Paul Minor

Delving Into Yester~Year

Local historian and writer Paul Miner takes items from The Republican’s Yester-Year column to develop an interesting, informative and often humorous article.

To the Editor: I remain a huge fan of etiquette recommendations for when I “sit down to feed with the aristocracy.” It hasn’t happened yet, but I want to be prepared and avoid embarrassment. I’m talking about a meal with a multitude of courses, several plates and two handfuls of forks and spoons. I’ve read there are nearly 200 different dining tools. In an item in an October 1884 issue, The Republican advised not to be late for dinner.

I never am. Actually, I’m never invited. Don’t sit too far or too close to the table. The correct distance is not provided, an oversight not lost to me.

The napkin is never tucked under the chin or spread on one’s lap. For some, it should be. Rather, “let it fall over your knee.” I suppose the act denotes a disdain for ordinary slobber or tumbling morsels. I think leaning over the plate is safest, albeit unpleasant to watch from across the table. It is expressly forbidden, along with lowering the noggin to connect with the food-laden fork.

Not asking for a second serving of soup is okay with me as long as there’s something else coming right up. I’ve scant time for chitchat.

It’s important not to take on airs of gentility or yell while dining, or any other time. I’ve witnessed particularly disconcerting feasting faux pas -- yelling at a spouse or the TV, or they’re shooing the dog and/or cat off the table.

“Don’t bite bread.” That’s what it says. Tear it into pieces and then apply butter. Am I then to swallow it without a hint of mastication?

If dining on fish, use a silver knife, because people believed fish blackens ordinary knives. That’s why I must dine with aristocracy.

I applaud the 1887 advice to commence eating once food is on your plate rather than wait until everyone else has loaded up. “No one notices his neighbor’s plate.”

From 1889, I learned “the etiquette of eating a soft-boiled egg has been the subject of more than one clever essay.” The revelation, according to a Good Housekeeping reprint, was the work of Mary Barr Monroe, a Florida-based clubwoman and conservationist.

She must have known how to behave at dinner parties. I certainly don’t. She clearly felt comfortable doling out gustatory technique counsel so readers would avoid nonplussing mortification.

The soft-boiled hen fruit sits in an egg cup (no clue as to small or large end up) and a small egg spoon is needed in England. Americans broke the egg into a cup and used a teaspoon. Methinks some go to far greater lengths than eggs deserve. Just eat them.

Mrs. Monroe had witnessed the egg grasped by a napkin corner, “but this is not only tiresome,” but risks soiling the napkin. I’m tired from just reading about it. That napkin is to remain carelessly draped over a knee.

Then she says celery is to be “carried to the mouth” using your fingers. “Transferred” is a better word, or “crammed.” At least she didn’t instruct readers to bite off a hunk and commence chewing.

Half of your butter plate is for celery salt. I prefer peanut butter. Is there a peanut butter plate? Martha Stewart has a slideshow about setting up a dinner table, but I’ve no patience for it, or for all those videos about formal dinner settings.

Corn on the cob hardly seems appropriate at a dinner party, but it’s okay if you hold the cob “daintily.” I see a problem if you’ve applied butter and you’ve not got a firm grasp on that cob. Mrs. Monroe approves serving corn separately and having finger bowls. Lettuce without dressing is torn apart using one’s fingers. “This is usually the lady’s duty and there is no prettier picture than that of a young lady” ripping the greens to smithereens, highlighting her “dainty white hands.” It is “one of the most fascinating and becoming of table duties.”

If hot biscuits are passed around, tear off what you want, then tear off more for the neighbor.

Most importantly, if things are being passed around, don’t hold up the process, especially if I’m sitting next to you, already gagging because someone tore up my salad with her bare hands and handled my biscuit.

Paul Miner Lizton