well as Charles Dickens' novel. The Victorian workhouse staple, which will be prepared by French chef Fabian in the society's kitchen, will be ladled into pewter dishes and served to passersby at 11am by the society's own “Beadle” at the entrance of its London home at Burlington House, Piccadilly. An RSC spokesman said: “Diners asking for more will be rejected.”
Sadly, I read this too late to be able to get to Piccadilly in time for my free pewter pot of gruel. I could console myself, however, that it would not have been a new experience for me. I think I have mentioned elsewhere that I spent a period, earlier in my life, subsisting on a diet of gruel. This was not for reasons of ill-health or a traumatised digestive system or even abject poverty. My flatmate at the time and I undertook the gruel-only diet as an experiment in asceticism, puritanical fanaticism, and self-righteousness. Indeed, as I read the Press Association report it struck me that the RSC recipe seems rather luxurious, adding a slop of milk to the oats and water. No such treats for us!
My grueldom took place many years ago, early in the Thatcher administration, but the lessons I learned then, and the stiffening of my moral fibre, have remained with me. In fact, whenever the opportunity arises, I like to announce that “I lived on a diet of gruel, you know,” to whomsoever is listening. Curiously enough, this is almost invariably met by laughter and ridicule.