Swiss Dinner, Indian Lunch

Once again I found myself at a Swiss dinner party. Seldom do two couples just agree to share a meal, but plans are made weeks or sometimes months in advance.

This time there were five couples. We greeted each other either with a handshake or a triple-kiss on the cheeks, left-right-left. I vous’ed those I didn’t know and half the people I did know. The ones I knew really well, almost family were tu’ed.

Everyone was well dressed. Two of the men wore ties ad shirts under their sweaters. Half the women were in dresses and stockings, while the other wore dress slacks.

As always we sat in the living room, in a circle for the apero, a local white wine served with salted bread sticks and crackers with a tapenade. After an appropriate time we were called “A table”. The host and hostess were perfection in their sharing of responsibilities, each knowing when to offer another dish or pour another glass of wine.The table was set with candles, flowers, all the right wine and water glasses and cutlery. The wine was half decanted next to the dusty bottle proving it came from the host’s private cave. I had made the mistake a long time ago to wash the bottle only to be stopped by my shocked companion.

The food arrived in correct order, salad, main course, cheese and bread, dessert, coffee and tisane. The conversation involved people they knew who I didn’t and Vaudoise politics which I did know. Soft music played in the background.

One of the women worked at Mauler & Cie, la Cave Champagne in the minisicule village of Môtiers, where I spent my first three years in Switzerland. It brought up fond memories of going there with dinner guests for a tasting before selecting the right champagne to go with what I was serving. The Cave was located in a 13th century monastery next to a brook that did its cliché babbling all year round. In hot weather, we stopped for more champagne before we took our picnics of quiches and salads upstream near the waterfall. My two Japanese chins loved these picnics. One waded in the water while the other watched the cows in the field next to our picnic spot as the cows surveyed them.

All toasts in Switzerland include each person gazing into the eyes of every other person. Table manners require keeping your hands on the table, not in your lap. Using your left hand for the fork and the right for your knife, including gently pushing food on your fork, is far more efficient than American manners. No meal is ever started without the words “bon appetite.”

If the rituals seem stuffy, they provide a respect for the people who are there as well as for the woman who spent hours preparing the meal and for the food itself. People eat slowly. The conversation and ambience make eating more than a meal. In the Swiss family, where I have spent almost 12 years of meals, even the most informal meal is well presented, manners observed, conversation quality important.

When my daughter was growing we had polite and rude meals. Polite required table manners and dinner conversation. Rude might be in front of the television or with books, but basic use of cutlery was a must. When I eat alone, I do set a place, I arrange the food attractively because for me food is an experience important in each step from the selection to the swallowing.

The next day I had lunch with my Indian friends switching cultures at the drop of a napkin. For almost four years this family along with my Syrian friend regularly ate together sharing cultures as well as food.

Chitra often prepared Sunday morning Indian breakfasts and Marina and I would roll out of bed and instead of going to our own cupboards would go one door down the hall. We would eat in our pajamas, before returning to our own places for the rest of the weekend.

I also lived with this family for several weeks while I was moving from one Geneva location to another.

I found Chitra still in her nightdress. Anil was in the kitchen preparing one of my favourite yoghurt dishes with tomatoes, ginger, chilis and onions. A vegetable-rice dish was in the rice cooker.

We were celebrating the purchase of a new dining room table, one that they loved, but did not have to sell their first born and only child to pay for. Nandita and I set the table.

I have learned the Indian way of eating, using my right hand to break the bread and scoop up the food, although I do wimp out and resort to a fork from time to time, but so do they.

Our conversation was about politics, books, movies, mutual friends, travel plans, their native dancing and my writing as we watched the blizzard outside.

Afterwards we watched a Mollywood movie, a mystery. They explained that was an Indian film from a certain region. The movie was subtitled in English.

Although Anil is often willing to drive me to the otherside of the lake, I assured him I could take the tram(s), leaving them with the rest of their Sunday in peace.

In less than eighteen hours, I experienced two very different ways of sharing meals, both which enriched me both personally and nutritionally. Life is good.