Eating in Two or Three Languages

In Short

This book is a witty, autobiographical account of a correspondent’s culinary journey through England and France during the final year of the First World War. Facing the limitations of food rationing and the peculiar habits of wartime chefs, the author records his frustrations and eventual appreciation for the resilience of local cooks. It has lasted because of its sharp, anecdotal voice, capturing the strange intersection of high-stakes military history and the simple, universal human longing for a satisfying, familiar meal in a world turned upside down.

The Story

The narrative begins on a ship crossing the Atlantic, where the author anticipates his return to American soil. He fantasizes about the green corn, hothouse asparagus, and fried chicken he will devour the moment he clears customs. He frames his journey as a "campaign" against the famine of the soul he experienced while overseas. The author explains that this long-standing hunger began in London, a city he once associated with gastronomic indulgence. There, he encountered a rigid card-based rationing system that required citizens to carry separate vouchers for meat and sugar, turning even simple dining into a bureaucratic chore.

The author recounts his arrival in London, hoping that the city’s storied restaurants would offer a reprieve from the austerity he witnessed elsewhere. Instead, he and a friend—a British Army surgeon—find themselves in a hotel where the staff apologetically informs them that red meat is unavailable. Restricted by military rations and dwindling supplies, they are forced to subsist on a parade of uninspiring sea foods, including anaemic oysters and flabby fillets of sole. The author’s attempt to find a hearty breakfast the next morning fails just as miserably, leaving him to nurse a growing resentment toward the "war bread" and diluted milk that define his new reality.

He eventually crosses the channel to France, bracing for further hardship. To his surprise, he discovers that while the French have adopted their own controls, the quality of cooking remains remarkably high. He finds a sharp contrast between the formal, pretentious head waiters of Paris—whom he mockingly compares to unpunished criminals—and the resourceful, humble peasants in the countryside. These rural hosts, despite the privations of war and the proximity of the front lines, manage to produce savory stews, omelets, and golden-brown potatoes that restore his spirit. He describes these meals as acts of hospitality that transcend the language barrier, often observing that his own clumsy attempts to speak French serve only to provide his hosts with endless amusement.

The arc of the book concludes with the author reflecting on his time spent at an American military mess near the front. There, he experiences the perfect culinary synthesis: a French chef provided by a local general, paired with an American soldier who excels at cooking Southern-style breakfasts. By the time he returns home to the United States to satisfy his long-held cravings for brook trout and roasting ears, he finds himself paradoxically missing the fragrant stews of France and the rugged camaraderie of the British dugouts. He ends by acknowledging that his quest for the perfect meal was as much about finding beauty in hardship as it was about satiating his appetite, ultimately finding a quiet contentment in the memory of his travels.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author sets the stage by detailing his elaborate plans for a gluttonous homecoming, mapping out the precise order in which he will consume American delicacies. He establishes a playful, defiant tone, imagining himself telling the food administrator, Herbert Hoover, to "stand back" so he can enjoy his meal in peace.

The English famine The narrative moves to the reality of wartime London, where rationing has stripped the city of its traditional comforts. The author describes the grim atmosphere of darkened trains and the disappointment of a dinner consisting of mediocre seafood and a few "drowned prunes."

The French surprise Traveling to France, the author expects the worst but encounters a culinary culture that defies the shortages. He highlights the stark difference between the sophisticated, lobsters-obsessed head waiters in Paris and the warm, inventive cooking found in tiny, remote cottages.

Life at the front The book shifts to the final leg of the journey, where the author dines with American soldiers near the trenches. He observes how the quality of food directly correlates to the morale of the troops, ending with his bittersweet return to American life.

The People

The author, Irvin S. Cobb, acts as the central consciousness—a hungry, self-deprecating observer whose primary goal is to find comfort in a world defined by restriction. His desire for hearty, traditional food stands in stark contrast to the reality of the front, making him a relatable stand-in for anyone who has ever felt the indignity of a bad meal.

The "head waiters" of Paris represent the main obstacle to his enjoyment; he paints them as professional swindlers who attempt to push expensive lobsters on travelers. He views them as a "buccaneer" class that somehow escaped the draft, providing a source of constant, humorous irritation throughout his stay.

In contrast, the "peasant hostesses" of the French countryside are the heroes of his story. These women, working with minimal equipment in mud-daubed huts, represent the ingenuity of the human spirit. They are thrifty and wise, often refusing his excess payment because of their gratitude toward the American allies, which leaves the author both humbled and well-fed. Finally, the "American soldiers" and their diverse cooks serve as the bridge between two worlds, proving that a good meal—even one made from field rations—is a vital part of the human experience during wartime.

In Its Own Voice

"When I had finished with my first ear of green corn, persons who happen to be near by will think I am playing on a mouth organ."

The author describes the intensity of his cravings for home-grown food upon his return from overseas.

"In the matter of cantaloupes I rather fancy I shall consume the first two on the half shell, or au naturel, as we veteran correspondents say."

He outlines his specific and ambitious plans for his first meal back in the United States.

"I should call it mother-of-cheese; it is to other and lesser cheeses as civet cats are to canary birds—if you get what I mean."

The author offers a vivid, if slightly harrowing, description of a particularly pungent regional cheese encountered in the provinces.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book examines the persistence of culture through the lens of human appetite. It argues that while war can dictate the availability of resources, it cannot easily destroy the traditions and pride of a people defined by their cooking. Beneath the humor, there is a serious underlying question about the relationship between physical sustenance and national identity. The author uses his search for a good meal to navigate the psychological toll of the Great War, suggesting that food is not just a commodity, but a fundamental marker of home and a powerful medium for human connection, especially when soldiers and civilians find themselves sharing a table under the shadow of the front lines.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a conversational, slightly curmudgeonly style will find this an engaging time capsule. It feels like listening to a seasoned correspondent recount his war stories over a drink—it is intimate, opinionated, and refreshingly honest about the small, petty frustrations of life. The book excels in its descriptions of the "small" history of the First World War: the smell of a French kitchen, the look of a ration card, and the sound of soldiers talking in a dugout.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes, particularly his reliance on stereotypes regarding nationality and the occasional use of language that reflects the racial and social biases of 1919. The humor is very much of its era, and some of the commentary on English cooking is meant to be read as satirical exaggeration rather than objective critique. If you can move past these dated cultural lenses, you will find a charmingly written account that reminds us how deeply the "simple" things—a hot meal, a moment of peace, a shared joke—matter when the world is in crisis. It is a light read that lingers in the mind, reminding us that even in the midst of global catastrophe, the human instinct to enjoy a good meal remains a vital, stubborn act of normalcy.