Paging Dr. Beeton

So apparently the answer to the question of "what now?" is "get sick." Or rather, stay sick. Never fully recovering from my flu bout over Christmas, I am sore-throated and stuffed up. Which freezing temperatures and lack of any physical activity don't seem to help. Luckily, Mrs. Beeton has an entire health section in her book, which may be of some limited help.

All I know is this cold is seriously putting a cramp in my housewifing style (who wants to brew with butter sauce or rend a fish into paste when they're ill?) Let's see what the Victorian doctor ordered.

To oppose cholera, there seems no surer or better means than cleanliness, sobriety, and judicious ventilation. Where there is dirt, that is the place for cholera; where windows and doors are kept most jealously shut, there cholera will find easiest entrance; and people who indulge in intemperate diet during the hot days of autumn are actually courting death.

Ok, so I don't have cholera. Which is actually caused by infected food and water. But sound advice indeed. I have been sober, partially clean, and without much ventilation. But I don't exactly want to fling open a window in January. So how else may I heal myself?

TO CURE A COLD.—Put a large teacupful of linseed, with 1/4 lb. of sun raisins and 2 oz. of stick liquorice, into 2 quarts of soft water, and let it simmer over a slow fire till reduced to one quart; add to it 1/4 lb. of pounded sugar-candy, a tablespoonful of old rum, and a tablespoonful of the best white-wine vinegar, or lemon-juice. The dose is half a pint, made warm, on going to bed; and a little may be taken whenever the cough is troublesome. The worst cold is generally cured by this remedy in two or three days; and, if taken in time, is considered infallible.

1. Aren't most coughs gone in two or three days? 2. More rum please.
Not wanting to drink melted candy, vinegar and raisins, as appetizing as that sounds, I could go for another proven (?) Beeton cure:

COLD ON THE CHEST.—A flannel dipped in boiling water, and sprinkled with turpentine, laid on the chest as quickly as possible, will relieve the most severe cold or hoarseness.

So I'm supposed to make my best flannel shirt and myself flammable? Maybe I would be better off just opening a window. Or claiming "hysteria."

"Yep, here's the problem...you seem to have a vagina where your penis should be."

The Danger of Salads

Being fond of salads, I decided to scan Beeton to discover some Victorian salads. I was prepared for a lack of lettuce-y salads (approx. two to speak of), but wasn't ready for the warnings and admonishments surrounding the eating of salads, and gasp! raw vegetables. Horrors!

Let's take a look at the cucumber. Innocent, if not a bit rudely-shaped, no? Not according to Mrs. Beeton!

The cucumber is refreshing, but neither nutritious nor digestible, and should be excluded from the regimen of the delicate.

Oh snap! I've been digesting indigestible cucumbers for years. If I went back in time to the Victorian era, could I get a job as some sort of side-show eating machine?

Mrs. Beeton also has nothing favourable to say about radishes:

They do not agree with people, except those who are in good health, and have active digestive powers; for they are difficult of digestion, and cause flatulency and wind, and are the cause of headaches when eaten to excess.

I would like to note that one of her two salad recipes calls for raw radishes. Is this lady trying to kill her readers? Or just cause some humorous "wind"?

We get similar warnings for raw celery, cauliflower, and in general, we find that Mrs. Beeton cares not for raw vegetables at all:

As vegetables eaten in a raw state are apt to ferment on the stomach, and as they have very little stimulative power upon that organ, they are usually dressed with some condiments, such as pepper, vinegar, salt, mustard, and oil. Respecting the use of these, medical men disagree, especially in reference to oil, which is condemned by some and recommended by others.

Hear that? Even salad oil is questionable. Good to see that in the era of syphilis and other horrible diseases medical science was quibbling about salad dressing.

I never knew eating my (raw) greens was so rough. No wonder Mrs. Beeton suggests boiling everything, ever.

So to recap, in the Victorian era:
Sex with multitudes of prostitutes: OK
Sending ten-year-olds to work in coal mines: OK
Cucumbers: HELL NO

Will post the results of my winter salad excursion soon. I should maybe invest in a hard hat of some sort.