Eating Oysters
Long, long ago, in the pre-world-war era there was a brisk and efficient old lady who had a tobacco farm in Kentucky and a residence on top of a high hill on the same. In her bailiwick she ran things with a high hand, but her hospitality was famous and much sought. In the early years of our marriage my husband and I were often guests there. We’ll call her ‘Malindy.’ It wasn’t her name but it should have been.
Malindy liked people, but she also liked her linen and her furniture and, especially, she liked good table manners. On a certain Thanksgiving day she served raw oysters to be followed by oyster soup, with trimmings. At that time and place, oysters in any form were hard to secure and the guests were delighted to have them. But, woe betide, one guest was not posted on the etiquette of oyster eating. He began on the raw ones with his soup spoon, but it was not a great success and presently he was chasing oysters round his plate with the spoon and getting nowhere.
I was sitting where I could see Malindy’s face and I was conscious that something was brewing. She fixed the offender with her great piercing eyes, her lips a straight red line in her gray old face and presently she asked: “Mr. Watson, didn’t the maid give you a fork?” With the question, a vast silver fork was catapulted across the table to the side of the embarrassed Watson who stammered: “W-h-a-a—oh yes. Of course. It’s here.” “Then use it, man. use it. Raw oysters were never meant to be eaten with a spoon.”
I was sitting where I could see Malindy’s face and I was conscious that something was brewing. She fixed the offender with her great piercing eyes, her lips a straight red line in her gray old face and presently she asked: “Mr. Watson, didn’t the maid give you a fork?” With the question, a vast silver fork was catapulted across the table to the side of the embarrassed Watson who stammered: “W-h-a-a—oh yes. Of course. It’s here.” “Then use it, man. use it. Raw oysters were never meant to be eaten with a spoon.”
We looked at the guest; we looked at the hostess and then everybody, including Watson, burst into friendly laughter. But I’ll bet a ginger cake against anything you like, that Watson never again ate raw oysters with a spoon. And I’m sure he didn’t mind very much. The element of humor saved the day. — From “The Log of Life,” by Estelle Lawton Lindsey, 1942
🍽Etiquette Enthusiast, Maura J. Graber, is the Site Editor for the Etiquipedia© Etiquette Encyclopedia
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