Knives Kill

Fire fighting practically every day was challenging and manageable. What unnerved me were lunches with the clients. No, it was not making conversation that daunted me. It was using the knife and fork.

A day’s workshop on cross-cultural skills and my husband’s crash course at Pizza Hut was all the training I could manage to gain confidence in using the knife and fork. Some things just seem to elude me, simple or not.

What was it about the cutlery that intimidated me? What made me think it took away the joy of relishing my food? Was it the fact that I grew up eating with my hands or was it the engulfing fear that the pizza I was eating would trace a projectile and end up on the floor or worse, my client’s plate?

One country in the west to another and my table etiquette hadn’t improved. The transition from pizza to pasta did the trick of making it easier. The occasional complexity peeped in disguised as salads and I was even getting better at choosing dishes on the menu, that wouldn’t blatantly expose my dexterity.

I had improved or had had enough practise, I know not which, until the acid test came in the form of a chappathi made of maida (refined wheat) at an official dinner. I looked around helplessly searching for a single person who used their hands for the chappathi. That was all I needed to dive in.

Twenty-two at the table and there was none. How did they eat it with cutlery? No clue whatsoever, absolutely. I did try. I had a plan - To cut a piece of the chappathi, to use the fork to dip it in the curry. Wait, I didn’t think I saw anyone do that. I saw the chappathi being eaten interspaced with spoonfuls of curry. What a pity?

I was angry. I stared at the chappathi. The longer I stared the harder it became, the texture and the slicing both. I rejected it conveniently blaming it on the maida. Only, it was so tasty!

I was amazed at how my table skills determined what I wanted to eat in restaurants. I didn’t let it affect me so much till the effect of my lack of dexterity invaded my choice of Indian food. The alarm rang! Strangely, it alerted me not to care about cutlery in Indian restaurants at least.

My heart bled. I saw the painful divorce between the potato filling and the samosa’s pastry.

There is a reason why they are together. There is a reason why Indian food is eaten with hands. It is crucial in rendering a wholesome experience. My line was ready, as clichéd as world peace is to a beauty contestant.

I knew it all along but just needed to be reminded.

I will answer anyone who questions my decision, just that I want to remind them why chopsticks had to become famous. I am sure there are dozens who feel about chopsticks the way I feel about cutlery.

To all of us, let not table manners distance us from the table. Habits are means to an end.

Bon appétit!