In the dusty recesses of my childhood memories, I can remember my grandmother telling me to chew my food properly. “Nature will castigate those who don’t masticate,” she admonished, knowingly. The boys at school had hours of fun with that one.
But, double entendres aside, the rhyme has merit, as does a mention of the extraordinary man who coined it.
Horace Fletcher was an American healthy eating enthusiast of the Victorian era, who argued that all food should be chewed around 100 times a minute before being swallowed. He was nicknamed “The Great Masticator,” lived in a Venetian palace and died a millionaire.
Fletcher believed his method increased a person’s strength while decreasing the amount they ate. He compared humans with machines, and advocated a low-protein diet as well as not eating before being “good and hungry,” or while angry or sad.
He was also in favour of knowing what was in the food being consumed, as different fare has different waste values, and was fascinated by human excreta, or what he termed digestive “ash.” His dinner parties must have been a riot.
A lecture circuit hit with a celebrity following, Fletcher also promoted his ideas by performing feats of strength against Yale university athletes while in his dotage. He died of bronchitis in 1919 at the age of 69, and his ideas were superseded by the 20th-century concept of counting calories.
But, if we move away from Horace’s love of movements, he did offer a few helpful hints, particularly in an era when supersized portions have produced supersized waistlines, and around seven million Britons every day get heartburn.
And in today’s busier society, how often have we seen others – or been guilty of ourselves – hastily and unattractively shovelling in food to beat the clock?
And how often have we drunk anything from water to fizzy drinks, caffeine and alcohol to help swill it all down, because we ate faster than we could produce nature’s handy digestive help of saliva?
So I conducted an experiment. While out at dinner the other night, I counted how often I chewed each mouthful, to the bemusement of my very patient companion.
I selected a chicken Caesar salad with a light dressing and no croutons, so a hot meal wouldn’t go cold during the test. And I quickly found that chewing each morsel a hundred times completely bored me senseless, while the hovering waiters clearly thought I wasn’t best impressed by the chef.
But I did find that chewing each mouthful a more realistic twenty times made digesting a big, leafy and healthy salad much easier. I didn’t need to drink gallons of water (or wine), so I didn’t feel bloated. It also meant that I didn’t fancy – or have any time left for – dessert.
There were also a couple of other benefits. Because I had to chew more, I could speak less. This meant there was less air interfering with my digestion, which again resulted in less bloating.
Chewing well is also an elegant way to eat, naturally encouraging the diner to take smaller forkfuls, rather than ramming it home with all the feminine grace of a Viking pig roast. It also meant that I listened more to my friend, who is considerably more interesting than I am.
So, thank you, Horace: one man’s eccentricities meant one woman’s healthier, cheaper, and classier dinner.
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