Table manners

My parents insisted we try new foods and eat whatever foods graced the table at home or away as company. The absolute test came a few months after we moved to Utah and a neighbor invited us to supper. That evening we girls freshened up. My brothers slicked back their hair. Then we all put on our best clothes.
It’s a good thing we also put on our best manners because our hostess had no clue that we did not drink tea in any form: not sweet, unsweetened, hot or cold. As former dairy farmers we always drank milk at every meal.
Then we moved to Utah, where farmers raised sugar beets and cattle for the butcher. Our hostess welcomed us with a smile and pointed us to the table with its linen cloth, fine china, silver and tall glasses of iced tea. We had never tasted iced tea.
No one said, “I don’t like tea.” We all washed down our food with tea. Before we could think to ask for water, our hostess grabbed the pitcher of iced tea and topped off our glasses.
We politely said, ‘Thank you,” and drank more tea. I can still feel my silent sigh of resignation when that pitcher headed toward my glass. It was a new to me beverage, with a flavor that did not particularly appeal to me at the time. I have since learned to drink tea.
Our introduction to new foods did not stop with tea. Our move west continued the next year to Arizona where the school cafeterias set one day a week aside to serve Mexican food. This happened in the 1960s, long before the proliferation of Mexican restaurants and Taco Tuesday. Most southwestern families liked spicy enchiladas and tacos. The food at our teen church party included a large casserole dish filled with enchiladas. I love the stuff now, but that first year my tongue was not happy. I usually chose to skip lunch or bring something else on Mexican food days.
Eating new foods in new environments challenges manners and taste buds, but to be polite we should try. I watched a visiting missionary take the smallest “No thank you” serving of one dish at my house. I had actually prepared a variety of foods so she could choose whatever she wanted. She chose to follow the rules for polite eating and tried a bit of everything.
With our marriage my husband and I merged food cultures. He grew up with Amish-Mennonite Garden fresh vegetables sweetened with sugar as the side to meat, potatoes and gravy. His father really liked his gravy. He did not like new foods or spicy foods. So, when my husband, as a teenager, brought home that new teen food ‘pizza’, his father took a bite and shook his head. He fixed it with a big dollop of gravy. My husband still laughs when he recalls, “Dad put gravy on his ice cream.”
I did not know all that when we asked his parents to eat supper with us the first time. I should have asked. Instead, I pulled out one of my new recipe books and decided to try curried beef over rice. It sounded interesting, cross-cultural and fun.
Being the polite guest that he was, Mr. Hersberger sat at my table and ate curried beef without one word of complaint. He did not ask for seconds or gravy. He and Mrs. Hershberger chatted pleasantly and left.
My husband closed the door behind them and said, “I can’t believe my dad ate that food without a word. He does not like spicy food.”
I learned more recipes for vegetables. My husband learned to eat my version of Mexican food. My tortillas never looked anything like those from the store, but we ate enchilada casserole anyway as well as the homemade pizza. But I have never, not once to this day, served cold unsweetened tea at my table.