Home › Introduction › Introduction: Remember
Introduction: Remember
A word to the guest, and then we will proceed to explicit directions. Never stare at the carver. Remember you are invited to dine, not to take a lesson in carving. Appear perfectly unconscious of his efforts; a glance now and then will give you sufficient insight into his method. There often seems to be an irresistible fascination about carving which silences all tongues and draws all eyes to the head of the table. The most skilful carver will sometimes fail if conscious of being watched. With a little tact the hostess can easily engage the attention of her guests, that the carver may not be annoyed.
Should your preference be asked, and you have any, name it at once, provided there is also enough for others who may prefer the same kind. Remember there are only two fillets, or side-bones, or second joints; if you are the first to be served, do not test the skill of the carver by preferring a portion difficult to obtain.
Many of these cautions may seem uncalled for, but they have been suggested by personal observation of their necessity. People of good breeding would never err in any of these ways; but alas, not all people are well bred, and innate selfishness often crops out in small matters.
The following explicit directions have not been taken from books. They were given to the writer a few years ago by one who was an adept in the art, who had received her instruction from a skillful surgeon, and who at her own table gave a practical demonstration of the fact that a lady can not only "carve decently and in good order," but with ease and elegance.
Not a word here about technique: this half of the introduction tells the guest how to behave while somebody else carves. It is the best evidence in the book of what carving actually was.
- Nothing to cookAnyone arriving at this page for method is at the wrong end of the book. It is etiquette, addressed to the person being served, and the explicit directions it promises begin only afterwards.
- Why it needed sayingThe joint was taken apart at the table in full view, so carving was a public skill that could be publicly fumbled. The author says plainly that the most skilful carver will sometimes fail if conscious of being watched, and asks the hostess to draw the attention of the table away while he works.
- Two of eachThe warning that there are only two fillets, or side-bones, or second joints is a point of anatomy with manners built on top of it. The second joint is the thigh; the prize pieces on any bird are few, and asking for one when you are served first takes it from somebody else.
- What survivesCarving moved into the kitchen and the etiquette went with it, but the courtesy underneath is alive at any table where one dish is shared: do not ask for the best piece before you know there is enough of it to go round.
- The author’s authorityThe last paragraph is a claim of provenance and an unusually specific one. The directions were not taken from books but given to the writer by an adept who had been taught by a skilful surgeon, and who demonstrated them at her own table. The book stakes everything on an oral chain of three people.
- A lady can carveThe closing argument is that a woman may carve not merely decently but with ease and elegance, and the fact that it has to be argued at all tells you she usually did not. The phrase the author puts in quotation marks borrows the familiar formula about doing all things decently and in order.
What this page shows is a dining room in which the head of the table performed in front of everybody, and a household in which the question of who should perform was unsettled. The author is making a case, politely, inside a book of practical instruction, that a lady can carve well, and her authority for it is a chain of women teaching one another with a surgeon’s anatomy somewhere behind it. Her complaint is equally revealing. She says the cautions have been suggested by personal observation of their necessity, and that innate selfishness often crops out in small matters. That is not a writer describing a timeless custom. It is one who has sat at particular tables, watched a guest ask for the fillet before anybody else had been served, and decided to say so in print.