Drop in anywhere
there is a vacant bed and you are perfectly at home. There is the
shower-bath, the ice-water, the veranda rocker--you knew exactly
what was coming to you, just what kind of bed, just what
vegetables you would be served at dinner. It reminds one of the
Inca system of providing a home for every citizen, and tambos
along the way if he must travel.
But it IS the same meal. That is just the point. There is where
you begin to furrow your brow and look more closely at this
splendid system, and fall to wondering if that public kitchen of
socialism would not become in time an awful bore. There are some
things in which we want variety and originality and above all
personality. A meal is a meal, I suppose, as a cat is a cat; yet
there are many subtle little things that make the same things
distinctly different. When it comes to dinner you want a rosy fat
German or a bulky French madame putting thought and pride and
attention into it; which they will do only if they get good coin
of the realm or similar material emolument out of it in
proportion. No one will ever fancy he has a "mission" to serve
good meals--to the public.
In the I.C.C. hotels we have a government steward who draws a good
salary and wears a nice white collar. But though he is sometimes a
bit different, and succeeds in making his hotel so, it is only in
degree.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178