Cultural Differences Pt I – Etiquette
We live in the 21st century, thinking that evolution has brought us here and we are the cream of the crop.
We (meaning me) spend our time analyzing ourselves, worrying about our looks, the future and what not…in a world without any lifethreatening problems, I am the master of creating issues and wanting to do exactly what I am not doing. Procrastinating or, as they call it in the United States of America: A D D (yes we can!)
As every other girl (or human being I guess) I have a history of unhealthy relationships, a dysfunctional family and I think that I could do better in life.
Because I don’t know exactly how to go about that I just think, reconsider, analyse, take everything apart and put it back toghether until I am even more confused than before and then I write it down for your amusement.
Lately I have come across an enitre universe of cultural differences (between the Western civilisation and the -uh- just Western, I guess) when before I always thought it was me.
It is not. I am not a nagging bitch (at least not to the degree I thought I was) and the American boys are not bad-mannered assholes on purpose (most of the time).
Here is where ze good old German etiquette and Mickey Mouse clash, Part One.
Once upon a time I fell in love with an American boy. It was love at first sight and also at second and third. Just that he drove me nuts when he was eating, speaking, talking, sleeping, drinking — in short living.
I was very young back then and thought that’s how love was, then figured it had something to do with the drugs he was using like they were going out of style.
When he left my life, so did my aggravation about his tablemanners.
I waited a while until I fell in love with an American again…this time he was only half as abusive (when it came to me and even the drugs) and I was very much in love.
As the romantic phase came to an end and dinner actually started being about eating rather than about looking into each others eyes and feeding one another until we could go and have fantastic sex again, I noticed that he ate like he was never going to eat again. (That’s how he made love too, but I will come to that later. GREEDY!!!)
He ate like had not seen food in weeks. He ate until the plate was clean and then grabbed some more bread and dipped it into the nonexistent leftovers of the sauce (did not do that making love, f.y.i.).
He cut his meat and then singlehandedly stabbed it with the fork. He put 200 grams of filet mignon on a piece of baguette. Yes we can: Make everything into a sandwich!
I somehow connected this with him being a big boy from the Bronx who had to defend his food against his two brothers, father and a hungry sister (oh no she didn’t!) – a situation I as an only child had never been exposed to.
As subtly as I could I tried to teach him flawless etiquette.
First by staring at him with the most disgusted look I could come up with, hoping that he would notice and recall something he once learned from his mother. No dice Anna. There was nothing to recall.
Instead the reaction I got was: You not eating this? – and there went my dinner, straight onto a slice of bread, topped with some hot sauce and off into his mouth where I could see and hear it being chewed for another half second until it was ready to be gulped down with a big sip of 2002 Sangiovese.
I then proceeded to calmly talking to him about the good old ‚fork left – knife right’ and elbows off the table and when that didn’t worked I started begging (weirdly he called it nagging) that he a least not hug the plate with one arm while hunching over it.
Gladly this was not the only problem in our relationship and when he slept with another girl the memories of slurping and burping faded everso slowly.
The next guy I came across did not fall into the same category – yet.
He was a marine gone supermodel gone actor of Japanese descent and handled the chopsticks like no one else.
Also he was on a strict no carb, no dairy, no fun- diet which was bad for my mood but fabulous for my figure…gym, all bran, salad: no dressing, sushi, green tea, gym – hello abs and slender thighs!!!
Unfortunately one can’t eat salmon sashimi forever and (after thoroughly studying the code of the samurai while hearing him recite Richard III at 4 in the morning and trying to remove all-bran crumbs from my bed permanently) eventually I was confronted with a very unpleasant situation: him and a big steak, cooked medium rare and topped off with fried onions. As if the raw meat wasn’t bad enough, this was also the first time he had to use silverware in front of me.
Fork in the right hand, knife in the left, both elbows on the table, moving the meat around on the plate. Oh yeah!
I tried the big eyes-disgusted-look again, this time with the following outcome:
While I am getting mildly sick from watching him, he looks up from his plate, still chewing with his mouth half open and then feeling insulted as only a former Marine can be (that kind of humorless „oorah DEVILDOGS“-style):
„What?“
„Oh…umm…here in Germany we use the fork in the left and knife in the right…“
„Well you know what? I am a Marine, thoroughly trained, been through bootcamp…I KNOW MY ETIQUETTE!!!“
Right. Soldiers are known for their tablemanners. In bootcamp they learn how to properly fold a napkin.
As you can imagine this relationship, too, ended shortly after because I found myself turning into OCD-Anna-Monica from Friends meets Bree Vandekamp the nagging perfectionist bitch from Desperate Housewives.
I have, since then overcome this state of being and returned to my usual, hungry self.
Until very recently, but more about that LATER.
till then, check this out:
http://www.knigge.de/themen/bei-tisch-202.htm
