It’s no secret that I am the child of hippies. My family grew our own fruit, made our own bread and collected goat’s milk from a local farm every week. Cheese was off the menu, as was ice cream; even our margarine was vegan halal. Nothing in our lunch boxes came in a packet, ever. My father’s pride and joy was his homemade peanut butter, raisin and lettuce sandwiches served on rye bread. How many kids do you think wanted to trade lunches with me?
Oddly, this hippy attitude to food was paired with a very strict attitude towards table etiquette. My father’s mother was French and trained her son that children should behave like adults at all times, especially at the dinner table. This in turn was passed on to my brother and I. Dinner was always eaten at the table with knifes and forks held in their respective hands, one was never to slouch or raise their cutlery above their shoulders, and heaven help you if you chewed with your mouth open.
For what seemed like years I fought and railed against such strict rules. I picked at my food, I complained that I only like raw carrots not cooked ones, I’d chew with my mouth wide open and scream when I didn’t get my way. But then something inside me changed and I’m fairly sure I can pinpoint the exact moment: My first fine dining experience on my 9th birthday.
My mother explained to me how lucky I was that I got to go to a fancy restaurant that people in their 30s would rarely go to, let alone kids in the under age set. I was being treated like a grown up and I was expected to act accordingly.
I remember exactly what I had to eat that night: Deep-fried whole whitefish and Kalamata olives followed by a main course of melt-in-your-mouth crab sandwiched by light sheets of pasta, served with a butter sauce.
I loved every moment of that meal. I remember looking around and mimicking the adults as I ate. I held my knife and fork in my hands and didn’t chew with my mouth open once. I made polite conversation with my mother and didn’t have a single tantrum. It was almost like being in a play: I knew everyone was watching me, so I felt I had to rise to the occasion.
Surrounded by clinking wine glasses and crisp linen, all of those dining etiquette drills made finally made sense.
With a love of food and the ceremony that comes with it firmly instilled, I welcome you to the January/February issue and our double restaurant feature. Eating is something to be shared with family, friends and children of all ages. Why not try a new cuisine, expose your children to their first fine dining experience, or invite other families out to share a meal?
Ever since my first posh restaurant meal, my parents never hesitated to take me out to dinner – in fact, our nights out together chatting over fine food are some of my most treasured memories. So get out there and make some dining memories of your own, but remember: Don’t slurp your soup!
