The Etiquette of Eating

Not 'which fork do I use?' Start on the outside and work your way in. Trés simple. Hmph.

No, Pretty Lady's measured decision to embark upon a Rant about Rude Eaters stems from something far more insidious, and regrettably prevalent in her social circles--that is, Self-Righteous, Controlling Pickiness, masked as either Ethical Concerns or Allergies. Pretty Lady has decided that it is high time to grind such offensive pretension into the asphalt, under her stoutest set of heels. She is not kidding. You are all forewarned.

You see, Pretty Lady has observed that the so-called New Age Movement, really a movement of Magical Wishful Thinking under a superficial cloak of poorly-digested mysticism, has given rise to a side-branch of Sanctified Food Victims. The locus of this cult appears to be somewhere in the vicinity of Northern California, but at last report the virus appeared to have spread as far as Sedona, Austin, Pittsburgh, and even into the heart of New York City Proper, if the dinner-party she attended last February is any indication.

This must at all costs be stopped, or we will all be eating our dinners of sawdust and lentils, topped off with twelve Dunkin Donuts, in the isolation of our coat closets, afraid to dine with other humans at all, and Society as we know it shall grind to a halt.

For eating, my darlings, is not merely an act to fortify the grosser incarnations of Spirit. It is, equally, a central form of social communion. And communion requires commonality. Not blackmail.

Please understand, Pretty Lady is not thereby advocating torture, murder, heart disease, unmitigated suffering, cancer, or incipient obesity. She does not intend to force-feed anybody poison. She merely wishes to remind her readers of a few basic principles, which, in the course of their relentless pursuit of Immortality, Enlightenment, and Preternatural Slimness, they appear to have forgotten.

1) A serious 'food allergy' is life-threatening. A serious 'food sensitivity' is not.

Pretty Lady has a much-beloved brother who has suffered from a peanut allergy since infancy. If Pretty Lady's little brother consumes peanut butter amounting to one-quarter-teaspoon, he will presently find himself on an operating table, his physical incarnation inflated to the size of the Goodyear Blimp, with a needle full of adrenalin being plunged into his aorta. That is if he is lucky. This has actually happened.

This, friends, is what you had better mean when Pretty Lady takes a loaf of fresh-baked raisin brioche out of the oven, offers it with a pot of Darjeeling and a pat of European butter, and you reply, "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm allergic to wheat." Not, "I kind of get a subtle funny feeling sometimes, when I eat wheat, maybe." Not "I'm a vegan because the way the dairy industry treats its cows is unconscionable." Not "I've decided not to eat today because I'm pushing the limits of my physical endurance in order to expand my creativity."

Pretty Lady hereby intolerantly declares these latter statements to be Rude. Rude, rude, rude. They do not create Unity and Enlightenment; they create an Offended Hostess. Not to mention a roly-poly hostess, forced to eat a whole loaf of raisin brioche all by herself.

2) It is impossible to both be a vegan/vegetarian and to travel worldwide without either starving to death, or creating an International Incident. Pick one.

Pretty Lady never ceases to be shocked by the number of peace-loving, multicultural, open-minded adventurers who wander blithely into foreign lands and aggressively turn up their noses at the costly delicacies offered them by the inhabitants, who wish only to honor their guests and form lasting bonds of friendship. What are these people thinking? Were they born in barns?

She has observed that persons of her acquaintance who have visited France either think of the French as delightful, or as dreadfully snobbish and rude. Upon further questioning, she believes that this division comes about at the moment a visitor to France is offered a bit of exquisite local cheese. The visitor who accepts it, inhales it, swallows it (mold, maggots and all) and asks for more, will be roundly welcomed and celebrated forevermore. The visitor who reacts as if they have just been offered moldy, maggotty, rotting unpasteurized milk will be scorned and despised.

So if you don't like it, stay home.

3) Any 'scientific theory' which contradicts the test of several million years of hunting, gathering, natural selection, rich, subtle cuisine development, and traditional mythology is not 'scientific.' It is 'quackery.'

Pretty Lady recently had a very dear friend tell her, with a straight face, that table salt was toxic. "It contains Chlorine! And Sodium! Horrors!" declared the friend.

Her friend grew up in a sheltered suburb, as did Pretty Lady. But even Pretty Lady has read those fairy tales about a land without salt, where the citizens became sick unto death until the king was forced to admit to his ostracized daughter that salt was an important thing, after all. She has read about farmers putting salt licks down for the cows. She has read about electrolyte balance, and cell membranes. These things are all just as much in print as the treatises about the toxicity of salt; they're spelled more conventionally, too.

Pretty Lady respectfully submits that any 'healthy diet' which omits or radically alters an enormous chunk of the food spectrum, as included in the world's great cuisines, is based upon incomplete and dangerous 'scientific evidence.' Excess is the path to Ruin; this excess can just as well include an excess of avoidance as of gluttony. Avoidance of all fat, salt, carbohydrates, protein, and sugar strikes her as a good way to starve to death. As well as never to get invited back to dinner parties.

4) Nobody cares about your Issues, particularly when they're hungry.

Once upon a time, while living in Northern California, Pretty Lady was presented with a letter of introduction by a Friend of a Friend. This girl seemed charming, earnest, and spiritual, and Pretty Lady welcomed her into her circle with open arms. The two of them went to aerobics class together, to saunas, and for sushi.

The friend of the friend seemed really to appreciate her sushi; she exulted in every bite, with closed eyes. Pretty Lady found this habit to be delightfully mindful and appreciative.

Gradually, however, this person proved to be a Bulimic in Epicure's Clothing. She became needy; she became controlling; she became passive-aggressive. It got so that she started inviting herself to dinner. After doing so, she would regretfully veto every one of six or seven home-cooked options for the content thereof; she would do the same for the list of available restaurants. When, at great length, an acceptable restaurant was decided upon, she would hold up the service staff for ten minutes, attempting to order something that was not on the menu. When, at last, food was provided, she took two bites, declared 'There's too much oil," flung it down, and proceeded to have an Emotional Crisis.

In Northern California, regrettably, the vast majority of persons tolerate this sort of behavior. If anyone happens to declare, intolerantly, "You are being rude; I am hungry; stop making this All About You," this person is likely to be rounded upon and excoriated for Insensitivity. If there is any sort of underlying Emotional Issue involved, infinite patience and suffering on the part of the assembled company appears to be de rigueur.

Pretty Lady moved away from Northern California. Now, to her deep terror, the disease of social hijacking regarding one's personal food fetishes appears to be spreading. Please, darlings, stop the spread of this vicious trend without mercy. The foundations of Civilization may be at stake.