Quick, somebody tell me which fork to use to eat this strawberry
concoction.
Is it from the inside out or the outside in? And does it matter
that the forks are on the right side of the plate rather than the left?
I know whichever I choose, it will be wrong. It’s been a curse I’ve
faced ever since I took my older sister to lunch at Rosie O’Grady’s
in Pensacola, Florida and used the wrong fork on my salad. Normally, I wouldn’t
have cared about such things, but the busboy who obviously thought I was out
on a date decided to show me up by making a big deal of taking the fork I’d
used off my plate and replacing it with the unused salad fork as if to say, “take
that you uncouth journalist who will some day grow up to be thrown out of a
fancy restaurant.”
Hey, what do you expect from a guy who spent most of his early
career eating at Taco Bells, Furrs Cafeterias and supping on Double Beef Whoppers
with mustard,
ketchup and heavy pickles only? I mean, when you eat at a cafeteria you use
the silverware you picked up in the order you need it, regardless of where
you put it.
Since then I’ve never been sure what fork to use when and, as a result,
in recent years, I’m constantly getting yelled at by my wife because
she doesn’t like the way I set the table.
Which is why I’m sitting here at The Empress Hotel’s high tea in
Victoria, British Columbia, paralyzed with fear that I may pick the wrong utensil
to eat my strawberry whip cream concoction. I should point out that I have
no intention of making a scene, but I have to wonder if I will get thrown out
for choosing the wrong fork.
The place is everything you would expect a place that served
high tea to be. Elegant. Understated. Hushed conversation. Hardwood floors
covered by a colorful
print rug. A piano playing at just the right volume. It is the kind of place
where waiters walk guests to their tables, pull back diner’s chairs for
them to sit in, then gently place a napkin in each patron’s lap. Big
trays. Little sandwiches. A view of the Inner Harbor.
The Christmas trees are a bit unfortunate, but at least they
aren’t spilling
with presents the way they would be in the States.
Scones. Shortbread. Creamery butter. Lumps of sugar. Big pots
of tea. All of which I’m sure I’ll make a complete mess of once they bring them
to my table. Which is the kind of guy I am. I can dress myself up, but I can’t
take myself out.
Beautiful china. Real silverware.
Which takes me back to the issue at hand. The question of which
fork to use. Inside or outside? If the way things have been going on this press
tour are
any indication, I will probably choose wrong again.
It has been that type of day so far. A sleepless night followed
by a cold, stormy morning. I made it to the Victoria Clipper on time, but choppy
water
in the Harbor here kept the boat from arriving on time and at the appointed
place. Instead, it was diverted to Sidney, B.C. where we had to wait until
our luggage was offloaded, then we walked in blustery weather to a bus where
we waited for our luggage to be loaded on. Next, we rode to Victoria, half
an hour away where our bags were unloaded and sniffed by dogs while we waited
another half hour. (Apparently, this is a service that Canada provides for
free.) I was supposed to kayak today with a fellow writer and a guide, but
the journalist chickened out. I was told the kayak guide was still willing
to go, though, so, adventurer that I am, I gamely agreed to go only to have
him cancel, leaving me with nothing to do for the afternoon. After that I
decided to walk to Chinatown, but left without my raincoat, then had to go
back to
my hotel once it started raining. By then I was so disgusted that I just
decided to come here where I am now faced with this dilemma.
Figuring this is the first smart choice I’ve made all day, I’m
going to bravely pick up the outside fork and have at it…..
From a distance, my waitress has nodded approvingly. Like Indiana
Jones, I
have chosen wisely.
Bring on the tartlets, puny pastries, crustless sandwiches and
funky finger food!
I know whichever I choose, it will be wrong. It’s been a curse I’ve
faced ever since I took my older sister to lunch at Rosie O’Grady’s
in Pensacola, Florida and used the wrong fork on my salad. Normally, I wouldn’t
have cared about such things, but the busboy who obviously thought I was out
on a date decided to show me up by making a big deal of taking the fork I’d
used off my plate and replacing it with the unused salad fork as if to say, “take
that you uncouth journalist who will some day grow up to be thrown out of a
fancy restaurant.” 
Which is why I’m sitting here at The Empress Hotel’s high tea in
Victoria, British Columbia, paralyzed with fear that I may pick the wrong utensil
to eat my strawberry whip cream concoction. I should point out that I have
no intention of making a scene, but I have to wonder if I will get thrown out
for choosing the wrong fork. 
It has been that type of day so far. A sleepless night followed
by a cold, stormy morning. I made it to the Victoria Clipper on time, but choppy
water
in the Harbor here kept the boat from arriving on time and at the appointed
place. Instead, it was diverted to Sidney, B.C. where we had to wait until
our luggage was offloaded, then we walked in blustery weather to a bus where
we waited for our luggage to be loaded on. Next, we rode to Victoria, half
an hour away where our bags were unloaded and sniffed by dogs while we waited
another half hour. (Apparently, this is a service that Canada provides for
free.) I was supposed to kayak today with a fellow writer and a guide, but
the journalist chickened out. I was told the kayak guide was still willing
to go, though, so, adventurer that I am, I gamely agreed to go only to have
him cancel, leaving me with nothing to do for the afternoon. After that I
decided to walk to Chinatown, but left without my raincoat, then had to go
back to
my hotel once it started raining. By then I was so disgusted that I just
decided to come here where I am now faced with this dilemma.