Etiquette and a Complaining Dyspeptic

As a bright creature said not long ago after being thrown into the company of this pronounced type of dyspeptic: “Why, I'd just as soon darn my stockings between the courses, or manicure my nails, or do anything of that sort at the table, as to talk of uproarious rebellious interior organs, and yet I have had to listen to a running commentary on them for six weeks!”… 
Alerting a host or hostess ahead of a meal that one has dietary or other food restrictions is one thing. A smart host or hostess will know how to handle the situation discreetly. But turning one’s gut and stomach issues into a topic of discussion at the dining table is another – whether your repast is being served in a humble boarding house or the grand dining room in a Newport mansion. Good manners will keep one from divulging the details of their dyspepsia at the dining table.

Who of us that has ever “boarded” in the usual way has not been at some time afflicted with the society of the complaining dyspeptic boarder. The malady is too prevalent for us always to escape her, though it doesn’t follow that she must be a disagreeable stamp of invalid. By no means. But there is one specimen which haunts public tables, whether at home or abroad, that we would all like to have suppressed by fair means or foul. 

You ask one of these dyspeptics, “Will you have some white bread?” and she replies with the air of a wife of a candidate, “No, I don't eat anything made of white flour. It seems to swell up inside of me,” “Shall I help you to some ragout of veal?” “No, thanks,” this time she speaks with angelic sweetness, “I love it, but it doesn't love me!”- such an original remark! - “the last time I ate veal I was up all night,” and then she folds her hands resignedly under the table. “Cheese?” “No, thanks!” - this dyspeptic kind of woman always says, “Thanks, it does not agree with me; my husband's father was a doctor, and he told me never to eat cheese with my stomach,” and so on, and so on.

Then she will be sure to recommend certain dishes to the assembled guests, and to her daughter, if she has a daughter, it is: “Susie, dear, eat only the stone fruit, and a great deal of it; it is so good for you, dear.” Or it is: “Susie, remember your stomach was out of order yesterday; don't eat that!” Until you have a succession of internal and infernal pictures, as a delightful sauce for your dinner, breakfast and lunch conversations. The beauty of it is, this chronic sufferer consumes more food than a person of healthy appetite with perfect digestion. You can’t blame anybody for having a disordered pâté de foie gras liver, but it is rather distressing to continually hear about it. 

As a bright creature said not long ago after being thrown into the company of this pronounced type of dyspeptic: “Why, I'd just as soon darn my stockings between the courses, or manicure my nails, or do anything of that sort at the table, as to talk of uproarious rebellious interior organs, and yet I have had to listen to a running commentary on them for six weeks!” It is a question if a chapter on this American trait shouldn't be added to a certain little manual on etiquette and table manners that some of us would like immediately answered in the affirmative. – Boston Herald, 1888

🍽️Etiquette Enthusiast, Maura J. Graber, is the Site Editor for the Etiquipedia© Etiquette Encyclopedia