I was saved from a dreary, productive Friday night of studying by, of all things, a university seminar. The Engineering Faculty had organised for its final year students a two course meal, wine, coffee and chocolate. The premise was that we uncouth engineers would learn the business ettiquette of dining out. Our guru for the evening was Stephen Downes, whose restaurant reviews I read every Tuesday because I’ve outgrown the Learn section in the Herald Sun.
What a lovely night it was! Surrounded by my friends, I enjoyed a glass of wine and gradually learned how to wrap my wide-eyed unworldly self in layers of cool, capable sophistication. You see, it’s the only way we can compete against those French engineers, who are both brilliant and charming.
The evening began with Mr Downes having us visualise our first encounter with the Terror Cocktails. He stood before us, suited up in black with pink camels on his tie.
“Everyone has a drink? Good. First thing’s first. How do we hold our glasses?”
I smiled to myself as I stood confidently, my feet thirty centimetres apart, shoulders back. Ha! I had this down pat.
He continued. “We don’t do what many women often do, and that is the twee double hand hold of the glass…”
I blinked and slowly dropped my left hand from the glass.
“Which hand do we hold the glass in? … Our left of course, because people don’t like to shake a frosty right hand.”
Um. I shifted the glass from my right had to the left.
“And we don’t just hang the glass down by our sides. Keep it up at just below your chest.”
Utterly deflated, I jerked the glass up from my side. Oh, the uncouthness of me!
As the evening progressed, I learned how to mingle, order appropriately at restaurants, basic table manners and wine matching, the art of table conversation, how to be a good host and put people at ease… ‘Twas all brilliant and useful. We all had a good giggle at our artlessness.
By the end of the night, I was satisfied. I’m going to be a Super Woman Powerhouse of the business world! I am armed and ready! I exude savoir vivre!
“At the end of the meal,” Mr Downes announced, “Whatever you do, don’t refold your napkin. It’s not like the restaurant is going to use it again!”
As everyone laughed heartily, I bit my lip, quickly reached over and scrunched the neatly refolded napkin in front of me.