Good humor makes one dish a feast.--WASHINGTON.
Animals feed, men eat; but only men of intelligence know how to
eat.--BRILLAT-SAVARIN.
Some philosopher has very truthfully said that he must be a very
great man that can afford to ignore social observances. He might
have added that of all places--in English-speaking countries at
least--the one where a man can least afford to ignore social
observances is the dinner-table. It is there that the well-bred man
and the ill-bred man are the most strongly contrasted; and the man
that does not there conform to those usages that constitute what
is called manners is likely soon to find the doors of the better
houses closed against him. Indeed, such men are not likely ever to
find their way within them.
“Dinner-parties rank first among all entertainments, being of
more frequent occurrence, and having more social significance than
any other form of entertainment. An invitation to dinner conveys
a greater mark of esteem, or friendship and cordiality toward the
guest invited, than is conveyed with an invitation to any other
social gathering, it being the highest social compliment that is
offered by one person to another. It is also a civility that can be
easily interchanged, which in itself gives it an advantage over all
other civilities.”
An invitation to dine should be promptly replied to, whether you
accept or decline. It may run thus:
_Mr. and Mrs. ---- request the favor_ [or _pleasure_] _of Mr.
----’s company at dinner on ----day, the ----, at ---- o’clock_.
The reply, if an acceptance, may be worded thus:
_Mr. ---- has the pleasure to accept Mr. and Mrs. ----’s kind
invitation to dinner on the ----._
If the invitation be declined, some good reason should be stated:
_Mr. ---- regrets that, owing to a previous engagement_ [or _in
consequence of leaving town_, etc.] _he cannot have the pleasure
of accepting Mr. and Mrs. ----’s kind invitation for the ----_.
The answer, whether affirmative or negative, should be addressed to
the mistress of the house, and despatched within twenty-four hours,
if possible, of the receipt of the invitation.
Having accepted an invitation, be punctual. “To be too late is
a crime, and to be too early a blunder.” You should not fail to
arrive within a very few minutes after the time named, say within
five, or ten at most. “Dinner,” somebody has said, “is the hope
of the hungry, the occupation of the idle, the rest of the weary,
and the consolation of the miserable!” It is certainly the event
of the day that should be honored with punctuality. In general,
well-bred people and people that dine out frequently, make a point
of arriving in good time. It is not well to arrive before the hour
named, as you might find no one in the drawing-room to receive you.
“It is said that Beau Brummell had, among other follies, that of
choosing to be always too late for dinner. Whenever he was invited
he liked to be waited for. He considered it a proof of his fashion
and consequence; and the higher the rank of his entertainer, the
later was the arrival of this impudent parvenu. The Marquis of
Abercorn had on several occasions submitted silently to this trial
of his patience, but at length he resolved to bear it no longer.
Accordingly, one day, when he had invited Brummell to dine, he
desired to have the dinner on the table punctually at the appointed
time. The servants obeyed, and Brummell and the cheese arrived
together. The wondering Beau was desired by the master of the house
to sit down. He vouchsafed no apology for what had happened, but
coolly said, ‘I hope, Mr. Brummell, cheese is not disagreeable to
you.’ The story runs that Brummell was never again late at that
house.”
On entering the drawing-room, without looking to the right or the
left, you will go and pay your respects to the hostess, then to the
other members of the family, and finally to any acquaintances you
may recognize.
Should you be stopped, on your way to the hostess, by an
acquaintance ignorant of the proprieties, you will not refuse to
respond to his greeting, but will make the response as brief as
civility will permit.
Take good care that you do not offer your hand either to hostess,
host, or to any other member of the family. For obvious reasons,
any offer to shake hands should come from them.
On leaving, you may offer your hand to those of your entertainers
that offered their hands to you when you arrived. But if the family
is large, it is as well to confine your formal leave-taking to the
hostess and the host. It is better not to go about the drawing-room
to hunt up and take leave of all the members of the family, as
some men do, especially if you are among the first to take leave.
Of course it is still worse to go the rounds and take leave of the
whole company individually. In such a proceeding there is always
something egotistic and patronizing. In a word, never make more ado
in leave-taking, whatever the occasion, than is really necessary.
If there is a lady with you, you will not enter the drawing-room
arm in arm nor side by side. The lady, or the ladies--if more than
one--will enter the room in advance of you.
Gentlemen do not wear gloves at dinner-parties.
When dinner is announced, the hostess will give the signal to
leave the drawing-room. A gentleman does not choose the lady he
will take in to dinner. The choice is made for him either by his
host or his hostess. Offer whichever arm you please. On this point
the authorities differ. Most men prefer to have a lady take the
right arm. In some countries this is a matter of real importance,
the right side being the place of honor. In passing through doors
you will take the lead, until you reach the dining-room, when you
may let the lady pass first. Should there be a flight of steps to
descend that are so narrow that it is necessary to proceed single
file, you may allow the lady to pass first, or--better perhaps--go
a step or two in advance of her. If you go down side by side, give
her the side toward the wall.
Arrived at the dining-room, you will assist your lady to be seated,
and wait till all the other ladies are in their places before you
take your seat. The host remains standing in his place until all
his guests are seated.
Abroad, the question of precedency is a very important one. In this
country it is perhaps sufficient for the younger persons to yield
the _pas_ to the older in passing from the drawing-room to the
dining-room.
A man’s bearing at the table depends very much upon the distance he
sits from it. He should sit rather close; indeed, it is rare that
we see any one sit too near the table, while we often see people
sit too far from it. This is a fault that is wellnigh universal
with the Germans--a people whose table manners I would not counsel
any one to copy. Sit close to the table, and sit erect.
If no grace is said, you will immediately proceed to unfold your
napkin and spread it over your lap. There are those that would
tell you partly to unfold it and throw it over one knee; others
would tell you to throw it over both knees; but when it is simply
thrown over your knees, it cannot serve the purpose for which
it is supplied--that of protecting your clothing. In fact, the
clothing of no man that has a heavy moustache is out of danger,
unless he virtually makes a bib of his napkin, a thing that from
time immemorial has been considered a sin against good usage. Men
that are not slaves to fickle fashion, to the dicta of nobody knows
whom, will use their napkins so as to accomplish the object for
which they are provided. A man of sense, however, will consider the
occasion, and be governed somewhat by it.
Previously to being served and during the waits that occur between
the courses, do not play with the knives, the forks, the spoons,
or with anything that is before you. Leave everything as you find
it, unless you should find a piece of bread on your right hand, in
which case you may remove it to your left.
As soon as you are helped, begin to eat, or at least begin to
occupy yourself with what you have before you. Do not wait till
your neighbors are served--a custom that was long ago abandoned.
Never offer to pass to another a plate to which you have been
helped. What your host or hostess sends you you should retain.
The second course, at all formal dinners, however served, is
usually a soup, which, if its consistency and the beard on your
upper lip will admit of it, you will take from the side of the
spoon, being careful the while to make no noise. Better far to put
your spoon into your mouth, handle and all, than to make a noise
in sipping your soup, as some people do, that can be heard all
over the dining-room; better also put your spoon into your mouth
than to slobber or to bespatter yourself. The writer would have to
materially shorten his moustache, or to go without his daily dish
of soup, if he had to take it from the side of the spoon. He is
not willing to do either. Soup, when practicable, should be sipped
from the side of the spoon, not, as most people suppose, because
there is any objection to putting a spoon in the mouth, but because
to put the spoon in the mouth the elbow must be extended, whereas,
when we sip from the side of the spoon, the elbow remains almost
stationary at the side, the spoon being manipulated wholly with
the forearm--a much more graceful movement, because simpler than
that that the putting of the spoon in the mouth renders necessary.
Not only soup, but everything else eaten with a spoon should be
sipped from its side when practicable, but then only. For any one
to attempt to sip from the side of the spoon certain soups that are
usually served nearly as thick as porridge--pea, bean, and tomato
with rice, for example--is absurd. Nothing has a more vulgar look
than an obvious endeavor to be fine. The spoon should be filled by
an outward rather than an inward movement, and the plate should
never be tilted to get the last teaspoonful. If your soup is too
hot, do not blow it, but wait till it cools. In eating it sit
upright, and do not rest your forearms on the table.
Silver fish-knives are now found on most tables. Where there are
none, fish should be eaten with a bit of bread in the left hand
and a fork in the right. Neither soup nor fish, where there is any
ceremony, is ever offered, much less accepted, twice.
At the table, the most difficult and the most important thing to
learn is to use the knife and fork thoroughly well. To do this both
must be so held that the ends of the handles are directly in the
palms of the hand, _i.e._, when the point of the knife is used.
At all tables where four-tined forks are provided, the knife should
be used only to divide the food, never to convey it to the mouth.
For this purpose, we use either the fork, a spoon, or the fingers.
As the fork is now used almost exclusively to convey all kinds of
food that have any consistency to the mouth, it is very desirable
that one should know how to use it properly. There is a right and
a wrong way, a skilful and an awkward way to use it, as well as to
use any other implement.
The fork must not be used in the left hand with the tines pointing
upward, _i.e._, spoon fashion. Persons that so use it, though
they may and generally do think they are doing quite the proper
thing, are really doing as awkward a thing as it would be possible
for them to do at the table. They have--they will doubtless be
surprised to hear--their lesson but half learned.
Food that is conveyed to the mouth with the fork held in the left
hand should be taken up either on the point of the tines, or on
their convex side. In the right hand, the fork may be used with the
tines pointing upward or downward, as one will.
Previously to the advent of the four-tined silver fork, which was
introduced into England from the Continent about the year 1814
or 1815, everybody ate with the knife--the Chesterfields, the
Brummels, the Blessingtons, the Savarins, and all. The fastidious
were very careful, however, not to put the knife into the mouth
edge first. That was avoided by the well bred then as much as the
putting the knife into the mouth at all is avoided by the well bred
now.
Eating with the knife is not, in itself, a grievous offence; it
does not, as some pretend, endanger the lips, even though the knife
is used edge first. It is simply a matter of prejudice. Yet your
lady hostess would rather you would speak ill of her friends and
make bad puns than eat with your knife at her table. Why? Because
your eating with your knife at her table would argue, nowadays,
that she associated with low-bred, uncultured people.
Should you, however, find yourself at a table where they have the
old-fashioned steel forks, eat with your knife, as the others do,
and do not let it be seen that you have any objection to doing so,
nor let it be known that you ever do otherwise. He that advised us
“to do in Rome as the Romans do” was a true gentleman.
The fork is used in eating such vegetables as can be easily managed
with it; those that cannot be easily managed with it are eaten
with a dessert-spoon--peas, stewed tomatoes, and succotash, for
example, especially when they are served in small dishes. A high
English authority says: “Eat peas with a dessert-spoon, and curry
also.”
Asparagus may be handled with the fingers of the left hand. So may
Saratoga potatoes and olives. On this subject we recently clipped
the following paragraph from one of our periodicals: “That there is
a variety of ways to eat asparagus, one may convince one’s self by
a single visit to the dining-room of any of our fashionable summer
hotels. There one will see all the methods of carrying the stalk
to the mouth. But the Paris _Figaro_, in one of its ‘Conseils par
Jour,’ on ‘How is Asparagus Eaten in Good Society?’ says: ‘One must
carefully abstain from taking the stalk in the fingers to dip it in
the sauce and afterward put it in the mouth, as a great many people
do. The tip should be cut off and eaten by means of the fork, the
rest of the stalk being laid aside on the plate, of course without
being touched by the fingers. Those that proceed in any other way
are barbarians.’ We may observe, in reply to ‘Pau de Paris,’ that
many persons belonging to the best society do not hesitate to
eat asparagus _à la bonne franquette_, and yet are by no means
‘barbarians.’ We do not agree with our confrère for two reasons.
In the first place, the exquisite vegetable cannot be properly
appreciated unless eaten in the way that excites the ire of our
contemporary. Our second reason is that, from an art point of view,
there cannot be a more charming sight than to see a pretty woman
‘caressing’ a piece of asparagus.”
Green corn should be cut from the cob and then eaten with a fork.
First run your knife through the middle of each row of kernels and
then cut them off. A dull knife is the best, because it does not
really cut the kernels off, but forces them out of the hulls.
Cheese is eaten with a fork, or is placed, with a knife, on bits
of bread and carried to the mouth with the thumb and finger, care
being taken not to touch the cheese.
Pies and _pâtés_, as a rule, are eaten with a fork only. Sometimes,
however, it is necessary to use a knife to divide the crust, but
not often.
“Jellies, blanc-mange, iced puddings, and the like are eaten,”
says an English authority, “with a fork, as are all sweets
sufficiently substantial to admit of it.” This may be very
sensible, but it will seem to many persons, as it does to the
writer, to be very senseless. By and by the fork mania will banish
the spoon altogether.
In a late number of the London _Queen_ this fork-and-spoon question
is discussed as follows: “But to go back to the debatable lands
of our own compatriots, and the odd things that some do, and the
undecided cases that still give rise to controversy. There is that
battlefield of the fork and the spoon, and whether the former ought
to be used for all sweets whatsoever, with the exception of custard
and gooseberry food, which answer the question for themselves; or
whether it is not better to use a spoon where slipperiness is an
element, and ‘the solution of continuity’ a condition. Some people
hunt their ice, for example, with a fork, which lets the melting
margin drop through the prongs; and some stick their small trident
into jelly, at the risk of seeing the whole thing slip off like
an amorphous, translucent, gold-colored snake. The same with such
compounds as custard pudding, _crème renversée_, and the like,
where it is a feat of skill to skewer the separate morsels deftly,
and where a small sea of unutilized juice is left on the plate.
This monotonous use of the fork and craven fear of the vulgarity
lying in the spoon seems to us mere table snobbery. It is a
well-known English axiom that the fork is to be used in preference
to the spoon when possible and convenient. But the people who use
it always--when scarcely possible and decidedly inconvenient--are
people so desperately afraid of not doing the right thing, that
they do the wrong out of very flunkeyism and of fear of Mrs. Grundy
in the corner. It is the same with the law of eating all soft meats
with the fork only, abjuring the knife. On the one hand, you will
see people courageously hewing with their knives at sweetbread,
_suprême de volaille_, and the like; on the other, the snobbish
fine work themselves into a fever with their forks against a
cutlet, and would not for the lives of them use a knife to cut with
ease that which by main force and at great discomfort they can tear
asunder with a fork.”
If you have occasion to help yourself from a dish, or if any one
else helps you, move your plate quite close to the dish.
At a dinner served in courses, it is better, as a rule, not to take
a second supply of anything. It might delay the dinner.
The English eat boiled eggs from the shell, a custom that is
followed to some extent in this country; but most Americans prefer
to break them, or to have them broken, into a glass, a mode that
certainly has its advantages, and that will commend itself to those
that have not time to dawdle over their breakfast. In noticing a
little book on manners that recently appeared, the New York _Sun_
feelingly inveighs in this wise against eating boiled eggs from a
glass:
“We are glad to think that the time has gone by when Americans with
any pretensions to refinement needed to be informed that an egg
beaten up in a glass is an unsightly mess that has often turned the
stomach of the squeamish looker-on. Those who cannot learn to eat
boiled eggs from the shell will do well to avoid them altogether.
If the author of this hand-book had watched American experiments
with exhaustive attention, he might have deemed it well to add
that no part of the contents of the egg should be allowed to
drip down the outside of the shell, and that the eggshell, when
depleted, should be broken before being deposited on the plate.”
It would seem to be as unpleasant to the writer of this paragraph
to see an egg eaten from a glass as it is to a Bavarian to see a
man wait till he gets over the threshold of a lager-beer saloon
before he takes his hat off. A matter of mere prejudice in both
cases. If an egg broken into a glass is really “an unsightly mess,”
then let us have some opaque egg-glasses.
Bread should be broken. To butter a large piece of bread and then
bite it, as children do, is something the knowing never do.
In eating game or poultry do not touch the bones with your fingers.
To take a bone in the fingers for the purpose of picking it is
looked upon as being a very inelegant proceeding.
Never gesticulate with your knife or fork in your hand, nor hold
them pointing upward when you are not using them; keep them down on
your plate.
Never load up your fork with food until you are ready to convey it
to your mouth, unless you are famishing and you think your life
depends on your not losing a second.
Never put your own knife into the butter or the salt if there is a
butter-knife and a salt-spoon. If you are compelled to use your own
knife, first wipe it as clean as possible on your bread.
Never use your own knife or fork to help another. Use rather the
knife or fork of the person you help.
Never send your knife and fork, or either of them, on your plate
when you send for a second supply. There are several good reasons
for not doing so, and not one good reason for doing so. Never hold
your knife and fork meanwhile in your hand, either, but lay them
down, and that, too, with something under them--a piece of bread,
for example--to protect the table-cloth. Never carry your food to
your mouth with any curves or flourishes, unless you want to look
as though you were airing your company manners. Better a pound of
awkwardness at any time than an ounce of self-consciousness.
Never use a steel knife to cut fruit if there is a silver one.
Never stick your elbows out when you use your knife and fork. Keep
them close to your sides.
Having finished using your knife and fork, lay them on your plate,
side by side, with the handles pointing a little to your right.
This will be taken by an experienced waiter as an intimation that
you are ready to have your plate removed.
Whenever you use the fingers to convey anything to the mouth or to
remove anything from the mouth, let it be the fingers of the left
hand.
When you eat a fruit that has a pit or a skin that is not
swallowed, the pit or skin must be removed from the mouth with the
fingers of the left hand, or with a spoon or fork in the right. Any
other mode is most offensive.
Tea, coffee, chocolate and the like are drunk from the cup and
never from the saucer. Put your spoon in the saucer should you send
your cup to be refilled; otherwise, it may be left in the cup.
Never blow your tea or coffee; if it is too hot to be drunk, wait
till it cools.
In handling glasses, keep your fingers a goodly distance from the
top, but do not go to the other extreme; and if you handle a goblet
or a wine-glass, take hold of the stem only. Take hold of the bowl
just above the stem.
In helping yourself to butter, take at once as much as you think
you shall require, and try to leave the roll in as good shape as
you find it. In returning the knife, do not stick it into the roll,
but lay it on the side of the plate.
In masticating your food, keep your mouth shut; otherwise you will
make a noise that will be very offensive to those around you.
Don’t eat in a mincing, dainty manner, as though you had no
appetite, nor devour your food as though you were famishing. Eat as
though you relished your food, but not as though you were afraid
you would not get enough.
Don’t attempt to talk with a full mouth. One thing at a time is as
much as any man can do well.
Few men talk well when they do nothing else, and few men chew their
food well when they have nothing else to do.
Partake sparingly of delicacies, which are generally served in
small quantities, and decline them if offered a second time.
Should you find a worm or an insect in your salad or in a plate of
fruit, hand your plate to a waiter, without comment, and he will
bring you another.
See that the lady that you escorted to the table is well helped.
Anticipate her wants, if possible.
Never tip your chair, nor lounge back in it, nor put your thumbs in
the arm holes of your waistcoat.
Never hitch up your sleeves, as some men have the habit of doing,
as though you were going to make mud pies.
If the conversation tends to be general--and it should tend to be
general at a small dinner-party--take good heed that you, at least,
listen, which is the only sure way I know of for every man to
appear to advantage.
Never, under any circumstances, no matter where you are, cry out
“Waiter!” No man of any breeding ever does it. Wait till you can
catch the attendant’s eye, and by a nod bring him to you.
Unless you are asked to do so, never select any particular part of
a dish; but if you are asked choose promptly, though you may have
no preference.
If a dish is distasteful to you decline it, and without comment.
Never put bones or the pits of fruit on the table-cloth. Put them
on the side of your plate.
Always wipe your mouth before drinking, in order that you may not
grease the brim of your glass with your lips.
Taking wine with people and the drinking of toasts at private
dinners are no longer the fashion. Every one drinks much or little
or none at all as he chooses, without attracting attention.
If, however, you should find yourself at a table where the old
custom is observed, you will not invite your host to take wine with
you; it is his privilege to invite you.
If you are invited to drink with an acquaintance, and you do not
drink wine, bow, raise your glass of water, and drink with him.
If you do drink wine, take the same sort as that selected by the
person you drink with.
It is considered ill bred to empty your glass on these occasions
or to drink a full glass of wine at a draught on any occasion.
While on the subject of wine-drinking, it may not be amiss to
observe that in England it is considered inelegant to say “port
wine” or “sherry wine.” In England they always say “port” or
“sherry.” On the other hand, no well-bred Frenchman ever speaks
of wines in any other way than as “_Vin de Champagne_,” “_Vin de
Bordeaux_,” and so on. Thus we see that what is the wrong thing to
do in one country is the right thing to do in another.
Do not offer a lady wine till she has finished her soup.
Do not hesitate to take the last piece on a dish or the last glass
of wine in a decanter simply because it is the last. To do so is to
indirectly express the fear that you would exhaust the supply.
Avoid picking your teeth at the table if possible; but if pick them
you must, do it, if you can, when you are not observed. “There
is one continental custom,” says the London _Queen_, “which the
true-born Briton holds in holy horror--that is, the use of those
convenient little lengths of wood which to every foreigner are as
necessary to his comfort as a napkin for his mouth or water for his
fingers. We English regard the use of the toothpick as a barbarism,
a horror, an indecency, and would not take one of those clean
wooden spills between our lips for all the world. Nevertheless, a
great many of us who would shudder at the iniquity of a toothpick,
thrust our fingers into our mouths and free our back teeth with
these natural ‘cure-dents,’ which gives a singularly wolfish and
awful appearance to the operator, and makes the onlooker regret
the insular prejudice which will not rather use the universal
continental toothpick, wherein, at least, if properly and
delicately done, is no kind of indecency or disgust.”
The procedure with finger-bowls and doilies differs somewhat on
different occasions, the difference depending upon the time the
bowl is brought, and whether a little white napkin comes with it.
If the bowl, with a doily only, comes on your dessert-plate, you
will remove it to your left, placing the doily under it. When you
come to use the bowl, you will wet your fingers in the perfumed
water it contains, and then dry them on your napkin. But if a
little white napkin is brought with the bowl and doily, you will
use that to wipe your fingers on. It is entirely permissible to wet
the corner of your table-napkin, or of the little white napkin that
comes with the bowl, and pass it over your lips. Of course, you
would do this before putting your fingers in the water. If there
are any fruit-stains on your fingers, you will use the bit of lemon
that comes in the water to remove them.
If an accident of any kind soever should occur during dinner, the
cause being who or what it may, you should not seem to note it.
Should you be so unfortunate as to overturn or to break anything,
you would make no apology. You might let your regret appear in your
face, but it would not be proper to put it in words.
Never fold your napkin where you are invited for one meal only,
nor at a hotel or restaurant, but lay it loosely on the table. By
folding it you would intimate that you thought some one else might
use it before it had been sent to the laundry. But if you are at a
friend’s house for a day or two or longer, then you will do with
your napkin as you see the members of the family do with theirs. At
the last meal, however, you should lay your napkin on the table
unfolded.
If the ladies withdraw after dinner, leaving the gentlemen, rise
when they leave the table and remain standing until they have left
the room.
The gentleman that is seated nearest the door or that is quickest
of movement should open the door for the ladies to pass out and
close it after them.
It is no longer the custom for the gentlemen to remain at the table
for more than fifteen or twenty minutes, instead of from three
quarters of an hour to an hour, as formerly. Indeed, there are
those that look upon the custom of remaining at all as a relic of
barbarism.
One should remain in the drawing-room from half an hour to an hour
after dinner. To leave sooner would betray a lack of good breeding.
If you would be what you would like to be--abroad, take care that
you _are_ what you would like to be--at home.