A Munich doctor declares that, if the necessity arose in the event of war, Germany could live on sawdust and sap.
Sawdust and sap is the deuce of a diet. I couldn’t be happy, I couldn’t keep quiet If, robbed of the nutriment Nature now grants, I had to pig in with a lot of white-ants And dine on a door-post or nibble a rafter. The taste is acquired? Ah, but what about after? Dyspeptic worries and elderly chap; I might shatter my system with sawdust and sap. I have lived on salt-horse in my proud gastric prime, Washed down with block billy-tea –- quarts at a time. Of goat-and-galah I have not been afraid, E’en when eaten with damper some duffer had made; Hard-tack had no terrors my fears to awake; I’ve sampled “goanna” and wombat and snake. I’ve even chewed green-hide and boiled saddle-strap; But I’d shrink with a shudder from sawdust and sap. Yet, like many a man, there are foods I detest. Rice-pudding, for instance, brings pains to my chest; Than eat a veal cutlet I’d far rather die, And I’d murder the waiter who served “shepherd’s-pie.” I sicken on sago, think fried meats are foul, And, after a meal of hashed mutton, I howl. I hate tapioca and all mushy pap; But I’d grow homicidal on sawdust and sap. But, of course, I’m no Teuton, no tough Aryan bloke. On sausage and sauerkraut I’d probably choke; I’m not very partial to blutwurst and beer; For one gets me gloomy, and one on my ear. But who knows what he’ll eat, or find heart to abhor, In the grim Sturm and Drang on another world-war? Then serve up the sawdust, and -– who cares a rap? Wash it down –- Prosit, Herrin! -– with steins of bright sap!
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003|