HELL YES by Deirdre Fidge

I’m not a big believer in table manners – most etiquette ‘rules’ originate from rich Englishmen who owned too many servants and too many forks. I couldn’t care less if you slurp soup or eat a steak using only your bare hands. But there’s one habit that really grinds my gears: eating your meal before everyone else has theirs.

Going out for a meal with people is a social act. The expression ‘breaking bread’ refers not only to the act of eating with others, but to the connection that comes with it. It conjures an image of someone physically tearing a hunk of bread apart to share with their peers or family. In the same way we clink glasses and drink simultaneously to mark an occasion, we say “Bon appétit!” or “Dig into your feed bags, comrades!” to signify the start of a meal. Timing is everything – feasting together is the point.

Eating at different times is baffling. Why arrange a shared experience if it isn’t actually shared? As anyone who’s worked in hospitality knows, meals are ordered and prepared to come out at once. It’s an obvious acknowledgement that everyone at a table should ideally eat together. The importance of timing is part of the reason why chefs have a reputation for being such Grumpy Guses! (That said: everyone is underpaid and overworked so be nice to people in hospo, please.)

Choosing to ignore this small, simple gesture is a lose–lose situation. If you are the first person to receive your meal and happily chow down before waiting, you then run the risk of being left out of conversations, or of having your eating noises very acutely listened to. I realise these fears may be personal projections on my behalf, but surely I’m not the only one who feels awkward trying to engage in conversation with a mouth full of steak that I’m holding with my bare hands while everyone else’s mouths remain free of food and full of interesting observations and sparkling jokes. If everyone’s mouths are full, you’re all in the same happy boat: the SS Chomp Chomp!

On the flipside, if you are last to receive your meal and everyone else has finished, there may be an expectation that you have to eat quickly so the group can move on to the local discotheque or attend that evening’s cotillion (I don’t go out much but assume these are relevant examples). So there everyone sits, rubbing their full bellies making satisfied ahhh sounds, cheeks reddened by extra mugs of ale. Meanwhile, you’re hastily attempting to unhinge your jaw and swallow an entire cacio e pepe with the determination of a python. Burnt pharynx be damned: an out-of-sync social dynamic is far more uncomfortable.

A great workaround for this, of course, is choosing restaurants that specialise in share plates. This eliminates any pressure around timing and the meal becomes as communal as humanly possible, short of slurping a single noodle of spaghetti with someone à la Lady and the Tramp. But a lot of the time, this isn’t possible. People have dietary requirements or the restaurant is chosen for you, and we’re back on the deck of the SS Chomp Chomp with a choice to make. And the answer is simple, but must again be repeated for good measure: just wait for everyone to get their dang meal.

The late great Anthony Bourdain once said, “You learn a lot about someone when you share a meal together.” The key word: share. I believe that a lot is revealed about a person’s character if they don’t wait for you before tucking in. Bon appétit, comrades.

HELL NO by Fraser Harvey

Picture this: we’re both enjoying ourselves at a restaurant (your favourite!), gasbagging and gossiping and generally having a whale of a time. We’ve ordered our food, and our drinks have arrived. I immediately spill my drink all over my lap and need to request several extra napkins from the wait staff, along with another drink and directions to the bathroom where I can pat the dampness off my crotch without fear of being labelled a pervert by nearby diners.

At last, I’ve returned! And what’s this? My meal has already arrived along with a brand-new drink. How delightful! I take my place at the table, have a quick sip of my drink that I barely even spill this time, reach for my knife and fork (assuming I haven’t ordered soup or a consommé) and begin to enjoy my delicious meal. Sadly, however, this feeling of elation is cut short by your furrowed brow and immediate interjection, causing me to return the cutlery back to the table. Why? Because you’re a weird little freak who gets off on withholding.

I’ve been racking my brain for days now trying to wonder why you’d want to stop someone from eating before you, and all I can come up with is that you’ve got control issues. Sure, your parents taught you this futile exercise was “good manners”, but that’s only because they were taught the same by their parents. Why? Nobody knows, but I like to think this dining rule can be traced back to England, where all stupid rules started, before they were distributed around the world by sailors teeming with scurvy and gonorrhoea between the 17th and 19th centuries. Is that how you want me to think of you? A disgusting, controlling sailor? Well too late, I already do.

Now I’m sure my counterpart will make all sorts of wild and frankly unfounded claims about how adhering to this rule “shows a healthy respect for your chosen dinner companion” or “helps you enjoy a shared experience” or some kind of nonsense like that, but this is all rubbish. The greatest respect you can show for someone is encouraging them to eat as soon and as quickly as humanly possible. It shows that you value nourishment above all else, and that you’ve grown into a normal, well-adjusted person who has no desire to control when someone can or can’t begin a meal.

Also, I know the waiter said your meal would only be a few minutes away, but how do we know for sure? I’ve ordered a hot meal on a cold day and now you want me to hold out till it’s room temperature – or worse still, cold. What if my dinner gets so cold I contract pneumonia and die? That’s another thing you’ll have weighing on your conscience as you dine alone for the rest of your life.

There’s a certain arrogance that goes along with assuming a person isn’t completely starving when you sit down to eat. How do you know what I had for lunch? Guess what – I didn’t have anything! I was saving myself for dinner! I’m hungry! With no indication from the kitchen as to how long your meal will be, this is actually a form of torture and possibly even a hate crime to make me sit here looking at a delicious plate of food that I’m not allowed to touch. Also, for all we know, the chef may have purposely sent mine out first because they just like my vibe. How dare you get in the way of a chef’s want. That is so like you.

This debate comes straight from the pages of issue 110. To get your mitts on a copy, swing past the frankie shop, subscribe or visit one of our lovely stockists.