THE DRAMA OF EATING


Lately, I’ve been eating out a lot. Like, every meal. I rather go to the diner three blocks away for 2 eggs over easy than get the pan and spatula out to do it myself. Anyway, I’ve tried a number of wonderful new places in the last few weeks. It’s always an interesting, eccentric experience eating someplace new. New environments. New smells. New options and new possibilities. And to add to the adventure, it’s even more peculiar when having dinner with a new friend, or someone with whom you’ve never eaten before.

One recent evening, I was eating at a trendy French restaurant called L’Orange Bleu for the second time ever (in two weeks). The atmosphere and décor are Mediterranean, alluring. The presentation of the food is inspiring. And the food itself has capricious qualities. Everyone, like my friend and I, was dressed casually, but nicely. The wine was good. The air was crisp. Everything was perfect.

That’s when I started to feel a little sinister. I asked myself questions like: What makes all of these things important so as to make this a fun place to eat? And, why is it so interesting to watch how other people eat? I started to watch how my friend ate her food. How far away from the edge of the table is she? Does she chew enough before she starts talking so partially chewed food doesn’t become airborne? What’s she going to do with that little piece of meat that’s sort of hanging off her plate? Does she even see it? And then I started to worry that maybe she was watching me, too. What if I don’t negotiate my roughly chopped salad in an impressive manner, will she think less of me? Should I pretend there’s something really interesting on the wall behind her so she’d look at it while I pick my teeth, or will she not notice if I just cover my mouth with my hand, pretending to ponder one of her great questions, while covertly probing the afflicted area with the nail of my thumb?

The whole act of eating out, or a “formal” meal at home, is theatrical. The dishes, the candles, the linen, the china, the placement of the silverware, the décor, even the atmosphere and the lighting are all props and parts of a stage scene. In fact, we even refer to the setting of the table much like we do the setting of a dramatic play. Mannerisms, etiquette of the table, the public conversation, the dolled-up outfits, all seem like characterizations in a production called Public Social Interaction.

Especially when eating out, the food we eat often arrives from some unseen special room called the kitchen which is hidden behind closed doors or curtains, as if the wizard himself were back there pulling levers and pushing buttons. Once the food is prepared, serving it is a presentation of discrete surprises, like little gifts on a plate (generally intended for just one person). And somewhere between the kitchen and the table, secrets were hidden. How was this food made? What exactly is in it? How many fingers were in this food that I am now expected to eat with a fork and knife?

It’s not like we’re peasants or farmers, for whom food eaten represents a hard day's work, and that work has a relationship of cultivation and preparation to the food itself. No, our food is a thing purchased, separate from the work required to obtain it (except for the trip to the store or market, but even now Fresh Direct delivers). It is often prepared for us, and we are excited to enjoy it within the highly formalized drama of eating. And in its ideal state, that drama is entertainment.

Eating out is not meant to be boring. It is meant to be fantasy. That’s why there is drama, and staging, and acting. It is an additional expense we pay to do, like seeing a movie or a play for that matter, where we suspend our disbelief that what we are experiencing is not real (that French restaurant is not in France); except, in our dining experiences, we pay to be an active part of the production.

And we’re often judged on our performance. Emily, an actress, use to tell me to move my plate closer to me while eating, instead of leaning into it and “looking like a Neanderthal.” Socio-cultural backgrounds respected, does it really make a difference? Do I suddenly devolve into a lesser creature if I do one or the other? On the other hand, she’d overlook the placing of my elbows on the table during the main course. Why is that okay? As you know, elbows on the table during the main course is just plain inappropiate table etiquette, as if one's elbows tarnish the flavoring of the food or ruin the enjoyment of the whole evening. (After the transformation of the table from a main-course setting to a dessert or drinks setting, however, elbows and pretty much anything else is allowed on the table.)

So why is it so fun to go out to eat? There's good food and good conversation, that's true, but perhaps we also have an inner desire for impromptu performance. Perhaps we all fancy ourselves great actors. And somehow the act of eating, and going out, reflects one's social capital and establishes one's social standing (if you're a good performer) in the eyes of those around us. In any case, it makes a good topic of conversation at the table.



Downs - Copyright © 2005

(Ideas were inspired by the art critic John Berger and by Emily, a very talented actress.)