Why Cherry Tomatoes are Evil …
What I remember most about the etiquette dinner thrown by the Center for Careers, Life, and Service was not the dinner, although it was quite good. My most vivid memory from that night was a particular piece of advice and the cautionary tale that followed.
According to our host, Lowell Olivier-Shaw, conference coordinator at Central College in Pella, Iowa, you should never eat cherry tomatoes. It seems unfair, but they are apparently hard to get on a fork and problematic if you pop a whole one into your mouth. Olivier-Shaw described an incident in which an acquaintance of his was at a business dinner and bit down on a cherry tomato without completely closing his mouth, sending a jet of fresh-squeezed tomato juice across the table. I see this as an unjust vilification of the cherry tomato. The issue to raise should have been the partially open mouth, which if closed would have rendered the tomato mostly harmless.
This evening was all about teaching Grinnellians how to behave at a business dinner so as not to have tomato disasters or any other distracting troubles.
Walking into the Joe Rosenfield ’25 Center’s Room 101, where the dinner was held, was like stepping into a spacious, high-ceilinged bistro. Five tables were set out, each equipped with eight place settings on top of a thick, white tablecloth. As I pulled out my chair I took stock of the excess on the table in front of me: two forks, two spoons, two knives, a small plate, a cup and saucer, a water goblet, and a red cloth napkin. It was a scene that could make any Grinnellian uncomfortable. Just think of all the water needed to clean the duplicate dishes and the energy needed to heat it. I sat down nonetheless, hoping that my future wouldn’t hold too many of these dinners.
Once everyone had taken their seats, we put our napkins in our laps and were instructed that they were to stay there. You can bring a corner up to dab your lips before you take a drink, in fact, you must do so every time you take a drink. It makes sense, in a way. If you have a particularly insensitive face, or a beard that catches your food, and you don’t use a napkin before you drink, you could end up with anything from crumbs to half a salad floating in your beverage.
The salad course arrived, and we were instructed to pass the dressings around the table counterclockwise. We did the same with the bread, which went on the small plate on the left side of the place setting about the same distance from the edge of the table as the water goblet. If you sit down at a restaurant and don’t know which bread plate and water are yours, we learned, you can make a circle with your index finger and thumb and make a b and d with your hands. Your bread, “b,” will be on your left side and your drink, “d,” will be on your right. It’s probably best to perform this trick mentally.
During the salad course, we were lectured on the importance of the bite-size piece, which should be about the size of a quarter. I would argue that a bite-size piece of food is the same volume as my mouth, but there is a sound reason for small bites. The setting we were simulating was a business dinner, and the point of a business dinner is conversation, not food. Bite-size pieces keep you from appearing gluttonous and allow for easier conversation without wasting precious seconds chewing. We were encouraged to ask our tablemates questions as soon as one of them took a bite to demonstrate the hazards of eating mouth-sized pieces.
The archaic rules about how one should interact with the server were troubling. Olivier-Shaw pointedly said that one should not speak to the server unless ordering or sending back food. Specifically, you should not thank the staff every time they bring you a new course or refill your drink. That didn’t sit well with me or, from what I could see, anyone else at my table. It seemed classist and rude. I do recognize the fact, though, that I am from Iowa and haven’t ventured into many elegant restaurants in many big cities. So, it may well be that showing gratitude to a server is perceived as wide-eyed, small-town naiveté. Regardless of its perception, I intend to maintain my defiance of this rule against the acknowledgement of the waitstaff’s existence and maintain my defense of cherry tomatoes.
Part of his point about not speaking to the staff may have been his perception that such overt communication with the server would be redundant in the face of the nonverbal communication that apparently all waitstaff are trained in. For instance, if you have to excuse yourself temporarily, you put your napkin on the left side of your place setting. If you’re leaving permanently, you put it on the right side. Eye contact is critical if you want anyone to help you. If you would like someone to pass the salt and pepper (always both, never one or the other), you have to get their attention by making eye contact. The same applies if for some reason you feel the need to talk to your server. If you are finished eating the current course, there’s a sort of silverware semaphore that signals the server that you’re done. In the American style, you place the knife and fork across the middle of the plate with the tines of the fork facing left and the blade of the knife toward you. In the continental or European style, you cross your fork and knife over the center of the plate.
The continental method of dining offered some challenges to my tablemates, who dined American style. They would steady an item they were about to cut with a fork in their left hand and cut it with a knife in their right hand. Then, to eat the quarter-size piece they cut, they switched the fork to their right hand. The pseudo-ambidextrous continental method, which I switched to years ago due to an excess of pretention and a desire to eat with ruthless efficiency, involves no swapping. Instead, you simply eat left-handed.
We weren’t served soup, but we were educated about it. If you are eating soup, do not crush up your crackers and put them in the bowl; you can only float whole crackers. Always move the spoon from front to back and use the rim of the bowl to prevent drips from forming.
Our main course, for the omnivorous among us, was chicken with mashed potatoes, spinach, and squash. It was followed by an extremely rich chocolate dessert and coffee. The experience was, in all, helpful and informative, not to mention delicious. I’m glad to have attended and hope that students will take advantage of the opportunity. And I feel far more confident in my ability to attend a business dinner and not feel like a child. All that remains is to offer my thanks to the College — the CLS in particular — for hosting this event, my compliments to the chef, and my gratitude to the servers for everything, but especially for the precut cherry tomatoes in our salads.