My wartime menu By Ian Youngs BBC News Online
On 3 July 1954, Britain celebrated a different D-Day -
"Derationing day" saw housewives gather in Trafalgar Square
and ration books burnt around the country to mark the end of
food restrictions after World War II.
AN ADULT'S WEEKLY RATIONS Bacon and ham - 100g/4oz Butter -
50g/2oz Cheese - 50g/2oz Marg - 100g/4oz Cooking fat -
100g/4oz (often dropping to 2oz) Milk - 3pts/1800ml (but not
always) Sugar - 8oz/225g Preserves - 1lb/450g every two
months Tea -2oz/50g Eggs - one shell egg a week if available
Dried eggs - one pack per month Sweets -12oz/350g a month
Plus monthly points scheme for fish, meat, fruit or peas
Introduced in 1940 to ensure there were enough supplies to
go around, rationing entitled everybody to limited
quantities of essential foods and drinks, from butter and
cheese to tea and sweets. Nine years after the war ended,
meat and bacon were the last items to become freely
available again - to the nation's relief.
Diets have since undergone a revolution powered by fridges,
freezers, microwaves, supermarkets, additives and
preservatives, spread by global migration and trade. And yet
we are told that wartime diets were some of the healthiest
in our history. As a child of this revolution, I took my
kitchen back in time for one week to get an insight into the
World War II eating habits.
Ready meals, frozen vegetables, oven chips, convenience
foods, exotic salads, soft drinks, orange juice and
chocolate are the main items of my modern menu. All would
have been unavailable or very scarce during the war.
My strict wartime diet was restricted to in-season English
vegetables, fruit and bread - which was only rationed after
the war - and as a vegetarian, I would have been allowed
extra cheese. Then there was flour, oats, a few eggs - but
mostly dried egg - and not much else.
I did not have the queues and unreliable supplies, but I did
have the cookbooks by Marguerite Patten, the Delia Smith of
World War II and author of classics such as We'll Eat Again
and The Spam Cookbook. "It was hard work because we had to
make relatively dull food interesting," she said.
"But the majority of people thought they just had to do this
in order to help the war effort."
Giving me advice before my culinary challenge, she said:
"I'm afraid if you're going to put yourself on a wartime
diet, you must exclude all these interesting things you buy
and you must spend a bit of time."
DAY ONE - SATURDAY
Marguerite told me to eat porridge for breakfast so, after
a short lesson from my girlfriend, I do. The Diet Cokes
that normally kick-start my day are out and it is water all
the way. I discover a farmer's market down the road, with
fresh vegetables, and I buy what I think is enough to last
a long, lean week. I am convinced my hangover is being
compounded by caffeine cold turkey. I tell myself this week
will also be a detox.
Lunch is a cheese ploughman's and dinner is a potato
carrot pancake - mashed potato mixed with cooked diced
carrot then fried.
Unfortunately I also go to dinner with friends, where I
resist the Mediterranean menu - until the home-made
cheesecake sounds too English and traditional to turn down.
It is a bit too nice to be authentic, and I know I must
summon all my will power for the rest of the week.
DAY TWO - SUNDAY
Porridge again, then cheese sandwiches for lunch. A trip to
the Imperial War Museum does not glean much new information,
except that people were permitted one tiny chocolate bar
every two weeks. I could normally eat one every two hours.
For dinner, I make oatmeal cheese rarebit - a flour paste
mixed with cheese and toasted oats. On toast. It looks
worryingly like this morning's porridge, and tastes of
cheesy glue. I wonder how we won a war on this stuff.
DAY THREE - MONDAY
I am bored with oats, so have toast and jam for breakfast.
I am now bored with toast. I have a day off work so spend
the day slaving over the stove - first making vegetable
pasties to take into the office later this week. The pastry
is a fantastic mixture of mashed potato and flour, filled
with cooked parsnips, leeks, carrots and beans. So
impressive is the fact that I actually make real pasties
that, when I have one for lunch, I forgive the fact that it
tastes rather bland.
Marguerite's book also has a recipe for chocolate cake using
grated raw potato and dried egg so, as it was my
girlfriend's birthday, I give it a go.
This is my first experience of the pungent powdered egg. It
seems to work. Unfortunately I grate some of the potato too
coarsely and the cake comes out with lots of crunchy
strands. I decide to hide the fact that it was intended as a
birthday treat.
A summer vegetable pie is for dinner, but I do not realise
until it is too late that it involves cooked vegetables
covered in cheesy glue. My evening dinners are not going too
well, and I long for something with a bit more taste.
DAY FOUR - TUESDAY
Back to work after a bowl of porridge and, to my surprise, I
do not crave my usual 9am wake-up Diet Coke.
I fear that a long day at work will make me miss caffeine,
sugar and comfort food more than ever, and a colleague has
brought chocolates back from a holiday in Ireland. I
succumb, telling myself we would have imported stuff from
Ireland in wartime. V bad.
One of yesterday's cold pasties is lunch and a friend comes
to stay the night. I cook Potato Jane, a relievingly tasty
bake of potato, leek, cheese and breadcrumbs.
I was going to keep my bottle of English plum wine - with
Winston Churchill's face on it - until Friday, but crack it
open now as we have a guest. Not bad for emergencies and,
when that bottle is dry, I manage to resist the tantalising
Italian Pinot Grigio in the fridge.
DAY FIVE - WEDNESDAY
The rest of this week promises to be stressful at work, and
I start it with jam on toast. By 10am, my brain is yearning
for a caffeine boost and my stomach calls out for
satisfaction.
When a colleague goes on a tea run, it takes all my will
power not to ask him for a nice chocolate croissant. I ride
the storm and make it to my next veggie pasty.
By the time I finish at 6:30pm, I am starving and long to
put some garlic bread in the oven. I have some plain bread
instead, and consider making Marrow Surprise - until I
realise the surprise is that it is marrow covered in cheesy
glue. Instead, I make home-made chips, which were so easy -
chopped potatoes in the oven for 45 minutes and it almost
tastes like real food. I also make an omelette with dried
egg. The smell of the lumpy, reconstituted mixture makes me
want to retch and it does not solidify properly in the pan,
but - to my amazement, it does not taste too disgusting.
Until the powdery aftertaste kicks in.
DAY SIX - THURSDAY
Back to porridge after yesterday's hunger and I make it
through the day with only a small cheese sandwich.
We have two friends round for dinner. Pizzas - which are
forbidden for me - are put in the oven. Their smell wafts,
taunting me, and to add to the torture, they are accompanied
by French bread, brie and a lush salad. I make do with a
cheese pancake, potatoes and two pints of London Ale to
drown my sorrows.
DAY SEVEN - FRIDAY
All hail porridge. It keeps me going again, with another
cheese sandwich for lunch. I no longer crave the cookies and
chocolate bars I would normally munch. I think my stomach is
shrinking. This is no bad thing.
Tomato Charlotte - a bake involving sliced tomatoes
sprinkled with sugar and breadcrumbs - is accompanied by
potatoes for dinner. And my girlfriend's speciality - apple
crumble with custard - is a treat on my final night.
THE END - SATURDAY
I have survived. What's more, I have lost a few pounds in
weight and saved a few pounds in money on ready meals and
canteen lunches I have not bought.
I may have missed caffeine and quick, flavour-enhanced
dinners - but I have begun to feel less tired and less
hungry, and my belly has retreated a little. I resolve to
keep on the porridge, and add the successful dishes to my
culinary repertoire.
I have not gained more than a small insight into wartime
life, and readers of a certain age will doubtless be able to
tell me I have been doing it all wrong - especially since in
spite of trying I may have used slightly more than the
quantities I would have been allowed.
But my one tiny taste certainly made me wonder what it would
have been like if, instead of being done through choice, my
menu had been a fact of life.