Life: Dinner and a Movie

For all my faults, I am a gentleman: opening doors, paying for ladies, please and thank you, the whole bit. Any girl whom I’ve dated would attest to this. But my upbringing goes far beyond the manors of a simple date. My mom was insistent about a plethora of details.

Grandma and Grandpa are nearly iconic and as such, you shut up and listen when they speak. You can tell a man’s character by his hand shake. Eye contact is unquestionable. Never ask for more than you are given because it shows a lack of appreciation. Always call an elder Mr. or Mrs. The list goes on of course. I expect most people to do the same, but one that consistently baffles me is dinner etiquette.

I give you a typical dinner at my house (when guests are over). There is a spread with a variety of complimentary dishes. Guests fill their plate first, starting with the oldest (if my grandparents are there they are always first), then slowly the hierarchy unfolds itself usually ending with me eating last. I’ve always been taught to take a small amount at first, a few tortillas, maybe a tamale and a spoon full of beans. This makes sense considering everyone else still has to go up for seconds. It is rude to finish off the entire dish. Before going up for seconds, make sure everyone has had plenty of time to get their second round, then again, never leave the bowl empty.

This process repeats itself until, if you wish to have the last piece/scoop, you politely ask everyone at the table, “Would anyone mind if I take the last piece/scoop? I can easily split it.” If given the OK (which you will always be given the OK), eat away.

A few days ago I was at a dinner with friends and a few of them had little respect for these rules. One person in particular put half of the appetizer on their plate before passing (there were 12 people). Then the same person took the unspecific “last piece” for three of the four dishes. This was without asking. I was appalled.

I’m always frustrated when people carry on conversations without eye contact, or blow smoke in my face, or don’t open doors for people behind them. But for some reason, dinner etiquette disturbs me the most. I blame my mother.

Sorry for venting.