Because of a belief that food should go into one’s mouth with a minimum of noise and backsplash, I tried to instil in my children some basic table manners.
“What if you had the opportunity to dine with the Queen?” I told them. “I want to be sure you know how to handle a knife and fork properly. I want to be confident that you won’t slurp your soup and chew with your mouths open.”
They promised that if they should ever dine with the Queen, they’d be on their best behaviour. Until then, they told me, they would prefer to take a little more relaxed approach at the feed trough.
“Besides,” said one, “when are we ever likely to dine with the Queen?”
“If the Queen comes for supper, will we have spaghetti?” asked another.
I think he was worried the presence of royalty would cramp his pasta technique, which involved sucking up as many tendrils as possible without using a fork.
It was a metaphor, I tried to explain, but when kids choose to take things literally, metaphors are wasted.
My approach was further eroded when a bright young scholar pointed out that in some cultures, belching after eating is considered a sign of appreciation and a compliment to the host.
And wait, said another, in some countries, slurping your soup is regarded as proper — it adds flavour to the food. And what about the cultures that don’t use utensils, but eat with their fingers?
What if, my progeny reasoned as a group, we were asked to dine with an Arabian sheik or a Chinese prime minister?
They set about practising enthusiastically for the possibility of being the guest of an eastern potentate.
I gave up with reasonable grace. The manners were a little short of perfection, but I had tried, and I went on faith, which has not proved to be groundless, that as the years went by they would be able to dine in public without attracting an audience.
I won a few small victories, such as restricting major sculpting projects with mashed potatoes. We worked out a compromise — no volcanoes or mashed-potato dams on dinner plates, except on holidays. It gave them another reason to be excited about Christmas.
Besides, life has a way of balancing things. I chuckle now as I watch the grandchildren dive into dinner while their beleaguered parents try to keep the food coverage down to an acre or two.
It’s cute when small children eat noisily and messily, but adults should be a little more restrained at the table. I’m appalled at some of the things I see, and more than appalled by what I hear sometimes.
Of course, fingers are used when eating fish and chips on Fisherman’s Wharf, and there’s nothing wrong with slurping a fine B.C. oyster on the half-shell, but usually, we shouldn’t have to see what people are chewing, or thumbs pushing food onto forks.
I have probably just been crossed off the several lists for dinner parties because people think I’ll be analyzing their table manners.
Not so — I’ll be too busy trying to avoid such incidents as decorating my shirt with spilled shrimp-cocktail sauce or stabbing bystanders with a utensil.
If there’s more than a knife, fork and spoon arrayed around my plate, I’ll be watching others closely to make sure I don’t pick up the wrong tool.
I’m not saying we need to be stiffly formal when we eat, but I think it detracts greatly from the pleasure of others’ dining when someone has his head down among the foodstuffs, scooping the vittles directly off the plate onto the lower lip.
It doesn’t do much for the appetite (or concentration) when someone’s coffee slurp can be heard from four tables away.
And as for the Queen?
Well, after observing the problems she has had with her children and grandchildren, I think if she and her brood came to eat at our house, it would be incumbent on her to caution her progeny about acceptable speech and behaviour.
There’s a lot more to minding your manners than picking up the proper fork.
