America’s Table Manners of 1900

Bearing in mind that the guests have come as late as they dared without being absolutely uncivil, that the dinner has been served as rapidly as was materially possible, and that the circle broke up as soon as the meal had ended, one asks one's self in wonder why, if dinner is such a bore, that it has to be scrambled through, coûte que coûte, people continue to dine out?

A Nation in a Hurry — American Conduct at a Quick Lunch and at a Dinner Party

It is the habit of the modern time-saving young man on entering a quick lunch establishment, to dash for the bill of fare and give an order (if he is adroit enough to catch one of the maids on the fly) before removing either hat or coat; at least 15 seconds may be economized in this way. Once seated, the luncher falls to on everything at hand—bread, cold-slaw, crackers or catsup. When the dish ordered arrives, he gets his fork into it as it appears over his shoulder, and cleans the plate before the sauce makes its appearance, so that it is eaten by itself or with bread. Cups of coffee or tea go down in two swallows. Little pieces of cakes are cut in quarters, and disappear in four mouthfuls, much after the fashion of children down the ogre's throat in the mechanical toy—mastication being either a lost art, or considered a foolish waste of energy.

A really accomplished luncher can assimilate his last “quarter” of cakes, wiggle into his coat, and pay his check at the desk at the same moment. The next, he is down the block in pursuit of a receding trolley. Last week, a friend offered me a luncheon tablet from a box, on, his desk. “It's as good as a meal,” he said, “and so much more expeditious.” To realize how our “upper ten” scramble through existence one must contrast their fidgety way of feeding with the bovine calm in which a German absorbs his nourishment, and the hours an Italian can pass over his post-prandial meal. An American dinner party affords us this opportunity.

From oysters to fruit, dinners now are a breathless steeplechase, during which we take our viand hedges and champagne ditches at much the same speed. To be silent would be to imply that one was not having a good time; so that we rattle and gobble on toward the fingerbowl winning post, only to find that rest is not there. As the hostess pilots the ladies away to the drawing-room, she whispers to her spouse, “You won't smoke too long, will you?” So we are right in the enjoyment of even that last resource of humanity, the cigar, and are hustled away from our smoke and coffee to find that our appearance is a signal for a general move.

One of the older ladies rises, the next moment the whole circle, like a flock of frightened birds, is up and off, crowding each other in the hallway, calling for their carriages, and rattling the unfortunate servants who are attempting to cloak and overcoat them. Bearing in mind that the guests have come as late as they dared without being absolutely uncivil, that the dinner has been served as rapidly as was materially possible, and that the circle broke up as soon as the meal had ended, one asks one's self in wonder why, if dinner is such a bore, that it has to be scrambled through, coûte que coûte, people continue to dine out?— From “A Nation in a Hurry,” by Eliot Gregory, in the Atlantic, 1900

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