I recently attended a wedding and reception at a local golf club. The weather was perfect as we sat on the patio and watched as vows and rings were exchanged. The ceremony went well, even if the string quartet was a bit out of tune. Afterwards it was time for cocktails, and then we moved inside for the reception.
As I sat down I counted no less than three forks by my plate; two set to the left, slightly offset, and one above the plate.
That was when it hit: Fork Anxiety.
I struggled to keep my breathing even as the utensils glinted at me with a golden sheen. I peered at the forks. The two to the left might be identical but their offset position made one of them appear bigger than the other. Was that an optical illusion, or were they the same size?
I peered at the fork along the top of the plate, tilting my head. Was it bigger than the other two. Was the gold finish a trifle more golden?
I racked my brain for clues as to which for to use first, but all my frantic gray matter could come up with was a hazy memory of a middle school teacher admonishing me to not fling potatoes with my spork.
And then the moment was upon me as the wait staff served salad. I took my time unfolding the blue linen napkin and placing it across my lap just so, all the while shooting furtive glances at my table-mates to see which fork they chose.
To my surprise I saw that the various people picked different forks, talking and laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. They didn't seem to care which fork was used, or concerned about a table etiquette faux pax.
I tentatively picked up the fork furthest to my left, and quickly stabbed a piece of lettuce. No one pointed, no one laughed. I sighed happily as I munched on my lettuce. I was just being silly; just acting the fool. No one cared which fork I chose. This was a happy occasion, and I should enjoy it.
I resolved to not let such stupid cares worry me again. I skewered a piece of tomato on my fork, but noticed it was too big for a single mouthful and reached for my knife. It was then I noticed that I had three knives.
That was when it hit: Knife Nervousness.
3 comments:
Hi Daddy! I have a solution to your Fork Anxiety. The fork that was at the top of the place setting is the dessert fork. The fork that's all the way to left is the salad fork (you did use the right fork though!) and the one to the right of it is the dinner fork for entrees. Now as for Knife Nervousness I have a solution. One knife is a dinner knife probably closest to the plate, the next one in line is the steak knife, followed by the butter knife. Aren't you glad you have a daughter that knows about these things?
Laura
Keith, you already tried one of my survival tactics for this: look at what everyone else is doing. It may be wrong, but at least you won't have to sit at the same table with any of the people who think you're a boob. Another good trick that I learned from Miss Manners or Dear Abby or Emily Post or some other expert (in the context of whether to pick up a chicken leg with the fingers or fumble with a knife and fork) is to look at what your host does. I've seen hosts do some pretty embarrassing things, though, and if I know better, I simply do what I know.
As Laura mentioned, whatever is at the top of the place setting is for dessert (sometimes there are spoons as well as forks, and if there are several of them, well, you're close enough). Other than that, the rule of thumb is to work your way from the outside in.
Who said we couldn't learn anything from our children.......sounds like a smart lady to me!
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