The emotiveness of food and the laws of the kitchen
Society, with all its complicated rules, traditions and assumptions in tow, runs on its stomach. Wherever people are, there is food, and of necessity also some rules regarding food, largely unwritten and unspoken.
Of course, there is the expectation that food should be consumed with a certain amount of decency and delicacy, at least when in the company of others. Don’t talk with your mouth full. Ask for something out of reach (please pass the salt). Don’t slurp or burp or belch. What you do with the butter knife when you’re home alone is your problem, but in polite society you use it to serve a pat of butter.
Depending on the situation, there are other guidelines, if not rules. If you are in a restaurant, you are expected to order food from the menu, which will be served to you within a reasonable time. You should not have to wait for an hour, unless warned beforehand by your flushed waiter. But you cannot order something that is not on the menu, unless you have a very flexible chef. You cannot have bacon and eggs for dinner, unless the menu states it has an “all-day breakfast”. When the kitchen closes as nine or ten at night, that’s it – the kitchen closes.
These are the rules you agree to when stepping inside and taking your place at the table. Yes, you are paying for the meal, but that does not include free reign over menu, times or the colour of the tablecloth. There has to be a certain amount of give and take.
In the same way, when you are attending a function or staying in a hotel, there might be rules stating that breakfast is served from seven till nine, that the kitchen is closed between two and six, or that specific dietary requirements (gluten-free, nut-free, vegetarian) will be catered for on request. Keep to the rules and everything should run smoothly.
Obviously, in a private household things are less regimented and the rule book has blurry edges. Nevertheless, there are certain unspoken agreements that the inmates have come to know over months or years or a lifetime. The field of application also widens to include not just the meals themselves but the whole kitchen – fridge, cupboards, stove, dishes. You know where the cookies are kept and how many you are allowed to have. You know where to put the dirty dishes and which coffee mug is Dad’s favourite. You know that the ceramic dish bought in Indonesia should not go into the dishwasher. You know more or less what to expect at mealtimes – oats for breakfast and a cooked meal with veggies in the evening, or the other way around.
The situation gets a bit more complicated with visiting family and friends, falling somewhere between a hotel setting and a home environment. The general rule would probably be to treat it as a guest house where you know the hosts really well. So, guest house with a little more leniency. Or home with a few more rules.
In other words (in my house at least) – meals will be served at more or less set times and from a more or less planned menu, unless discussed and otherwise agreed upon. If you don’t like the food, you grin and bear it or you plead a sore belly and don’t eat it, hoping for something better the next time around. If you then still don’t like it, you speak up and tell your hosts (tactfully) that the curry is burning a hole in your stomach or the sloppy eggs are making you gag or you are allergic to seafood, dairy, nuts – take your pick.
When the host or hostess indicates that a meal is ready, you appear and wait for instructions. And you appear enthusiastic and grateful for the effort they have gone to to fill your stomach. You say please and thank you and how may I help. If you are staying for an extended time, you bring a small gift – a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates, perhaps – or you offer to buy bread or bananas or your host’s favourite brand of cheese. In other words, you practice common decency and consideration.
There is another facet to this. Food is of course not just about nutrition. It carries a load of baggage in terms of personal perceptions, tradition, economy, emotional comfort, religion and values. Food is absolutely loaded with emotional associations. But even more so, is the territory of the kitchen. And for the sake of political correctness, just accept that what follows about women may at times apply equally to men.
For a woman in general and this one in particular, her home and especially her kitchen is not just a space. It is a territory. It is where, at the cost of hard work, planning and multi-tasking management, she reigns. This means you have to tread carefully. She is the Red Queen and she will have your head off for less transgression than spilling a drop of milk. If you are allowed into her kingdom, it is either out of love or under duress.
You do not interfere with her activities unless invited to do so. You humble yourself and offer to chop the twenty onions. You sharpen her knives and hand them to her hilt first. You behave yourself or you get out. She can have your head off. If you want to use her kitchen, you hand in a petition in triplicate and a bouquet of flowers, and you smile and you give her a portion of your burnt offering. Which she might accept or gracefully decline. It is a woman’s prerogative.
Tread carefully. Even better, take off your shoes. You are on hallowed ground.
Of course, there is the expectation that food should be consumed with a certain amount of decency and delicacy, at least when in the company of others. Don’t talk with your mouth full. Ask for something out of reach (please pass the salt). Don’t slurp or burp or belch. What you do with the butter knife when you’re home alone is your problem, but in polite society you use it to serve a pat of butter.
Depending on the situation, there are other guidelines, if not rules. If you are in a restaurant, you are expected to order food from the menu, which will be served to you within a reasonable time. You should not have to wait for an hour, unless warned beforehand by your flushed waiter. But you cannot order something that is not on the menu, unless you have a very flexible chef. You cannot have bacon and eggs for dinner, unless the menu states it has an “all-day breakfast”. When the kitchen closes as nine or ten at night, that’s it – the kitchen closes.
These are the rules you agree to when stepping inside and taking your place at the table. Yes, you are paying for the meal, but that does not include free reign over menu, times or the colour of the tablecloth. There has to be a certain amount of give and take.
In the same way, when you are attending a function or staying in a hotel, there might be rules stating that breakfast is served from seven till nine, that the kitchen is closed between two and six, or that specific dietary requirements (gluten-free, nut-free, vegetarian) will be catered for on request. Keep to the rules and everything should run smoothly.
Obviously, in a private household things are less regimented and the rule book has blurry edges. Nevertheless, there are certain unspoken agreements that the inmates have come to know over months or years or a lifetime. The field of application also widens to include not just the meals themselves but the whole kitchen – fridge, cupboards, stove, dishes. You know where the cookies are kept and how many you are allowed to have. You know where to put the dirty dishes and which coffee mug is Dad’s favourite. You know that the ceramic dish bought in Indonesia should not go into the dishwasher. You know more or less what to expect at mealtimes – oats for breakfast and a cooked meal with veggies in the evening, or the other way around.
The situation gets a bit more complicated with visiting family and friends, falling somewhere between a hotel setting and a home environment. The general rule would probably be to treat it as a guest house where you know the hosts really well. So, guest house with a little more leniency. Or home with a few more rules.
In other words (in my house at least) – meals will be served at more or less set times and from a more or less planned menu, unless discussed and otherwise agreed upon. If you don’t like the food, you grin and bear it or you plead a sore belly and don’t eat it, hoping for something better the next time around. If you then still don’t like it, you speak up and tell your hosts (tactfully) that the curry is burning a hole in your stomach or the sloppy eggs are making you gag or you are allergic to seafood, dairy, nuts – take your pick.
When the host or hostess indicates that a meal is ready, you appear and wait for instructions. And you appear enthusiastic and grateful for the effort they have gone to to fill your stomach. You say please and thank you and how may I help. If you are staying for an extended time, you bring a small gift – a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates, perhaps – or you offer to buy bread or bananas or your host’s favourite brand of cheese. In other words, you practice common decency and consideration.
There is another facet to this. Food is of course not just about nutrition. It carries a load of baggage in terms of personal perceptions, tradition, economy, emotional comfort, religion and values. Food is absolutely loaded with emotional associations. But even more so, is the territory of the kitchen. And for the sake of political correctness, just accept that what follows about women may at times apply equally to men.
For a woman in general and this one in particular, her home and especially her kitchen is not just a space. It is a territory. It is where, at the cost of hard work, planning and multi-tasking management, she reigns. This means you have to tread carefully. She is the Red Queen and she will have your head off for less transgression than spilling a drop of milk. If you are allowed into her kingdom, it is either out of love or under duress.
You do not interfere with her activities unless invited to do so. You humble yourself and offer to chop the twenty onions. You sharpen her knives and hand them to her hilt first. You behave yourself or you get out. She can have your head off. If you want to use her kitchen, you hand in a petition in triplicate and a bouquet of flowers, and you smile and you give her a portion of your burnt offering. Which she might accept or gracefully decline. It is a woman’s prerogative.
Tread carefully. Even better, take off your shoes. You are on hallowed ground.
