Dos and don'ts for dining
I need to talk to you about serviettes and similar pitfalls at the dinner table. If you are not interested that’s OK, but if you insist on calling them serviettes rather than napkins, then I am bound to mention that your life will forever be separated from those who live within the napkin set. Having said that, the dinner parties with serviettes are likely to be much more fun.
However, if you do wish to dine among napkins, hurdles are to be jumped. So here are a few pointers. Having answered the invitation card in the third person – as though you did not want to get involved – and then on the appointed day dressed up according to the diktat of your hostess, you arrive at least 20 minutes late. (In France it is two hours; in Spain roughly the same day.) Avoid taking flowers, they need arranging.
Fast forward through introductions, usually a blur of tedious titles, with long-winded double- and treble-barrelled names tagged on. Best take a drink, smile, and wait for dinner. Find your place setting at the table and, if male, that of the partner you have been told to escort. Draw in the lady’s chair as she sits down, unfold her napkin and hand it to her. Get her correct fi rst name from a quick glance at her place card. Also that of the person on your other side.
Firstly, tackle the line-up of knives, forks and spoons. Always start from the outside and work towards the centre (I’m sure you already know that), but bear in mind there may be a few bits and pieces placed due north which, if used in the wrong sequence, can really mess things up. Keep a weather eye on the hostess. The ‘off ’ is when she starts eating; and try to meet up at approximately the same time at the finishing post – at which point, tools on your empty plate should be positioned south southeast, pointing north by northwest (fork with prongs facing up and knife facing inwards). The historical reasoning for the knife blade facing inwards was to stop you grabbing it and slitting the throat of the person on your right. This was obviously a real hazard dining with the Tudors.
Soup: the spoon is east of you; the one for pudding being due north. The soup plate is tipped away from the body – but absolutely no slurping. And forget about throwing in chunks of bread. With dessert, plates are tipped to bear than hot soup.
Bread is broken, one morsel at a time, on the side plate, and buttered individually. Sod’s law will be sure to kick in and you have to answer a question, spitting breadcrumbs.
Caviar can be tricky. I was once at an embassy dinner where the butler held the bowl of caviar on a silver salver before the lady sitting on the ambassador’s right. Instead of shovelling a spoonful on to her plate she took the whole dish off the tray and put it down in front of her.
Secondly, do not touch asparagus with an implement of any sort – use fingers. Ditto artichokes: basically, think boiled thistle. Pluck the petals off separately, and suck the ends. Eventually you will arrive at the furry part in the middle, at which point search for the correct knife and fork (possibly located east and west). Remember, you cut off and discard the fur, and eat the stump. Stow as you go, fi ling the petals in a tidy semi-circle on your plate.
A glass bowl of water is situated NNW of your plate and on the same latitude as your wine glasses (NNE). This is not for quenching one’s thirst but for washing sticky fi ngers by delicately immersing the tips and using the bit of lemon floating therein as a sponge. Dab your hands delicately on your napkin. And on no account be tempted to fl ick the water playfully at your neighbour.
By accident, I once did something with far more embarrassing results than water, catapulting a full glass of red wine across the damask at a dinner party. I had to view my handiwork down the man’s dinner jacket and white shirt throughout the meal while he, with impeccable manners, gamely pretended nothing was amiss.
Apropos of faux pas such as this, everyone, including the hostess, continues their conversation with nary a pause, and certainly no comment. However, I had my comeuppance a few years later. At a black-tie dinner in Toronto, before the opening night of their opera season, a maid spilt the contents of a gravy boat down my back. I passed it off with a barely stifl ed gasp, but the poor maid collapsed in a noisy heap behind my chair – all conversation was respectfully suspended while she was dragged the length of the room and through the green baize doors. The French eat their sorbet with a fork, ensuring only the icy part is ingested, leaving the water in the dish. This water ice is often served between courses to cleanse the palate. So, look out for a lone fork lurking due north, or maybe due west. Or, confusingly, it may be a spoon. However, forks are never employed in shovelling mode, ie, with prongs up, when a knife is in the other hand.
Cheese may be served before or after dessert. Cut a helping with others in mind, ie, never cut the delicious runny triangle off the pointed end of Brie, take a sliver from along the side. In the excitement, remember to return the cheese knife; your own knife is either west or north. When the grapes are passed round, resist the urge to pluck a few off the bunch, leaving untidy twigs. If the grapes are not cut into little clusters of three or four, and if there are no grape scissors to hand, then tear off a cluster with your fingers, and place it on your plate first before tucking in.
With the pudding, a choice may be offered of the hostess’s rich creamy delights, which are eaten with a spoon, or a fork, or both together, lying due north. Or, possibly, if you don’t seem too keen on her delicacies, then a half-hearted suggestion of fresh fruit from the still life in the middle of the table may be offered.
Should you plump for fresh fruit, do not be tempted by the pineapple holding the whole arrangement together. One of my guests did just that, leaving a disaster area centre table, with persimmons and kumquats all over the place. A lengthy wait then ensued, while the pineapple was being prepared in the kitchen – for one red-faced guest and, of course, myself, the hostess, who had to profess the greatest delight in joining him.
If you must tackle the centrepiece, I would suggest a banana as the most manageable, and with the least chance of it hurtling across the table like a snappy apple, or of getting you into a frightful mess as with an orange (the fi nger bowls having been cleared away). The basic premise of eating fresh fruit is to keep it as near your plate as possible until you put fork to mouth, with a morsel attached.
Yes, indeed, we are now down to the fi nal assortment of cutlery, and knives and forks are employed here yet again. You may fi nd these above your plate (due north), or east and west. Alternatively, they may be given to you by an exasperated butler or hostess, together with a fresh fi nger bowl and napkin. Quarter the apple and core it; peel the banana; or if an orange, neatly peel off the skin in four pieces before separating the segments. Halve the plum or apricot and lever out the stone. All this takes place with the fruit never leaving your plate (good luck). Then cut it into small pieces before forking it into your mouth. You might well decide to take the trifl e in future.
Finally, if throughout this marathon you were holding your knife and fork like a spoon and showing any part of the handles thereof (they should be fi rmly tucked out of sight in the palms of your hands with your index fi ngers pointing down the shanks), you might as well forget the whole business because you have been irredeemably cast as coming from the wrong side of the tracks. No matter how well you split your orange or made brilliantly witty conversation, I’m afraid the curse of the classes is on you and you are doomed forever to a much more relaxing time at barbecues and kitchen tables with the serviette set.
Anne tragically died shortly before this article went to press. She worked throughout her life for the Tibetan cause and if you would like to donate to her charity, please visit www.justgiving.com/inmemoryofannebrown or send cheques payable to Tibet Relief Fund, to Freepost Tibet Relief Fund, Unit 9, 139 Fonthill Road, London N4.
However, if you do wish to dine among napkins, hurdles are to be jumped. So here are a few pointers. Having answered the invitation card in the third person – as though you did not want to get involved – and then on the appointed day dressed up according to the diktat of your hostess, you arrive at least 20 minutes late. (In France it is two hours; in Spain roughly the same day.) Avoid taking flowers, they need arranging.
Fast forward through introductions, usually a blur of tedious titles, with long-winded double- and treble-barrelled names tagged on. Best take a drink, smile, and wait for dinner. Find your place setting at the table and, if male, that of the partner you have been told to escort. Draw in the lady’s chair as she sits down, unfold her napkin and hand it to her. Get her correct fi rst name from a quick glance at her place card. Also that of the person on your other side.
Firstly, tackle the line-up of knives, forks and spoons. Always start from the outside and work towards the centre (I’m sure you already know that), but bear in mind there may be a few bits and pieces placed due north which, if used in the wrong sequence, can really mess things up. Keep a weather eye on the hostess. The ‘off ’ is when she starts eating; and try to meet up at approximately the same time at the finishing post – at which point, tools on your empty plate should be positioned south southeast, pointing north by northwest (fork with prongs facing up and knife facing inwards). The historical reasoning for the knife blade facing inwards was to stop you grabbing it and slitting the throat of the person on your right. This was obviously a real hazard dining with the Tudors.
Soup: the spoon is east of you; the one for pudding being due north. The soup plate is tipped away from the body – but absolutely no slurping. And forget about throwing in chunks of bread. With dessert, plates are tipped to bear than hot soup.
Bread is broken, one morsel at a time, on the side plate, and buttered individually. Sod’s law will be sure to kick in and you have to answer a question, spitting breadcrumbs.
Caviar can be tricky. I was once at an embassy dinner where the butler held the bowl of caviar on a silver salver before the lady sitting on the ambassador’s right. Instead of shovelling a spoonful on to her plate she took the whole dish off the tray and put it down in front of her.
Secondly, do not touch asparagus with an implement of any sort – use fingers. Ditto artichokes: basically, think boiled thistle. Pluck the petals off separately, and suck the ends. Eventually you will arrive at the furry part in the middle, at which point search for the correct knife and fork (possibly located east and west). Remember, you cut off and discard the fur, and eat the stump. Stow as you go, fi ling the petals in a tidy semi-circle on your plate.
A glass bowl of water is situated NNW of your plate and on the same latitude as your wine glasses (NNE). This is not for quenching one’s thirst but for washing sticky fi ngers by delicately immersing the tips and using the bit of lemon floating therein as a sponge. Dab your hands delicately on your napkin. And on no account be tempted to fl ick the water playfully at your neighbour.
By accident, I once did something with far more embarrassing results than water, catapulting a full glass of red wine across the damask at a dinner party. I had to view my handiwork down the man’s dinner jacket and white shirt throughout the meal while he, with impeccable manners, gamely pretended nothing was amiss.
Apropos of faux pas such as this, everyone, including the hostess, continues their conversation with nary a pause, and certainly no comment. However, I had my comeuppance a few years later. At a black-tie dinner in Toronto, before the opening night of their opera season, a maid spilt the contents of a gravy boat down my back. I passed it off with a barely stifl ed gasp, but the poor maid collapsed in a noisy heap behind my chair – all conversation was respectfully suspended while she was dragged the length of the room and through the green baize doors. The French eat their sorbet with a fork, ensuring only the icy part is ingested, leaving the water in the dish. This water ice is often served between courses to cleanse the palate. So, look out for a lone fork lurking due north, or maybe due west. Or, confusingly, it may be a spoon. However, forks are never employed in shovelling mode, ie, with prongs up, when a knife is in the other hand.
Cheese may be served before or after dessert. Cut a helping with others in mind, ie, never cut the delicious runny triangle off the pointed end of Brie, take a sliver from along the side. In the excitement, remember to return the cheese knife; your own knife is either west or north. When the grapes are passed round, resist the urge to pluck a few off the bunch, leaving untidy twigs. If the grapes are not cut into little clusters of three or four, and if there are no grape scissors to hand, then tear off a cluster with your fingers, and place it on your plate first before tucking in.
With the pudding, a choice may be offered of the hostess’s rich creamy delights, which are eaten with a spoon, or a fork, or both together, lying due north. Or, possibly, if you don’t seem too keen on her delicacies, then a half-hearted suggestion of fresh fruit from the still life in the middle of the table may be offered.
Should you plump for fresh fruit, do not be tempted by the pineapple holding the whole arrangement together. One of my guests did just that, leaving a disaster area centre table, with persimmons and kumquats all over the place. A lengthy wait then ensued, while the pineapple was being prepared in the kitchen – for one red-faced guest and, of course, myself, the hostess, who had to profess the greatest delight in joining him.
If you must tackle the centrepiece, I would suggest a banana as the most manageable, and with the least chance of it hurtling across the table like a snappy apple, or of getting you into a frightful mess as with an orange (the fi nger bowls having been cleared away). The basic premise of eating fresh fruit is to keep it as near your plate as possible until you put fork to mouth, with a morsel attached.
Yes, indeed, we are now down to the fi nal assortment of cutlery, and knives and forks are employed here yet again. You may fi nd these above your plate (due north), or east and west. Alternatively, they may be given to you by an exasperated butler or hostess, together with a fresh fi nger bowl and napkin. Quarter the apple and core it; peel the banana; or if an orange, neatly peel off the skin in four pieces before separating the segments. Halve the plum or apricot and lever out the stone. All this takes place with the fruit never leaving your plate (good luck). Then cut it into small pieces before forking it into your mouth. You might well decide to take the trifl e in future.
Finally, if throughout this marathon you were holding your knife and fork like a spoon and showing any part of the handles thereof (they should be fi rmly tucked out of sight in the palms of your hands with your index fi ngers pointing down the shanks), you might as well forget the whole business because you have been irredeemably cast as coming from the wrong side of the tracks. No matter how well you split your orange or made brilliantly witty conversation, I’m afraid the curse of the classes is on you and you are doomed forever to a much more relaxing time at barbecues and kitchen tables with the serviette set.
Anne tragically died shortly before this article went to press. She worked throughout her life for the Tibetan cause and if you would like to donate to her charity, please visit www.justgiving.com/inmemoryofannebrown or send cheques payable to Tibet Relief Fund, to Freepost Tibet Relief Fund, Unit 9, 139 Fonthill Road, London N4.