When the Fork First Evolved

Selection of early types of forks. Originating in Africa and the Middle East, and considered truly an oddity at first, forks slowly grew popular in royal European courts. Books on courtly manners and courtly customs were also being written and more frequently read, though most of the European public was oblivious to them. Silver utensils of all sorts, along with specialized tableware, was created for the wealthy, upper classes. Many travelers carried their utensils with them, either in cased sets or as foldable articles. 
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We must wait 4,000 years before we find the fork. Or, as a French writer on table etiquette has said, “from the creation of the world to the beginning of the seventeenth century, man ate only with his fingers.” This is, however, a mistake of 400 years…
-Image source Etiquipedia private library and collection

Table Manners… How They Have Evoluted (sic) Out of Savage Customs

How did table manners arise? Where do they come from? Like Topsy and other human institutions, “they just growed.” And it is surprising how slow of development has been the sentiment of cleanliness and neatness which was the principal cause of the invention of the implements and dishes used in serving food and eating.

In good old paleolithic times, when human beings were always within 24 hours of starvation, man ate only with his fingers. He hunted for his food in the woods or by the seashore, and he picked the bones clean. Two table articles are found among uncivilized people – the knife and the spoon. The knife was originally a weapon of attack and defense. It was used for cutting and carving flesh, but its convenience in eating soon became apparent.

The origin of the spoon is uncertain. It must have been invented at a very ancient date, for it is found among people that have never come into contact with civilization. The necessity of having some implement for dipping water seems to have led first to the invention of the calabash or the use of the cocoanut shell and later on to the spoon.

We must wait 4,000 years before we find the fork. Or, as a French writer on table etiquette has said, “from the creation of the world to the beginning of the seventeenth century, man ate only with his fingers.” This is, however, a mistake of 400 years, for we find forks as early as the thirteenth century, when they are mentioned as being kept for special purposes. Thus John, Duke of Brittany, is said to have used a fork to pick up “soppys,” and Piers Graveston had three for eating pears with.– Lee J. Vance in Lippincott's, 1895

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

Profiles in Etiquette — Margaret Visser

“The Rituals of Dinner” is a compendium of information about the world at table, from the Sherpas who send a child to summon guests to a dinner party (thus reducing the number of rejections, since the child knows neither the exact time nor the reason for the party, and is too young to be trusted with a reluctant guest’s contrived excuse) to the London hostess of the 1920s who sent handwritten invitations, again and again, until an elusive invitee, exhausted, gave in.
— Photo, Etiquipedia’s private library

Review of “The Rituals of Dinner: The Origins, Evolution, Eccentricities and Meaning of Table Manners,” By Margaret Visser

Author Margaret Visser writes on the history, anthropology, and mythology of everyday life. Born in 1940 in South Africa, she attended school in Zambia Zimbabwe, in France at the Sorbonne and the University of Toronto Canada where she earned a PhD in Classics. She now spends her time at homes in Toronto, Paris, and South West France.
— Photo, Etiquipedia’s private library

The memory is about five years old, but vivid: A woman takes a table for one at a trendy Italian restaurant, orders a Caesar salad, and proceeds to eat it with her fingers. She picks up one long leaf of silvery green Romaine after another, always grasping the stem end, and then chews her way from the top of the leaf to her fingers.

The only thing more remarkable than her choice of utensils was the other diners’ reaction to it. All of us watched her. It was impossible not to. In a room full of people who were eating in the accepted manner, with a lot of gnashing flatware, this woman was breaking the unspoken rules. We were titillated and appalled. Who was this stranger, and how had she gotten in?

Food rules are a reassuring discipline, a way to prove who we are or to demonstrate who we’d like to be, a societal shorthand that betrays broad cultural attitudes. You are not only what you eat, but when, where, why, how and with whom. Margaret Visser may be a professor of classical literature at the University of Toronto by trade, but she is at heart a journalist, determined to answer the five W’s and an H that are the bedrock of that profession. To her credit, and to the reader’s unending, startled delight, she has succeeded.

“The Rituals of Dinner” is a compendium of information about the world at table, from the Sherpas who send a child to summon guests to a dinner party (thus reducing the number of rejections, since the child knows neither the exact time nor the reason for the party, and is too young to be trusted with a reluctant guest’s contrived excuse) to the London hostess of the 1920s who sent handwritten invitations, again and again, until an elusive invitee, exhausted, gave in.

Visser is a partisan of ritual, an admirer of structure at a time when newspaper stories herald the end of the family meal, and the at-home dinner party seems likely to become a museum diorama. She is aware that manners can be constraining, as in the story of the 15-year-old boy who humiliated his father by eating spaghetti with his hands at a business dinner, and was packed off to boarding school as a result. 

She knows etiquette can be foolish, as she shows in a wickedly insightful section called “Learning to Behave,” in which she examines how we cope with our children’s heinous crime of not being miniature adults. But she acknowledges the more important freeing aspects of ritual, of feasts that are “celebrations of relationship among the diners, and . . . expressions of order, knowledge, competence, sympathy and consensus at least about important aspects of the value system that supports the group.”

Manners have belonged to the masses of the Western World since 1530, when Erasmus published de civilitate morum puerilium (On the Civility of the Behavior of Boys), which offered instruction on everything from table manners to behavior in the bedroom; before that, manners were the province of the social elite.

We have managed, in the intervening centuries, to act as though we made up the eternal rules of this game, and one of the best things about Visser’s book is the way she deftly skewers Western pretentiousness. She need only explain the genealogy of the chopstick--called kuai-tzu (fast fellows) by Chinese boatmen, and hashi (bridge) by the Japanese, since they close the small gap between the lifted bowl and the mouth--to make the reader realize the idiocy of trying to transport rice from a flat plate, at table level, as we do.

She is as sharp as the knives that symbolize, to her, the violence that lurks just beneath the service of every meal, and requires the imposition of manners to keep one of us from slicing up the lout who refused to pass the potatoes.

The wry tone of “The Rituals of Dining” is reminiscent of the scene in the Japanese film “Tampopo” in which a group of proper young women are being taught to eat pasta properly. Their instinct is to lift the dish and slurp appreciatively, but their teacher cautions them to swirl with a fork, lift, and chew silently, a discipline that dissolves quickly because it makes no sense to them. The same foodstuff but different cultures— and Visser has seemingly endless permutations with which to enlighten the reader. A dining room chair (or a stool, or a dirt floor, or whatever the seat of choice happens to be) is a wonderful vehicle for a trip around the world, and through time.

Is there anything missing? It seems a quibbling question. Visser’s range of knowledge is so broad that it’s impossible to know what to ask for: Since I never knew it was acceptable behavior to place bitten pieces of meat back in the boiling pot for warmth at an Inuit feast, I could hardly have faulted Visser had she omitted that morsel of information. There may be a detail out there that escaped her, but I defy anyone to name it. Having been served a sumptuous meal, the sated reader would be perverse to inquire if there was anything left in the literary kitchen.

The only thing that Visser does leave to the reader’s imagination is the deep emotional component of some of the rituals she describes. Yes, a seating arrangement might have everything to do with power, but some food rituals spring from a more intimate source, from the link between food and the life we share with the people who eat at our tables. Take, for example, the use of candles. “Candles last their predestined, visible length,” writes Visser. “They represent spans of time for us: a lifetime, with the flame as life itself, fragile but still alight (they become, with this meaning, potent symbols during political demonstrations); or a significant period of time, as when candles on a birthday cake mean ‘years lived.’ ”

That brief, lyrical passage, with its imitations of mortality, of the delicate ways in which we both celebrate and deny our temporary status, was almost shocking to read, sandwiched in between so many other bits of information. Perhaps the best way to approach “The Rituals of Dinner” is as thought were a meal shared with a remarkable friend— slowly, reflectively, savoring every exchange, not just for what it says but also for what it implies. — By Karen Stabiner, 1991

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

Fish Knife Etiquette and Pretentions

“The fish knife is the epitome of gentility. With a scalloped shaped blade, the end is just pointy enough to pick small bones from a cooked fish, and the flat blade is useful for sliding between the flesh and skin.” - The fish knife, third from the right, is before the dinner and salad knives in the order of use at a Continental place setting. The fish course, in formal Continental dining, is always served before the main course and the salad course is always served afterward, just the opposite as in American dining.

Is the fish knife our most pretentious utensil?

Now largely forgotten, the fish knife comes from an age where table etiquette was front and centre, leading to nearly two hundred different eating utensils being designed for different courses and foods. Adopted by an aspiring middle class wishing to dine like the gentrified, the odd utensil was later targeted by high society as an object of ridicule, as Colin Bisset writes.

The fish knife is the epitome of gentility. With a scalloped shaped blade, the end is just pointy enough to pick small bones from a cooked fish, and the flat blade is useful for sliding between the flesh and skin.

The fish knife first appeared in the first half of the nineteenth century in Britain. Thanks to thriving industry and the wealth generated by an expanding Empire, the rising middle-classes aspired to a gentrified way of dining. From the 1850s, dinners were usually served a la russe, which meant as separate courses as opposed to the previous practice of putting all dishes on the table at the same time. This led to the introduction of a variety of implements to help distinguish the serving and eating of everything from oysters to elaborate puddings, making negotiating a dinner a nightmare for those lacking knowledge of table etiquette.

It was a boon for cutlery manufacturers who were able to not only to design and market nearly two hundred eating implements but several styles for each one. (Washing up after these long dinners was certainly an arduous task.) The fish knife was an object of fussy design, solving a problem that was not truly present. It is interesting that they managed to last so long when the other cutlery inventions of the Victorian table have largely vanished.

A fish knife was an essential component for the fish course and they were quickly adapted for dining tables across the newly industrialised world. Made from either plated or solid silver, because ordinary metal blades were believed to blacken when coming into contact with fish, they offered hosts the opportunity to show the world that they could afford to dine in the finest fashion. With ever-more fanciful shapes, some engraved with fish-scales, others as curvaceous as a fish itself, the maritime theme was de rigeur.

The thought of an ordinary silver knife being able to serve the purpose just as well seems to have been politely put to one side. A larger version was often part of a set for the filleting and serving of a fish meant for several diners.

By the end of the First World War, they fell from fashion, at least for the upper classes who had always found them rather vulgar and preferred to use two forks to fillet a fish. As the century progressed, they quickly became an object of ridicule. However, the invention of stainless steel in the 1920s meant that they could be manufactured cheaply and thus anyone who aspired to a posh kind of gentility would be in possession of a set.

Snobbish writers such as poet John Betjeman mocked their use, branding the utensil non-U (the term coined by Nancy Mitford to differentiate those with class from those with pretensions to it). Betjeman's famous poem of 1958 “How To Get On In Society” is a catalogue of names and terms used by the upwardly-mobile, at first sight gently mocking but actually (as Betjeman was) quite savage. 'Phone for the fish knives, Norman,' starts the poem, immediately highlighting a raft of non-U words: phone, fish knives and Norman.

The fish knife was an object of fussy design, solving a problem that was not truly present. It is interesting that they managed to last so long when the other cutlery inventions of the Victorian table have largely vanished.

A visit to any antique shop will however always turn up many sets—many will never have been used. Perhaps, like the fondue set and the parfait dish, their time will come again. They might indeed be reclaimed as symbols for the class warrior and those who despise the snobbism implicit in certain objects.

They remain, however, as an interesting throwback to a time when how one ate was almost more important than what one ate.— By Colin Bisset for Design, 2013

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

A Healthy 1930 Etiquette Suggestion

While finger bowls, and finger bowl usage, have fallen in and out of fashion over decades and centuries, clean fingers at the dining table have always been fashionable.

Finger Bowls First

Though it is contrary to the book of etiquette, finger bowls ought really to be served at the beginning rather than at the end of a meal. The present practice serves an aesthetic end, the recommended one would serve as a measure of better personal hygiene. But there is nothing very novel in this suggestion. In fact, it is an old idea. The Mosaic law which includes so many good rules for the protection of health, forbids an orthodox believer to touch food before his hands have been washed. 

Keen observation had no doubt impressed the author of those sanitary laws that unclean hands are a source of, and a means of, transmitting disease. Indeed, the observations need not to have been so very keen to appreciate the point, for in the course of an hour the hands come in contact with a vast multitude of things which in themselves had previously been touched by scores if not hundreds of others, and each contact represents a possible source of danger. 

Now the matter is simple and yet! A large number of our schools have lunch rooms for their pupils, or cafeteria services, where those that cannot, or will not go home for their midday meal, may eat. How many among these schools provide washing facilities? How many shops, factories, or offices have a place where the workers might wash their hands before eating, without having to stand in line for half the lunch period? And also how many parents insist upon having their children come to the dinner table with hands freshly washed? 

Consider the care we bestow upon our foods, how we protect our milk, our meat and our water from contamination and pollution, and then consider how all of the precautions bestowed upon our food substances turn to naught by the soiled hands that transport the victuals from table to mouth. – Edited by Dr. lago Galdston for the N. Y. Academy of Medicine, 1930

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

Salad Etiquette and History

Originally, long lettuce forks and matching spoons were the proper accoutrements for serving salads in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Eventually, by the mid 20th century, they became connected, made of plastic and mass marketed as “salad tongs,” though those who took much pride in entertaining, continued to use separate salad serving forks and spoons to serve their guests leafy, green salads.

To paint a complete portrait of the restaurant’s history, the iconic image of Man Carving a Roast should be accompanied by Man Mixing a Salad. For in haute restaurant-ology it is Man, not Woman, who rules the salad bowl.


In the 19th century wealthy men who styled themselves epicures often impressed their dining companions by rising from the table and mixing the salad. In the 20th century the custom passed into the hands of headwaiters at chi chi venues.

The tradition can be traced to peripatetic Frenchmen who wandered around Europe solemnly ministering to urban dinner parties with the contents of their small yet sacred chests of salad ingredients which included flavored vinegars, soy, caviar, truffles, anchovies, and other delectables.

In the 18th century sallad (spelled in the British manner) referred to a mixture of greens and herbs, possibly radishes, dressed with vinegar and oil and perhaps a raw egg. It could also mean chopped cabbage, known in the early 19th century as “cold” slaw. How many taverns, coffee houses, and other early eating places served salads is unknown but the number was probably very small and their salad days limited to springtime.

Although some green salads appeared on 19th century menus, the word salad more often referred to cold chopped meat or fish dressed with mayonnaise. Lobster and chicken were favorites. Combination salads and fruit salads did not come into popularity until the 20th century, largely due no doubt to the lower price of greens, vegetables, and imported bananas and pineapples.

The type of restaurant that did most to advance the green salad as a basic component of the American diet was the table d’hôte, a small French or Italian restaurant serving a fixed-price meal of about five courses. In 1844, patrons at the Café Tortoni in NYC enjoyed dinners of soup, stew-like entrees, roast meat, salads “mixed a la des Jardins,” and desserts. Head lettuce was rare, so typical salads featured romaine, chicory, dandelions, or field greens. Salad lovers particularly lauded Italian restaurants for their salads, both in the 19th and 20th centuries (despite the common appellation “Wop salad” ca. 1940-1970). In 1909 a patron wrote that Italian restaurant salads “are almost always good, and the dressing, made from red wine vinegar, is usually delicious. The mixed salad, in spring includes tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, celery, sometimes spinach and usually chives. Beet tops are also served as salad.”

In the New England countryside, on the other hand, salads were rare – and unsatisfactory. As a patron in a hotel dining room noted in 1881, “If by any chance there is lettuce on the table – for this happens rarely – and you manifest a desire to eat of it, the waiter puts before you the vinegar cruet and the sugar bowl. If you want to make a fool of yourself, call for salad oil. It will take some time to explain your meaning, and when you have done so the attendant will sneeringly inform her companions that ‘That feller eats grease on his lettis.’”

Although some thought salads were gaining popularity in the 1890s as sedentary city dwellers woke up to the wisdom of lighter fare, hotel cook Jessup Whitehead remarked in 1901 that “salads are not among the common popular dishes, and the average public seldom seems to think of them.” Many cooks had no idea how to prepare them, he added.


Salads became feminized in the 1920s. Perhaps it was the popularity of fruit salads in tea rooms, or the increasing use of flavored gelatin salads, but some male gourmets denounced women for preferring “comic salads” chosen for eye appeal rather than taste. Indeed there were some bizarre ones such as the Candlestick (illustrated), and others with names such as Clara Barton, Bon Ton, Butterfly, and Martini. Even a female tea room proprietor had to admit that “Atrocities have been committed in the name of salad.”

In the mid-20th century the tossed salad smothered under a layer of thick dressing became the standard start of a regulation meat and potatoes restaurant dinner. The high incidence of mediocre salads led syndicated columnist Inez Robb to launch a one-woman campaign in the 1960s against the two-pronged “red menace” to restaurant salads: chopped red cabbage and sludgy red-orange “French” dressing. Relief was on the way, for in the 1970s field greens returned, and ingredients rarely (but sometimes) found in salads of previous decades, such as olive oil, radicchio, and arugula came into wider use.–© Jan Whitaker, 2011

Jan Whitaker

We wish to thank Jan Whitaker for her allowing us to use another wonderful post from her blog. Says Jan, “We eat in restaurants several times a week and yet know very little about their history. I plan to dip into my archive of research and images every so often to present a little tidbit that highlights aspects of our American restaurant culture. Let me know your thoughts”- Restaurant-ing Through History

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

Etiquette of a Later Dinner Hour

“A marked change has taken place in the fashion. The evening dinner has for years been steadily gaining in popularity, and promises to become even more common than it is now. Thoughtful men and women recognize the wisdom of eating lightly at midday, when they are in the full tide of business, and reserving the heartiest repast for an hour when it can be discussed leisurely and digested peacefully.” – 1890

The New Fashionable Time to Dine

Twenty or thirty years ago the late dinner was not nearly so popular as it is now. The majority of people dined in the middle of the day, and not a few of them considered a six-o'clock dinner as an effort after fashion, that was unworthy the imitation of sensible men and women. Even in the large cities, servants rebelled against an alteration of the time-houored custom of serving the principal meal of the day at, or near noon, while in small towns the late dinner was so unusual that it was almost impossible to persuade domestics to consent to it.

A marked change has taken place in the fashion. The evening dinner has for years been steadily gaining in popularity, and promises to become even more common than it is now. Thoughtful men and women recognize the wisdom of eating lightly at midday, when they are in the full tide of business, and reserving the heartiest repast for an hour when it can be discussed leisurely and digested peacefully. Mistresses have learned that there is a gain in keeping the morning free for housework, instead of devoting most of it to the preparation of the dinner.The light lunch eaten in most homes demands much less time in cooking and eating than does a dinner, and leaves those who have partaken of it more fit for work than they would be, were their stomachs burdened with the task of digesting soup, meat, vegetables and dessert.

The late dinner is a more dignified meal than can possibly be made of a similar repast eaten at noon. The festal appearance imparted by the gleam of candles, lamps, or gas upon silver, china and glass, cannot be acquired by daylight. The pleasant harmony around the board of the members of the family, whose positions and interests have been divergent since morning, the happy consciousness that the work of the day is done, the knowledge that there is no toil waiting at the door of the diningroom, all bear their share in rendering the meal cheerful and care-free. 

More ceremony can and should be preserved at the evening dinner than is feasible at noon. The orderly sequence of courses and the careful serving have a part in adding to the dignity of the meal. These suggestions should not frighten the house-keeper who contemplates introducing the late dinner into their household. Very little extra work is involved in bestowing the touch of state referred to, and, after all, it consists chiefly in a slight additional care in waiting and serving, and to these the mistress can readily accustom the maid.— Christine Terhune Herrick, in Harper's Bazaar, 1890

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

Etiquette from Fingers to Forks

Fingers were once used to perform the office now assigned to forks, in the highest and most refined circles of society. — (Above) A rare "bird set" in the Chantilly pattern.

The Duchess of Beaufort, dining once at Mme. de Guise's with King Henri IV of France, extended one hand to receive His Majesty's salutation, while she dipped the fingers of the other hand into a dish to pick out what was to her taste. This incident happened in the year 1598. It demonstrates that less than three hundred years ago the fingers were still used to perform the office now assigned to forks, in the highest and most refined circles of society. At about this time, in fact, was the turning point when forks began to be used at the table as they are now. 

When we reflect how nice were the ideas of that refined age on all matters of outer decency and behavior, and how strict was the etiquette of the Courts we may well wonder that the fork was so late in coming into use as a table furnishing. The ladies of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance were not less proud of a delicate, well kept hand than those of our own days, and yet they picked the meat from the platter with their slender white fingers, and in them bore it to their mouths. The fact is all the more remarkable, because the form of the fork was familiar enough, and its application to other uses was not uncommon.—J. Von Folke in Popular Science Monthly, via the Press Democrat, 1899

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

Victorian Etiquette in England

On “The Dinner Table”

   

George Routledge –1812-1888 

To be acquainted with every detail of the etiquette pertaining to this subject is of the highest importance to every gentleman. Ease, savoir faire, and good breeding are nowhere more indispensable than at the dinner-table, and the absence of them are nowhere more apparent. How to eat soup and what to do with a cherry-stone are weighty considerations when taken as the index of social status; and it is not too much to say, that a man who elected to take claret with his fish, or ate peas with his knife, would justly risk the punishment of being banished from good society. As this subject is one of the most important of which we have to treat, we may be pardoned for introducing an appropriate anecdote related by the French poet Delille:

Delille and Marmontel were dining together in the month of April, 1786, and the conversation happened to turn upon dinner-table customs. Marmontel observed how many little things a well-bred man was obliged to know, if he would avoid being ridiculous at the tables of his friends. "They are, indeed, innumerable," said Delille; "and the most annoying fact of all is, that not all the wit and good sense in the world can help one to divine them untaught.

A little while ago, for instance, the Abbé Cosson, who is Professor of Literature at the Collège Mazarin, was describing to me a grand dinner to which he had been invited at Versailles, and to which he had sat down in the company of peers, princes, and marshals of France. "'I'll wager, now,' said I, 'that you committed a hundred blunders in the etiquette of the table!' "

'How so?' replied the Abbé, somewhat nettled. 'What blunders could I make? It seems to me that I did precisely as others did.'

"'And I, on the contrary, would stake my life that you did nothing as others did. But let us begin at the beginning, and see which is right. In the first place there was your table-napkin–what did you do with that when you sat down at table?'"

'What did I do with my table-napkin? Why, I did like the rest of the guests: I shook it out of the folds, spread it before me, and fastened one corner to my button-hole.'

"'Very well, mon cher; you were the only person who did so. No one shakes, spreads, and fastens a table-napkin in that manner. You should have only laid it across your knees. What soup had you?'"

'Turtle.'

"'And how did you eat it?'"

'Like every one else, I suppose. I took my spoon in one hand, and my fork in the other'

"'Your fork! Good heavens! None but a savage eats soup with a fork. But go on. What did you take next?' "

'A boiled egg.'

"'Good and what did you do with the shell?' "

'Not eat it certainly. I left it, of course, in the egg-cup.'

"'Without breaking it through with your spoon?' "

'Without breaking it.'

"'Then, my dear fellow, permit me to tell you that no one eats an egg without breaking the shell and leaving the spoon standing in it. And after your egg?' "

'I asked for some bouilli.' "'For boulli! It is a term that no one uses. You should have asked for beef–never for boulli. Well, and after the bouilli?' "

'I asked the Abbé de Radonvillais for some fowl.'

"'Wretched man! Fowl, indeed! You should have asked for chicken or capon. The word "fowl" is never heard out of the kitchen. But all this applies only to what you ate; tell me something of what you drank, and how you asked for it.' "

'I asked for champagne and bordeaux from those who had the bottles before them.'

"'Know then, my good friend, that only a waiter, who has no time or breath to spare, asks for champagne or bordeaux. A gentleman asks for vin de Champagne and vin de Bordeaux. And now inform me how you ate your bread?' "

'Undoubtedly like all the rest of the world. I cut it up into small square pieces with my knife.'

"'Then let me tell you that no one cuts bread. You should always break it. Let us go on to the coffee. How did you drink yours?' "

'Pshaw! At least I could make no mistake in that. It was boiling hot, so I poured it, a little at a time, in the saucer, and drank it as it cooled.'

"'Eh bien! then you assuredly acted as no other gentleman in the room. Nothing can be more vulgar than to pour tea or coffee into a saucer. You should have waited till it cooled, and then have drank it from the cup. And now you see, my dear cousin, that, so far from doing precisely as others did, you acted in no one respect according to the laws prescribed by etiquette.'"

                                  

French poet Delille, 

1738-1813 

On "Invitation to Dine" 

An invitation to dine should be replied to immediately, and unequivocally accepted or declined. Once accepted, nothing but an event of the last importance should cause you to fail in your engagement. To be exactly punctual is the strictest politeness on these occasions. If you are too early, you are in the way; if too late, you spoil the dinner, annoy the hostess, and are hated by the rest of the guests.

Some authorities are even of opinion that in the question of a dinner-party "never" is better than "late;" and one author has gone so far as to say, if you do not reach the house till dinner is served, you had better retire to a restaurateur's, and thence send an apology, and not interrupt the harmony of the courses by awkward excuses and cold acceptance.

When the party is assembled, the mistress or master of the house will point out to each gentleman the lady whom he is to conduct to table. If she be a stranger, you had better seek an introduction; if a previous acquaintance, take care to be near her when the dinner is announced, offer your arm, and go down according to precedence of rank. This order of precedence must be arranged by the host or hostess, as the guests are probably unacquainted, and cannot know each other's social rank. 

When the society is of a distinguished kind, the host will do well to consult Debrett or Burke, before arranging his visitors. When rank is not in question, other claims to precedence must be considered. The lady who is the greatest stranger should be taken down by the master of the house, and the gentleman who is the greatest stranger should conduct the hostess. Married ladies take precedence of single ladies, elder ladies of younger ones, and so forth.
    

A sumptuous table set for 18 for dinner. 

When dinner is announced, the host offers his arm to the lady of most distinction, invites the rest to follow by a few words or a bow, and leads the way. The lady of the house should then follow with the gentleman who is most entitled to that honour, and the visitors follow in the order that the master of the house has previously arranged. The lady of the house frequently remains, however, till the last, that she may see her guests go down in their prescribed order; but the plan is not a convenient one. It is much better that the hostess should be in her place as the guests enter the dining-room, in order that she may indicate their seats to them as they come in, and not find them all crowded together in uncertainty when she arrives.

The number of guests at a dinner-party should always be determined by the size of the table. When the party is too small, conversation flags, and a general air of desolation pervades the table. When they are too many, every one is inconvenienced. A space of two feet should be allowed to each person. It is well to arrange a party in such wise that the number of ladies and gentlemen be equal.

It requires some tact to distribute your guests so that each shall find himself with a neighbour to his taste; but as much of the success of a dinner will always depend on this matter, it is worth some consideration. If you have a wit, or a particularly good talker, among your visitors, it is well to place him near the centre of the table, where he can be heard and talked to by all. It is obviously a bad plan to place two such persons in close proximity. They extinguish each other. Neither is it advisable to assign two neighbouring seats to two gentlemen of the same profession, as they are likely to fall into exclusive conversation and amuse no one but themselves.

A little consideration of the politics, religious opinions, and tastes of his friends, will enable a judicious host to avoid many quicksands, and establish much pleasant intercourse on the occasion of a dinner party. The lady of the house takes the head of the table. The gentleman who led her down to dinner occupies the seat on her right hand, and the gentleman next in order of precedence, that on her left. The master of the house takes the foot of the table. The lady whom he escorted sits on his right hand, and the lady next in order of precedence on his left. The gentlemen who support the lady of the house should offer to relieve her of the duties of hostess.

Many ladies are well pleased thus to delegate the difficulties of carving, and all gentlemen who accept invitations to dinner should be prepared to render such assistance when called upon. To offer to carve a dish, and then perform the office unskilfully, is an unpardonable gaucherie. Every gentleman should carve, and carve well.

As soon as you are seated at table, remove your gloves, place your table napkin across your knees, and remove the roll which you find probably within it to the left side of your plate. The soup should be placed on the table first. Some old-fashioned persons still place soup and fish together; but "it is a custom more honoured in the breach than the observance." Still more old-fashioned, and in still worse taste is it to ask your guests if they will take "soup or fish." They are as much separate courses as the fish and the meat; and all experienced diners take both. In any case, it is inhospitable to appear to force a choice upon a visitor, when that visitor, in all probability, will prefer to take his soup first and his fish afterwards.

All well-ordered dinners begin with soup, whether in summer or winter. The lady of the house should help it and send it round, without asking each individual in turn. It is as much an understood thing as the bread beside each plate, and those who do not choose it, are always at liberty to leave it untasted. In eating soup, remember always to take it from the side of the spoon, and to make no sound in doing so. If the servants do not go round with wine the gentlemen should help the ladies and themselves to sherry or sauterne immediately after the soup. You should never ask for a second supply of either soup or fish; it delays the next course, and keeps the table waiting.

Never offer to "assist" your neighbours to this or that dish. The word is inexpressibly vulgar--all the more vulgar for its affectation of elegance. "Shall I send you some mutton?" or "may I help you to grouse?" is better chosen and better bred. As a general rule, it is better not to ask your guests if they will partake of the dishes; but to send the plates round, and let them accept or decline them as they please. At very large dinners it is sometimes customary to distribute little lists of the order of the dishes at intervals along the table. It must be confessed that this gives somewhat the air of a dinner at an hotel; but it has the advantage of enabling the visitors to select their fare, and, as "forewarned is forearmed," to keep a corner, as the children say, for their favourite dishes.

If you are asked to take wine, it is polite to select the same as that which your interlocutor is drinking. If you invite a lady to take wine, you should ask her which she will prefer, and then take the same yourself. Should you, however, for any reason prefer some other vintage, you can take it by courteously requesting her permission. As soon as you are helped, begin to eat; or, if the viands are too hot for your palate, take up your knife and fork and appear to begin. To wait for others is now not only old-fashioned, but ill-bred. Never offer to pass on the plate to which you have been helped. This is a still more vulgar piece of politeness, and belongs to the manners of a hundred years ago. The lady of the house who sends your plate to you is the best judge of precedence at her own table.

In helping soup, fish, or any other dish, remember that to overfill a plate is as bad as to supply it too scantily. Silver fish-knives will now always be met with at the best tables; but where there are none, a piece of crust should be taken in the left hand, and the fork in the right. There is no exception to this rule in eating fish. We presume it is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that he is never, under any circumstances, to convey his knife to his mouth.

Peas are eaten with the fork; tarts, curry, and puddings of all kinds with the spoon. Always help fish with a fish-slice, and tart and puddings with a spoon, or, if necessary, a spoon and fork. Asparagus must be helped with the asparagus-tongs. In eating asparagus, it is well to observe what others do, and act accordingly. Some very well-bred people eat it with the fingers; others cut off the heads, and convey them to the mouth upon the fork. It would be difficult to say which is the more correct.

In eating stone fruit, such as cherries, damsons, etc..., the same rule had better be observed. Some put the stones out from the mouth into a spoon, and so convey them to the plate. Others cover the lips with the hand, drop them unseen into the palm, and so deposit them on the side of the plate. In our own opinion, the last is the better way, as it effectually conceals the return of the stones, which is certainly the point of highest importance. Of one thing we may be sure, and that is, that they must never be dropped from the mouth to the plate. In helping sauce, always pour it on the side of the plate.

If the servants do not go round with the wine (which is by far the best custom), the gentlemen at a dinner-table should take upon themselves the office of helping those ladies who sit near them. Ladies take more wine in the present day than they did fifty years ago, and gentlemen should remember this, and offer it frequently. Ladies cannot very well ask for wine, but they can always decline it. At all events, they do not like to be neglected, or to see gentlemen liberally helping themselves, without observing whether their fair neighbours' glasses are full or empty. Young ladies seldom drink more than three glasses of wine at dinner; but married ladies, professional ladies, and those accustomed to society, and habits of affluence, will habitually take five or even six, whether in their own homes or at the tables of their friends.

The habit of taking wine with each other has almost wholly gone out of fashion. A gentleman may ask the lady whom he conducted down to dinner; or he may ask the lady of the house to take wine with him. But even these last remnants of the old custom are fast falling into disuse. Unless you are a total abstainer, it is extremely uncivil to decline taking wine if you are invited to do so. In accepting, you have only to pour a little fresh wine into your glass, look at the person who invited you, bow slightly, and take a sip from the glass. It is particularly ill-bred to empty your glass on these occasions.

Certain wines are taken with certain dishes, by old-established custom--as sherry, or sauterne, with soup and fish; hock and claret with roast meat; punch with turtle; champagne with whitebait; port with venison; port, or burgundy, with game; sparkling wines between the roast and the confectionery; madeira with sweets; port with cheese; and for dessert, port, tokay, madeira, sherry, and claret. Red wines should never be iced, even in summer. Claret and burgundy should always be slightly warmed; claret-cup and champagne-cup should, of course, be iced. Instead of cooling their wines in the ice-pail, some hosts have of late years introduced clear ice upon the table, broken up in small lumps, to be put inside the glasses. This is an innovation that cannot be too strictly reprehended or too soon abolished. Melting ice can but weaken the quality and flavour of the wine. Those who desire to drink wine and water can ask for iced water if they choose, but it savours too much of economy on the part of a host to insinuate the ice inside the glasses of his guests, when the wine could be more effectually iced outside the bottle.

A silver knife and fork should be placed to each guest at dessert. If you are asked to prepare fruit for a lady, be careful to do so, by means of the silver knife and fork only, and never to touch it with your fingers. It is wise never to partake of any dish without knowing of what ingredients it is composed. You can always ask the servant who hands it to you, and you thereby avoid all danger of having to commit the impoliteness of leaving it, and showing that you do not approve of it. Never speak while you have anything in your mouth.

Be careful never to taste soups or puddings till you are sure they are sufficiently cool; as, by disregarding this caution, you may be compelled to swallow what is dangerously hot, or be driven to the unpardonable alternative of returning it to your plate. When eating or drinking, avoid every kind of audible testimony to the fact.


                           

A doily or, as they were originally known, a "d'Oyley." 

Finger-glasses, containing water slightly warmed and perfumed, are placed to each person at dessert. In these you may dip the tips of your fingers, wiping them afterwards on your table-napkin. If the finger-glass and d'Oyley are placed on your dessert-plate, you should immediately remove the d'Oyley to the left of your plate, and place the finger-glass upon it. By these means you leave the right for the wine-glasses.
                     

Know the shapes of the various kinds of wine-glasses commonly in use. 

Be careful to know the shapes of the various kinds of wine-glasses commonly in use, in order that you may never put forward one for another. High and narrow, and very broad and shallow glasses, are used for champagne; large, goblet-shaped glasses for burgundy and claret; ordinary wine-glasses for sherry and madeira; green glasses for hock; and somewhat large, bell-shaped glasses, for port. Port, sherry, and madeira, are decanted. Hocks and champagnes appear in their native bottles. Claret and burgundy are handed round in a claret-jug.

Coffee and liqueurs should be handed round when the dessert has been about a quarter of an hour on the table. After this, the ladies generally retire. Should no servant be present to do so, the gentleman who is nearest the door should hold it for the ladies to pass through. When the ladies leave the dining-room, the gentlemen all rise in their places, and do not resume their seats till the last lady is gone. The servants leave the room when the dessert is on the table. If you should unfortunately overturn or break anything, do not apologize for it. You can show your regret in your face, but it is not well-bred to put it into words.

Should you injure a lady's dress, apologise amply, and assist her, if possible, to remove all traces of the damage. To abstain from taking the last piece on the dish, or the last glass of wine in the decanter, only because it is the last, is highly ill-bred. It implies a fear that the vacancy cannot be supplied, and almost conveys an affront to your host.

In summing up the little duties and laws of the table, a popular author has said that--"The chief matter of consideration at the dinner-table--as, indeed, everywhere else in the life of a gentleman--is to be perfectly composed and at his ease. He speaks deliberately; he performs the most important act of the day as if he were performing the most ordinary. Yet there is no appearance of trifling or want of gravity in his manner; he maintains the dignity which is so becoming on so vital an occasion. He performs all the ceremonies, yet in the style of one who performs no ceremonies at all. He goes through all the complicated duties of the scene as if he were 'to the manner born.'" To the giver of a dinner we have but one or two remarks to offer. If he be a bachelor, he had better give his dinner at a good hotel, or have it sent in from Birch's or Kühn's. 

If a married man, he will, we presume, enter into council with his wife and his cook. In any case, however, he should always bear in mind that it is his duty to entertain his friends in the best manner that his means permit; and that this is the least he can do to recompense them for the expenditure of time and money which they incur in accepting his invitation.

"To invite a friend to dinner," says Brillat Savarin, "is to become responsible for his happiness so long as he is under your roof." Again:--"He who receives friends at his table, without having bestowed his personal supervision upon the repast placed before them, is unworthy to have friends." A dinner, to be excellent, need not consist of a great variety of dishes; but everything should be of the best, and the cookery should be perfect. That which should be cool should be cool as ice; that which should be hot should be smoking; the attendance should be rapid and noiseless; the guests well assorted; the wines of the best quality; the host attentive and courteous; the room well lighted; and the time punctual.

Every dinner should begin with soup, be followed by fish, and include some kind of game. "The soup is to the dinner," we are told by Grisnod de la Regnière, "what the portico is to a building, or the overture to an opera." To this aphorism we may be permitted to add that a chasse of cognac or curaçoa at the close of the dinner is like the epilogue at the end of a comedy.

One more quotation and we have done: "To perform faultlessly the honours of the table is one of the most difficult things in society. It might indeed he asserted without much fear of contradiction, that no man has as yet ever reached exact propriety in his office as host, or has hit the mean between exerting himself too much and too little. His great business is to put every one entirely at his ease, to gratify all his desires, and make him, in a word, absolutely contented with men and things. To accomplish this, he must have the genius of tact to perceive, and the genius of finesse to execute; ease and frankness of manner; a knowledge of the world that nothing can surprise; a calmness of temper that nothing can disturb; and a kindness of disposition that can never be exhausted. When he receives others he must be content to forget himself; he must relinquish all desire to shine, and even all attempts to please his guests by conversation, and rather do all in his power to let them please one another. 

He behaves to them without agitation, without affectation; he pays attention without an air of protection; he encourages the timid, draws out the silent, and directs conversation without sustaining it himself. He who does not do all this is wanting in his duty as host-- "he who does, is more than mortal." In conclusion, we may observe that to sit long in the dining-room after the ladies have retired is to pay a bad compliment to the hostess and her fair visitors; and that it is a still worse tribute to rejoin them with a flushed face and impaired powers of thought. A refined gentleman is always temperate. – From “Routledge’s Manual of Etiquette,” by George Routledge and Sons, c. 1860s

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