With rumblings about the colourings, flavourings, and preservatives secreted in our everyday food growing loud enough to make us choke on our television dinners, it is tempting to yearn for a golden age when we could all trust in the purity of good honest victuals. Certainly our Victorian ancestors tucked happily into their daily bread and butter, washed down with quantities of tea and coffee, in the confidence that the basic ingredients they bought from their friendly corner shop were entirely wholesome—at least until they were disillusioned by Arthur Hill Hassall. A London GP with a penchant for making trouble, Hassall (1817-94) first turned his …