One learned savant flatly laid down the ultimatum that the individual seeking to reduce should cut out all pork products from chitterings clear through the list to headcheese and give his undivided support to the red meats and the white.  One of his brethren was equally positive that I might partake of bacon and even ham in moderation, but urged that I walk around red meat as though it were a pesthouse.  Yet a third—­a foe, plainly, to the butcher, but a well-wisher to the hay-and-produce dealer if ever one lived—­recommended that I should eliminate all meat of whatsoever character or color and stick closely to fodder, roughage and processed ensilage.  I judge he sent his more desperate cases to a livery stable.

According to one dictum, bread was all right up to a certain point, and, according to another, all wrong.  This man here held a brief for beans, especially the succulent baked bean; that man yonder served solemn warning upon me that if perversely I persisted to continue to eat baked beans the fat globules would form so fast I would have the sensation that a little boy was inside of me somewhere blowing bubbles.  The writer didn’t exactly say this, but it was the inference I drew from his remarks.

Eat dried fruits until your seams give, said Doctor A. Avoid dried fruits as you would the plague, counseled the equally eminent Doctor B. Professor C considered the drinking of water with meals highly inadvisable; whereas Professor D said that without adding an extra ounce of weight I might consume water until my fluid contents sloshed up and down in me when I walked, and merely by getting a young lady in Oriental costume to stand alongside me I might qualify at a Sunday-school entertainment for the entire supporting cast of the familiar tableau entitled Rebecca at the Well.  He intimated that just so I stopped short of committing suicide as an inside job all would be fine and dandy.  I do not claim that these were his words; this is the free interpretation of his meaning.  Sink the knife in the butter to the very hilt—­there will be no ill effects but only a beneficial outcome—­declares such-and-such a food faddist.  Eschew butter by all means or accept the consequences, clarions an earnest voice.  Well, I never was much of a hand for eschewed butter anyway.  We keep our own cow and make our own butter and it seems to slip down, just so.

In the vegetable kingdom the controversy raged with unabated fury.  The boiled prune, blandest and most inoffensive of breakfast dishes, formed the basis of a spirited debate.  There were pro-prunists and there were con-prunists.  The parsnip had its champions and its antagonists; the carrot its defenders and its assailants.  In this quarter was the cabbage heartily indorsed, there was it belittled and made naught of.  The sprightly spring onion, already socially scorned in some of the best lay circles, suffered attack at the hands of at least one scientific and scholarly professional.