My parents always exhorted me to “eat properly”. That meant somehow getting a piece of meat, and a couple of veges on your fork at the same time. With your fork having the tines angled downwards. And then at the end of the meal, having “a nice clean plate”, with your knife and fork nicely placed together.
When my grandkids come to visit, it’s hard enough getting them to actually sit at the table, let alone “eat properly”.
What’s the world coming to?
Is this stuff important? A few years ago I would have said not, being an old hippie who eschewed traditional mores. But now I think these things are worth keeping, if only because everything else in the rest of the world is totally fucked.
Interested in other opinions, as always…
The most important thing at home is to stress the importance of families eating at the table together, as it’s an important bonding process. Of course, there will be times when it isn’t practical, but overall it should be the norm.
My brother had 6 kids and then came a veritable horde of grandkids. Whenever we visit I’m amazed at the constant comings and goings at the various houses where food is constantly being eaten on the hoof, snatched pizzas, Deliveroo appearing at the door, microwave pinging. No set times and certainly no gathering around a dinner table. World has gone to pot….
What LoW said
On the rare occasions I cater, other than for Mrs Gatz, I don’t really care about precise etiquette. I do all of the cooking and just want people to enjoy it. I’d rather have a table of happy diners than a bunch of people worrying if they are holding the fork correctly. I would take exception to, for example, people speaking with their mouths full but I could give a toss how they manage their cutlery and flatware.
Perhaps I’m more relaxed about this because, being very dominantly right handed, I have always used my fork in my right hand. It’s something I’ve noticed has become more common in recent year but still not ‘correct’.
Another right-handed little forker here.
Fun fact, the little W moulding on the back of old style spoons is because they used to have two functions – a spoon end and a fork end. Then some poncy twat invented forks so people bent the fork end of their spoons over to be posher. Progress of a sort. I don’t know why I know this.
Another righter here. I’ve always done it. I can use tools with either hand, but can’t do left fork.
It’s generally how it’s done in Canada and the US. Cut your meat then switch hands to put it in your mouth with the same hand. I have always used my left hand assuming a knife is in my right hand, it’s more efficient.
I don’t swap, I use the knife with my left hand. I strikes me that conveying the food to your mouth is the more dextrous (literally) task and more suited to the dominant hand. If I tried to swap I would end up stabbing myself in the face with my fork. I haven’t had any meat to cut for more than 40 years but this system, which seems entirely sensible to me, predates that. If people eat something which only requires one implement, typically a soup spoon, they will usually use the right hand to carry the food to their mouth, so why does that change when both hands are used?
Tough overdone meat when I was growing up requires a dominant hand to cut it
It’s the one area of life in which us left handers have a natural advantage. I’m not giving up this practice until you prise the fork from my cold dead sinister fingers.
I’m with you
Me too. Although I always found slow left-arm bowling with consistent line and length handy too, if only because batpersons are expecting spin.
Another fork in right hand guy here. Being in my 60s, however means that I was “taught” how to eat properly and do so in “company” that isn’t family. Old habits die hard.
I’m left handed so stuffing my face with a fork in my left hand has always felt natural.
I couldn’t contemplate any knife and fork switchery. Though perhaps if I’d had to i might be significantly slimmer.
It’s just the 2 of us here, my daughter and I. I cook several days a week after working a full day, shopping etc. She effectively lives in a completely different time zone to me so we eat together rarely. It’s difficult to get her to eat properly for various reasons so I don’t really care as long as she gets something down her. Made Spaghetti Bolognese last night, that was something of a success as we ate together and, more importantly, she cleared her plate. I used just a fork, she also used a spoon. I don’t give a shit about how it’s eaten within reason
I’m having a good chilli this evening, which will be consumed with a tablespoon. I doubt cowboys stretched to having forks, and a Bowie knife just isn’t convenient for shovelling rice and beans.
My late Dad used to have conniptions whenever I scooped my peas up with my fork instead of spearing each one individually on the prongs. Of course I used to do it all the more to wind him up. Nowadays instead of eating at the table I regularly have my dinner on a tray in my lap, and scoop away at everything with a fork in my right hand. Dad’s reluctance to abandon old-fashioned standards of all kinds has moulded me, not always for the better I might add. While I’m more inclined to slob around when it comes to food at home, I do think it’s still important to practice a certain amount of etiquette when eating out, so you’ll always see me in a dinner jacket at the McDonalds drive-thru.
White tie?
Not for long.
Talking of white ties – my son had to wear a white bow tie for his graduation. I knew black bow ties were formal, but where does a white one come in ? Took a few attempts to find one (eventually at M&S)
Living in Cambridge, but being “Town” rather than “Gown”, I see a lot of penguin suits. I actually have this page bookmarked!
https://www.hockerty.uk/en-uk/blog/black-tie-vs-white-tie-attire
“White tie attire is reserved for the most formal and ceremonial occasions, often involving high-ranking dignitaries, royalty, or elite cultural events.
State dinners and diplomatic receptions
Royal affairs, such as coronations or royal weddings
Royal Ascot
Opera galas or prestigious cultural events
Formal weddings, especially those involving high-profile individuals or traditional aristocratic settings”
I hope he was wearing a white waistcoat? White tie with a black waistcoat is considered vulgar.
Were there Royals present at the graduation?
Thanks. No royals present at his (although Edward’s daughter graduated a few days later). I guess it’s just the arcane traditions of St. Andrews.
No waistcoat that I remember. Weird thing is that it was all covered by the gown anyway, so probably a complete waste of time.
I thought they had that weird gown protocol at St A. Worn by all undergrads, every day, but successively and, shoulder by shoulder, dropped back from the neck. By graduation time, all at mid thorax?
No idea – they have something where they wear red gowns and walk down the pier after church on Sunday I think (but I guess thats only for the ones that go to church)
@retropath2
https://www.yourunion.net/activities/traditions/gowns/
I’ve been to quite a few black tie things in Cambridge, but never a white tie.
I bought my penguin suit Easter 1989, from Barnado’s, for a tenner. It fitted me height-wise but I had to wear braces to keep the trews up. Now it fits me perfectly.
I don’t tell the university big-wigs that I’m dressed by charity shop.
After lock down Mrs T’s school had more than a few kids arrive for year 1 completely incapable of using a knife and fork.
Did they fill in a Yellow Card?
Mrs F’s school had more than a few kids arrive for Year 1 completely incapable of controlling their own bowels.
Yes! Still in nappies. And with American accents from all the crap they watch. Obviously their parents don’t do boring shit like read to them either.
I read recently that kids were starting in school and ‘swiping’ at books rather than turning the pages – sad.
When my brother was about 15 he would constantly put his elbow on the dining table while eating. My dad repeatedly told him not to do so but to no avail. My dad was a placid guy but his patience snapped one dinner time when my brother once again had his elbow on the table. My dad stabbed him in the arm with his fork. He never rested his elbow on the table again.
Hmmm, that perhaps belongs to the ‘smacking never did me any harm’ school of parenting.
My mother had a novel way of addressing my resistance to finishing off the milk in my cereal bowl at breakfast time before school…she poured it over my head. Then had to wash and dry my hair, and then rush me to school.
I still don’t finish my breakfast milk.
Never understood the problem with elbows on the table. Seems a perfectly practical biomechanical arrangement.
It’s an absolutely pointless, futile rule which serves no purpose whatsoever isn’t it.
That’s appalling. One thing that has improved in this world is it is no longer considered acceptable for parents to assault their own children because of ridiculous “rules”
We had the elbow rule too, and although my father never went as far as stabbing me he did slam a fist down on the offending arm a few times. Other reasons for mild brutality were reaching across someone for the peas, saying ‘Can I have’ instead of ‘May I have,’ failing to balance peas on the back of your fork, eating soup with the bowl leaning toward you (tipping it away from you was acceptable), not swapping your fork from left to right hand when eating only with a fork (I’m left handed, but apparently that was no excuse). Oh and saying ‘May I get up’ when you wanted to be excused, rather than ‘May I get down.’ Or maybe it was the other way round.
This thread has triggered me, who do I sue?
“Oh and saying ‘May I get up’ when you wanted to be excused, rather than ‘May I get down.’”
Sounds less like a meal and more like a James Brown concert.
It’s true, our mum used to summon us to the table not with ‘Dinner’s ready!’ but with ‘Get on up!’
Peter Gabriel’s mum called Supper’s Ready.
We had to say “Please may I leave the table, and thank you”
Absolutely! So was Twang jr.
My friend James was told by his father that he would be allowed to put his elbows on the table once he became an uncle.
Headmaster at Prep School:
One elbow at 25, two elbows at 50
I eat my peas with honey;
I’ve done it all my life.
It makes the peas taste funny,
But it keeps them on the knife.
Can’t say I’ve ever heard of the ‘meat and veg on the fork’ rule (fnarr!).
We have three kids aged 7, 10 and 11. We try to have dinner together most evenings but the kids tend to eat different food to us and one another and also to be restless and distractable. They would usually prefer a “TV dinner”. I grew up eating off a plate on my lap so I tolerate this sometimes. Unusually it’s not screens that are the main obstacle to communal eating, it’s reading. All three of the kids read morning, noon and night – books and Beanos – and would read all through the dinner if allowed. Their table manners and eating techniques are varying levels of unacceptable with the eldest being the worst. The things she does to mashed potato are horrendous but she’s so adorable we cut her slack. The youngest has happy feet and so we are treated to percussion all through the meal if we can keep him at the table.
In spite of the above, we had a lovely dinner together yesterday evening with all in great spirits and our middle child entertaining us with her comical antics. It wouldn’t cut the mustard in Downton Abbey but I wish every dinner was as nice.
My father has never been a man keen to offer advice to his children.
Throughout my childhood I can remember almost no occasion on which he proffered a helpful pearl of wisdom, and in adulthood I once approached him for some guidance in an area on which he was literally the country’s leading expert and he responded that he didn’t know and I’d have to work it out for myself.
The only exceptions to the above rule were when I first started work, at which point he offered up, completely unbidden, two pieces of professional guidance which he appeared to consider absolutely critical.
The first was to buy my shoes from Church’s if I wanted to be taken seriously. Advice I could neither afford to take at that time, nor would I have done so even if I had the means – they were certainly not the vibe I was shooting for.
The second was some quite detailed advice on the proper way to eat bread when out for a work dinner. I listened in fascination that there could possibly be a correct way to eat bread, and have thought of but not actioned said advice at every work meal since. I can’t say it has made a difference, and I have detected among my fellow diners no uniform consensus on methods of bread consumption.
Looking back, it’s interesting that the professional advice he gave was on appearance and not substance. It betrays the working class lad who came from nothing and remained afraid he might yet be found out on the details and somehow sent straight back there. I, on the other hand, had the comparative luxury of growing up under the auspices of his finances, so I’ve been able to swan around in whatever shoes I want, eating bread in whatever eccentric fashion I choose.
So I suppose what I’m saying is; whether or not tables manners matter is probably a function of how you’ve arrived at the table. And they don’t matter at all to me.
I had to eat at the table with the rest of the family even if there as something I wanted to watch on the tv. No ifs buts or maybes. My kids were expected to do the same and as much as it is about dining etiquette it is of great social significance too as it allows us to talk to each other and get insights into what is going on in our Worlds.
My kids mock me because I won’t have the TV on during meals. I don’t know if that’s the same thing as table manners though.
The thought has occurred recently that those moments of family connection have to be organic. We can create the conditions for them but sometimes we have a meal where everyone is tired and in their own little world and – to be honest – it probably wouldn’t have hurt to just sit and watch something together instead of trying to force it. The problem is you don’t really know if it’s going to be one of those meals until about halfway through.
The times I find the kids really want to talk are typically when they’ve just got home and then right before they go to bed. I sometimes wonder if WFH has meant that meal time has become a bit less of a focal point for them, even though it’s still the big one in my head.
There is one telly in my house, in the lounge. TVs are banned from every other kind of room, especially kitchens, dining areas and bedrooms.
Lounge? How common! 😉
We have a no bedrooms policy. Beyond that it’s a free for all.
I don’t really worry about TV watching – I think that was a concern for my parents’ generation. Nowadays you worry more about kids and phones/social media.
My kids will probably be delighted to see their kids on their phones because it means they’re not just using their neural implants and are at least developing some hand/eye coordination.
So it goes.
Bread rolls at black tie dinners.
If you’re lower middle class you cut it in half with a knife. Not the butter knife, obviously.
Upper middle class, tear it apart with your bare hands, like you would a pheasant or hunt saboteur.
Upper class, throw it at another table and bellow something about someone called ‘Digby’
Working class, place the roll on the side plate to the gentleman’s left, using the tongs provided so you don’t get poverty on it.
Ha! This was more or less the tone of the advice. Absolutely bonkers.
The nearest I ever got to an etiquette issue in business was the time I was sent to interview for a secondment at Microsoft. I was working hundred hour weeks and desperate to escape to six months of far less punishing schedule, so I wanted that secondment badly.
My interviewer was a middle aged French gentlemen who insisted we do the interview over lunch. We ordered our meals and, clocking my selection, he immediately asked “Do you not eat meat?”. I replied that I did not. He literally narrowed his eyes and informed me he’d never met a male vegetarian. Yikes.
He then proceeded to order wine. I said a water would be fine. By this stage, he was on to me. “Do you not drink either?” came the question. I confirmed that I was indeed teetotal – there seemed no sense denying it. A look of disgust swept across his face and I developed a sinking feeling that I would not be getting this secondment unless I seriously turned on the charm.
So – turn on the charm I did. For the next ninety minutes I was the very spirit of grace and good humour; seeking out common ground like some sort of conversational velociraptor, laughing at jokes, and generally taking care to exude a sense of deep normality so as to reassure my interviewer that he had reached the bottom of my deviance and there were no more shocks to come.
By dessert, I sensed I’d won him round. My early follies were being forgiven and he was giving the impression that yes, this could definitely work out. And then he ordered the coffees.
Now, I don’t usually enjoy or take hot drinks, and consequently I knew nothing about coffee. But on this occasion I sensed that this revelation would be best kept to myself – my eschewal of caffeine would almost certainly have been the straw to break the camel’s back. Silently, I resigned myself to the only sensible course of action: I would order whatever he was having. As it transpired, he was having a double espresso. I had no idea what that was, but I would have one too.
My drink arrived. It was tiny, far smaller than I’d expected. This posed a challenge; were you supposed to just neck the whole thing? Or maybe take sips? Utterly unsure how to proceed, I watched my opposite and copied his every action, taking tiny sips until the whole revolting thing was gone.
I got the secondment. I went back to work that afternoon buzzing like I was on meth. My new boss proceeded to introduce me to everyone at work with the suffix “he’s vegetarian, but one of the good ones”. I had to continue drinking espressos every time I had lunch with him. And to this day I have no idea how I ate my bread roll.
I had several afternoon meetings in Paris with the head of the French division of the company I was working for at the time. At least one of the attendees (and often more than one) had clearly had a bottle or two of wine with his lunch. The meetings were, uniformly unhelpful and pointless.
Most French meetings are pointless. They are to demonstrate liberté, égalité, fraternité for 2 hours with 20 people round the table. The decision, which was actually made the previous night over dinner by a few senior people, is then “taken”. Honour satisfied for all.
My company was multi national with HQ in Paris. Dinner the night before, long lunch the next day. Strategy agreed for the coming year. Brits stuck rigidly to the guidelines, every other country, especially French & Italians, did whatever was best for them as though the meeting had never happened which, of course, it hadn’t.
The French people I worked with were impressively inventive in reinterpretating what had been decided to suit what they wanted to do anyway. My Italian team were lovely but just did things their way regardless.
We then merged with a German company who seized on me as an Anglo Saxon and complained constantly about the French. “This is not serious” etc.
I used to visit and work in France quite a lot, the pattern to take time over lunch, socialize eating good food with the odd glass of wine (not too much) rather than rushing through it was very welcome to me especially compared to people eating at their desks or around meeting tables which I have experienced in the US and Canada and, to a degree, in the UK. Much more agreeable
Heh. I’ve worked with Italians on multinational programmes who basically didn’t give a fuck about decisions that had been collectively made, as they just did whatever the hell it was they wanted to do anyway.
The French will take instructions and then immediately tell you what’s wrong with them, that you’re a fucking idiot, and that they’ll be doing things their own way.
The Italians will take instructions, smiling and nodding, and then proceed to ignore half of them in a fashion so haphazard as to suggest they actually quite want you to see what they’ve done. They also look delighted when you call them on it. It’s like instructing gremlins.
It’s the Germans you have to watch out for; they agree with everything you say and then do whatever they want to do, but in a manner so sneaky it takes a long time to become apparent. Stealth Italians using their Teutonic reserve as a cloaking device.
Americans act like they’re the ones giving the orders, even when they’re not.
Other generalisations available on request.
My Italian team would enthusiastically enter into discussions of design, architecture, software packages etc then go back, insist they were on track then when it was too late to do anything about it reveal that they had built something completely different which basically did the same thing.
Without massive generalizations, I found Italians easier to work with than French engineers. Germans/Dutch were closest to my way of thinking
I’m only taking about actual people so no generalisation at all but I agree with you!
Generalising extravagantly, have you ever tried working with the Welsh? Oh my goodness!
😉
We try and eat together whenever one or both of the kids (twenties) are home. Eldest joins in on that day’s Spelling Bee to try and get to genius, which is a good collective thing to do while eating. ‘What they’ll have x (dildo for example) but not pitta’ Diary requests/clashes/ticketing are also done. We also have the Guardian Saturday quiz, usually done together over a Mon or Tues ev meal and with half-points on offer by the quizmaster to the rest can take 20 mins to do.
My father was absolute on timing rather than anything else – dinner was 7:30 on the dot. Fridays and Saturdays are respectively take-away night, which can be eaten at the table, in front of the TV or upstairs while chatting online and gaming. Saturday if we are in I try and cook something interesting, which again can be eaten anywhere.
The house I grew up in was somewhat unconventional as my dad had unusual work hours, like working 3 weekends out of 4. He also finished work at 3.30 and would come home and generally have his main meal of the day at that time, or cook for the family as my mother was still at work. He was already gone at breakfast time so we ate together as a full family less often than the norm.
Hah! My dad didn’t cook anything more than an egg until his seventies, but TBF when my mum became frail and forgetful he did pick up the mealtime duties and learned the rudiments.
He also cleaned! Clearly a man ahead of his time 🙂
“What they’ll have x (dildo for example) but not pitta”
Sounds like one heck of a Greek wedding.
The four of us have end-of-work times varying from 3pm to 9pm, and meal times to follow. About once a month I will cook a Sunday lunch, and at least one of us will be having it for breakfast.
The rest of the time, I’m lucky if I see them from one week to the next.
They always leave their washing up in the sink, though, for the Kitchen Fairy to do while they’re asleep or out. Loading it in the dishwasher (which is next to the sink) is apparently too much like hard work.
I remember tv trays being a major thing when introduced to our house.
Meat and veg on a fork is considered very off by the upper classes it was always referred to as a mixed grill by an old posh girlfriends mum.
Infra dig in our household is mixing together your curry and rice together. Rice then curry on the fork, but kept separate but touching (or a layer of rice followed by curry on top) on the plate. Eldest turns their fork into a blender – are you still six?
Eh?
I stayed with some mates once and dinner was chilli and rice. They all stirred it up into a pink mush before eating it. Actual adults. Awful.
Blimey, it all goes down the same way and gets mixed up in your stomach. Who cares really? Probably helps with digestion!
I was always told “don’t play with your food. It looks disgusting. Next step – liquidise it…
That’s in all our future (if we live that long)
Madame Foxy insists upon ‘doing a Vesta’ whenever I serve up a curry – rice in a broad ring around the edge of the plate, curry itself dumped into the void at the middle.
There’s probably an inverse relationship between the quality of the food and the number of arcane rules about how its consumed. So you need a guidebook to ensure that you’re eating asparagus or bread rolls correctly, meanwhile here in Asia people are eating biryani with their hands.
TBF, in certain parts of India – certainly where my late mum came from – it was a standard rule to eat food scooped up in your right hand, never the left hand (that had, ahem, a slightly different function).
Now I’ve written that, I’m a bit concerned I’ve got that the wrong way round. Ah well…
Ah, table manners.
One of those adult things I happily threw out with at least some of the childish ones. Luckily I live alone and don’t have kids (bet you’re all astonished). Fork food – meat cut up before cooking) – and elbows usually on the table.
I’m fascinated by how these things live on. I generally hate any kind of formality, and like to be as relaxed as possible without actually being naked (thankfully).
As a kid, every meal was at the Dining Table as a Family, and clean plates were expected.
(having Dinner (or Tea) on your lap on the sofa was a rare treat!)
When teenage life dictated different meal times for the family, it was still at the Dining Table (by choice).
When I got my first house, one of the first purchases was a cheap Argos folding Dining Table – even if by that time “clean plates” was replaced by “eat what you need and then stop”
The Dining Table continued and all the kids were there – enforcing the clean plate was tough (and hypocritical as I came to believe “eat what you need, just don’t waste too much”)
Grandkids – none of them have a Dining Table in their homes, so there can be a little tension but they do look forward to eating at the table with the Family
(I think that’s a win!)
I remember my parents allowing me to have my dinner on a tray in the living room, as opposed to the kitchen, because England were playing Belgium in the 1980’s Euro’s. My dinner went flying when Ray ‘Butch’ Wilkins scored a spectacular opening goal. No more dinners in the living room for me after that.
In our home we sit down to one if not two meals a day. No phones at the table and there’s lovely conversation from the 3 women/girls in the family. Sunday morning breakfast is a special meal with all sorts of rolls, croissants, cheeses, hen, eggs, jams and honeys. They are all well behaved as a matter of course out of consideration for others at the table, not from a sense of formal adherence to table manners.
I was taught that joints on the table are meant to be carved, and l don’t like seeing elbows on the surface. It is a sign of slouching and some members of my family sit at the table, head bent low over the plate, hands shoveling food into mouth like a disjointed monkey. I don’t say anything, but the rudeness of not pausing before pushing in the next mouthful, or fork in hand, grabbing a can of drink to slurp down a gulp before leaving the table as quickly as possible, is just offensive.
Hen? Joints on the table are meant to be smoked.
Touché
Fumeé
Threeché
We’re up to here with moonin’ and Junin’…
Edith: wait a minute, that was toupées and threepées, wasn’t it?
You could be right otherwise there’s hell toupée.
Bin a long time since rug and roll.
We have a meal together every night – on Sunday it’s a more elongated affair and the wider family tends to come rather than just the 5 who live here.
An amusing (to me) recent development is that when it’s dinner time, our generally placid dog becomes frantic and urgently comes over to me with one of her toys in her mouth. I try to pull it from her mouth and she doesn’t yield. I growl in her face – she growls back. I then pick her up, just using the toy, raising her aloft. I tickle her belly and she half-barks and growls but still grimly holds on. With much tickling she eventually lets go and I proclaim victory. The dog is now whipped up into a frenzy, doing zoomies. Generally, my wife sighs and says “really?” in what I like to think a good-natured way.
Now, you see, I interpreted the thread title as being about diet – avoiding junk food, preparing your own meals from fresh ingredients, good balance of carbs/vitamin C/fibre – that sort of thing.
After reading about so many pointless points of etiquette above, I am even more inclined to think that my version of ‘eating properly’ is what really matters.
I do eat properly.
The reason I’m a good vegetarian cook (if not chef yet) is that when I was a house husband both my vegetarian kids refused to eat anything except pizza and pasta. They need a more interesting diet, I thought. Were they grateful? Not noticeably. But I persevered, and I like to think I instilled some sort of consciousness of a world beyond pizza and pasta. My son at least cooks up a storm these days.
We will generally try and eat together when schedules allow and always eat at the table. Aside from that, have never been sticklers for any rules at the table and what cutlery to use etc etc.
Generally, most meals have just a spoon and fork laid out (lots of rice, noodles or pasta) and only generally use knifes in a larger cut of meat on the plate. Added to that, being in Asia, we have the choice of chopsticks and Chinese style spoon (usually if there is soup – chopsticks a must if a steamed whole fish – so much easier) or the spoon / fork option.
I have never understood why anyone would use a fish knife to eat their fish dish. A table knife would be perfectly adaquate.
I stand to be corrected, but I think it dates to before stainless steel when the fish flavour/aroma would cling.
Growing up, I cannot remember a meal which wasn’t eaten sat at the dining table. School dinners were also consumed thus, and it was a proper meal and no one brought their own packed lunch in those days.
My parents were quite firm about table manners, and that has persisted. For instance, I will never pick up a chicken leg to eat it. – I will always use a knife and fork – and if, say, we have guests and food is in dishes on the table, I will never start eating until everyone is served and ready to eat too. The table also has to be laid properly, that sort of thing – you get the idea.
With the children, we always insisted we ate at the table and all together when possible, but that hasn’t persisted to the next generation. Our granddaughter is always on the go when eating, and also doesn’t eat what her parents eat, whereas ours did from a very early age. She also snacks on demand. They are great parents, but this is the one thing that, privately, Mrs. T and I disagree with them on.
I always thought school dinners got a bad rap. The one’s I had were very good, especially the Hungarian goulash. We used to say grace before our meals at school but never at home. My parents would’ve thought I’d lost my marbles if I’d suggested saying grace before our meals.
If we are likely to have take away fish and chips when out, we both carry a metal fork in our bags. There’s posh.
I might be alone in this, but contact with wooden cutlery – and I include ice lolly sticks in this – makes my teeth go hurrrrrrrgggggrrrh
Wooden cutlery is too grippy in the mouth.
As a kid I pulled an ice lolly stick across my teeth if I ever need to shiver I just have to think of it.
No, you’re not, chiz. My partner can’t abide wooden forks et al, hence the metal forks. I don’t mind, but having the ironmongery amuses me.
When visiting the cinema and wanting a tub of ice-cream at the interval intake a teaspoon with me so I didn’t have to use those pathetic plastic spoons which always got ice-cream on one’s hands.
I sometimes take an insulated food flask with hot porridge in it to jobs, as the breakfast offerings can be poor (make it runny because it keeps cooking in the flask). For this, I carry a folding spoon, liberated from another, less suitable flask, that no one uses for food, only coffee.
Mrs Moles has an aversion to touching some new wood (eg kitchen utensils), so the idea of putting it in her mouth is not her idea of fun.
Whatever did happen to Moose.
Well, Mousey, will anyone be joining you at the table for the Corsair chicken…?
I rather hope so. Cutlery and serviettes will be provided and I expect everyone to EAT PROPERLY!
Where do we all stand on serviettes?
When I first moved in with Mrs Wells 2.0 they never used them whereas I always have. It can be paper towels ( 2 sheets folded then folded into a triangle) , picnic paper serviettes or, for dinner guests, cloth napkins, but they need to be part of setting the table in some form.
In our case, it’s a big roll of paper handi-towels that gets plonked in the middle of the table.
Oh dear. Here have I let down my mother. There were always napkins for any eating occasion, no matter how inconsequential. That practice didn’t survive the first week of me leaving home, and I never think to use them when provided by hosts, in pubs, etc.
So what do you wipe your gob on – table cloth, sleeve?
The cat.
In true feline fashion, my tongue usually does the trick.
Partner is away at ‘Beautiful Days’, and after a long day, I could not be arsed to cook.
Tea tonight is therefore ‘Posh Baked Beans’. In which they are served in a bowl, with toast alongside. I have crumbled some decent Cheddar in, plus Aleppo chili. These are not essential.
There’s posh.
I made a sourdough loaf on Monday. The rule we have developed when I bake is Day of baking > eat half of loaf with various cheeses and salads; Day 2 > most of the rest as either beans on toast (with cheddar melted over the top) or huge bruschetta (brushed with olive oil before they hit a hot griddle pan, which fills the kitchen with smoke but makes a delicious result); Day 3 > the remainder as croutons with soup or salad. This week it was really, really good beans on toast on Tuesday. Wednesday was croutons with salad and marinated tofu.
I need to bake tomorrow. I’ve done sourdough, but usually do instant yeast ones. I sometimes make an overnight sponge, with some of the water, flour and yeast for the three loaves I make at a time.
I hear you.
At such times, Baked Beans are my go-to as well, poured over two buttered baked potaotes. If I’m feeling exotic, I sometimes go for Chili Beans.
I’ve lost track on whether that’s a healthy option. I think it is.
What’s the verdict on the best Baked Beans? We changed from Heinz to Branston a while ago and they seem much better – less sugar.
Waitrose Essentials, not too sweet, not too much sauce.
Kidney beans, cannellini beans, mixed beans – i.e. make your own concoction with olive oil, lemon juice and other flavourings, but baked beans? Bleaagghhh!!!
Branston.
Haricot beans, bit of ketchup, bit of barbecue sauce, few drops of liquid smoke – sorted.
Marvellous. My beans earlier had, in addition to some cheddar crumbled in, a sachet of Stokes’s bbq sauce (glommed from a nearby restaurant) and a teaspoon of Aleppo chili. The latter – from the Devon Chili place, via St Nick’s market in that Brizzle – is so gurt lush that it goes into almost everything. Boiled eggs with soldiers and Aleppo? Monster, monster…
I have become an Aleppo with everything kinda guy. It’s magnificent stuff – I now buy it 250g at a time instead of squitty little 35g bags.
My baked beans routine now involves caramelising a shallot or two for on top, plus a decent sprinkling of Aleppo pepper. Egg on top or not according to mood.
Whereas I have become an HP Sauce with everything (OK, most things) kinda bloke – especially beans, replacing the lashings of Worcester sauce of the past.
But it must be from a glass bottle – the squeaky plastic bottle loses something in the tang.
When Mrs thep arrived in England from Oz she adjusted pretty well, by and large – though she baffled a fair number of barpersons with her requests for lemon, lime and bitters.
But when she arrived back from the supermarket with a squeezy bottle of Marmite, she was in serious danger of being put on the next plane home.
see also Hellmans Mayonnaise, re: para 2.
my Hellmanns mayonnaise addiction has reached such levels of ridiculousness, I bring a couple of jars back to Berlin with me everytime I return from the UK. I maintain it tastes different here. Sweeter, gloopier. More like the ubiquitous ‘pommes sauce’.
Also Oxo, Branston, Sarsons and Paxo stuffing mix. Even a M&S steak pie now and again. It baffled me why Germans never seemed to embrace the pie.
The other stuff that is difficult to resist adding to almost anything is Lingham’s Chilli Garlic Ginger sauce. Either in quantity, or just a dash.
Indeed – although not always easy to get hold of (unless one resorts to “borrowing” a bottle from Wetherspoons)
I currently don’ t have any, but there’s a stall on Bridport market not far from us that has it. I have in the past made my own version, by combining the various Linghams.
I was in Bridport last month I’ll look out the next time I’m down.
Stall is/was in West Street, south side. Not far from the junction with South Street. Often thought South Street would be a splendid place
to live.
@GCU-Grey-Area
Is that the Hot Sauce Emporium of which you speak? I’m going into town on Monday and will be in our offices just over the road from St. Nicks – must explore!
Ohh, yes! They certainly had it last Friday, ‘cos my partner bought two jars back, after meeting her cousin for the day. We buy their whole dried chillis, too.
I’ve got a conservatory humming with fat chillis right now, but I’m always keen to explore recommendations!
Not sure why my reply to your post had become a new post below.
Willie Rushton recommended a shot of whisky in your beans. Never tried it.
He also suggested ironing frozen bread I’ve not tried that either. His recipe for psychedelic spaghetti was interesting too.
You’ve read Superpig too. Magnificent.
I must admit it’s quite fascinating the rubbish that you retain in the old brain matter.
I couldn’t remember the title of the book though I knew a pig was involved.
My brain generally does retain rubbish but nothing useful like what I’m supposed to be doing today.
Willie Rushton died aged 59 so maybe not the best advice to heed over culinary matters.
Good point.
I/we usually buy some of the packs of single, dried chilis that stall sells; Ancho and Poblano mainly. Either rehydrate, or chop them up. We both like food that’s hot, but it needs to be tasty, too. Their sauces increase in heat as you go around the stall. We tend to avoid Scotch Bonnet-type things. Like an IED going off in your mouth. I shall save heat until Falmouth mext month, where there’s a lovely Jamaican restaurant, where I shall have their Jerk Chicken, and drip quietly.
They also sell some nice barbeque sauces. There was one with a really retro label. I appreciate this is very niche, but the designer must have bought a couple of font packs from the Walden Font foundry. As have I.
Seeing as this thread has taken a turn into the condiments aisle, does anyone know what has happened to Geo Watkins Mushroom Ketchup? All of the big supermarkets around here have stopped selling it, including the biggest Sainsbury’s in the country (“You’re not the first person to ask”, said the pleasant young woman who was restocking the salad cream.)
There is none on Amazon or eBay, most online retailers are out of stock, and the Watkins website has gone a bit, well, weird. The last time it disappeared from the shelves the back of my last bottle had a contact number printed on. When I dialled that number I was told, and from the tone I strongly suspect it wasn’t the first time that day this information had been disclosed, that an external manufacturer of an ingredient had gone bust but a new supplier had just been found. The bottles no longer have a contact number.
This is getting very concerning. A tablespoon of mushroom ketchup is essential to just about every savoury dish I make and Geo Watkins is (was?) the only widely available brand. I’ve read that Henderson’s relish can do as a substitute (or Lea and Perrins Worcestershire Sauce if you’re not bothered about keeping your cooking veggie) but I’d rather use the mushroom ketchup I’m used to.
Still available in Oz, it would seem. Four bottles for roughly 50 of your British pounds. They say it’s in stock – hate to think what the postage would be. But sites like this usually take your money and then order from the UK anyway. I nearly fell into a similar Belazu balsamic trap once.
https://www.u-buy.com.au/product/8JNXQMNI-geo-watkins-mushroom-ketchup-190ml-pack-of-4
I’ve seen it this year, though if something’s happened to the maker, it could have been old stock.
I can’t remember exactly where; if local to us, its either the Queen Street deli in Wells, or the big wholefood shop (Earthfare) in Glastonbury. Might have been Pynes in North Petherton, or Darts Farm in Topsham.
We went in several food shops in North Norfolk in May. ‘Picnic Fayre’ in Cley, and Howells in Staithe Street, Wells-next-the-sea. There’s a deli in Burnham Market, on the first floor over the fishmongers. Could even have been the ‘Nisa’ at Burnham Deepdale.