Kettner's Book of the Table

Every food on the Victorian table gets its history, its etymology and a strong opinion — the wittiest cookery book of 1877, written in secret by a Times leader-writer and named for London's most fashionable restaurant.

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Indigestion

There is no such cure for indigestion as that prescribed by Harry the Eighth and recorded as follows by Thomas Fuller in his Church History :- "King Henry VIII., as he was hunting in Windsor Forest, either casually lost or (more probably) wilfully losing himself, struck down about dinner-time to the Abbey of Reading, where, disguising himself (much for delight, more for discovery, to see unseen), he was invited to the abbot's table, and passed for one of the King's guard-a Inn place to which the proportion of his person might properly entitle him, A sir-loin of beef was set before him (so knighted, saith tradition, by this King Henry), on which the King laid on lustily, not disgracing one of that place for whom he was mistaken. 'Well fare thy heart,' quoth the abbot, and here in a cup of sack I remember the health of his grace your master. I would give an hundred pounds on the condition I could feed so heartily on beef as you do. Alas! my weak and queasy stomach will hardly digest the wing of a smail rabbit or chicken.' The King pleasantly pledged him, and heartily thanked him for his good cheer; after dinner departed as undiscovered as he came thither. Some weeks after, the abbot was sent for by a pursuivant, brought up to London, clapt in the Tower, kept close prisoner, fed for a short time on bread and water; yet not so empty his body of food, as his mind was filled with fears, creating many suspicions to himself, when and how he had incurred the King's displeasure. At last a sirloin of beef was set before him, on which the abbot fed as the farmer of his grange, and verified the proverb that two hungry meals make the third a glutton. In springs King Henry out of a private lobby, where he had placed himself, the invisible spectator of the abbot's behaviour. 'My lord,' quoth the King, 'presently deposit your £100 in gold, or else no going hence all the days of your life. I have been your physician to cure you of your queasy stomach, and here, as I deserve, I demand my fee for the same.' The abbot down with his dust; and glad he had escaped so, returned to Reading, as somewhat lighter in his purse, so much more merrier in heart than when he came thence."

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