Posts Tagged ‘America’

Pudding vs Dessert: John Robertson’s Verdict

Thursday, July 21st, 2011

Pudding v Dessert

The old “two countries divided by a common language” conundrum.

I grew up in North America where dessert was the sweet course that followed the main, from the simplest home meal to the grandest restaurant.  A simple meal was usually just two courses, main course and dessert; for special occasions a starter course was added (often shrimp cocktail served in a small glass dish that sat within a larger bowl of crushed ice, or just a green salad). This was the 60’s and things were much simpler then. Of course, dessert might have actually been a pudding, such as bread and butter pudding or something we called Lemon Snow, but more often “pudding” referred to a soft custardy mixture that came as a powder in Shirriff  or Jell-O boxes and was cooked with milk, until the instant variety came along that needed no cooking, just mix it up and refrigerate. This was a standard and simple dessert that mothers across the continent could rely on along with its counterpart, jelly, which was synonymous with the brand name Jell-O. Sadly, kids today think Jell-O has something to do with bar shots. So, your North American audience believes that dessert follows the main course and may include any variety of sweets. These are their long-held beliefs and as we all know, best not to try to mess with people’s beliefs.

Then I moved to England where I learned that the fork is only ever held in the left hand with the tines down and that pudding and dessert are two separate courses. Of course, I would eventually learn there are times when it is alright to hold the fork in the right hand, tines up, but the rules of engagement are not for the faint-hearted. And sometimes there is only a pudding course, and sometimes we just skip to dessert. But “pudding” refers to a prepared sweet dish (boiled, steamed or baked) while “dessert” refers to the fruit course. The main course is not always followed by a sweet course, sometimes we continue with a savoury such as mushrooms on toast before we reach pudding and eventually dessert. This really confuses North Americans.

I am old and beyond insisting to my audience that there is only, ever, a single right answer to any question.  Customs differ, we all travel so much. I defer to perhaps the greatest personification of the word “gentleman” known in our time, the late John Morgan, who without ceding an inch would answer Mr. Remer’s argument with the kindest of words, “How interesting.”

John G. Robertson
Protocol and Etiquette Consultant since before it was a gimmick

Pudding vs Dessert – The Prosecution & The Defence

Thursday, July 21st, 2011

Little did I know when I posted my blog-post ‘Pudding people in their place’ that it was going to cause such a ruckus between my Canadian professional-colleague, Jay Remer (‘The Etiquette Guy’), and me. To précis my last blog post, I stated that the course after the main course is called pudding and never dessert; dessert being the fruit course and entirely different from pudding. Jay disagreed and after a few sling shots were fired to each other on Twitter and comments on my original blog post, we have decided to present our cases below for your delectation and for you to decide who is right and who is wrong.

Pudding v Dessert

The Prosecution, given by the Honourable John H. Remer, Jnr…

According to British tradition, pudding is defined officially as the dessert course of a meal. It is usually made with eggs and milk and flour and other ingredients and is baked or steamed or cooked in some fashion before being served either hot or cold. Pretty straight forward, right? Not exactly. There are some puddings, such as Yorkshire pudding which are not served as dessert at all but as part of the main course, often with Roast Beef.

Now why would anyone think to argue about something so clear and simple. Enter my worthy and trusted colleague William Hanson who has decided in his infinite wisdom that pudding is so erudite that it should not be relegated to the lowly ranks of mere dessert, but should have its own very exclusive place on the menu. He mistakenly goes on to insist that only fruit served absolutely plain without the benefit of a pie crust of other delicious accoutrement is dessert, full stop. Is he mad?!

But I am just a simple man from the other side of the pond and pudding over here is altogether considered a sweet dish eaten at the end of a meal, as clearly defined by The Oxford English Dictionary. I grew up on butterscotch and chocolate pudding; there was also rice pudding and bread pudding. But by today’s definition, puddings encompass every gooey, sweet or otherwise delicious dessert.

I understand that in another age there existed a peculiarly British class distinction whereby ‘dessert’ was eaten by the upper classes and ‘pudding’ by the lower classes. Mind you, it was the same food, just with a different name attached. Early in the 20th Century this mysteriously flipped, sort of like upside down cake. And this, my friends, seems to be where William is mired. Today puddings/desserts are no longer labeled separately nor as a matter of class, but rather by flavor, consistency or even season.

As far back as the 16th Century, dessert and pudding were considered to be identical and were definitely eaten at the very end of the meal, often even in a separate room. Later a final cheese course became de rigeur with the swish folks who also enjoyed it with Port. And this marked the real end of the meal. This cheese/Port course was never considered dessert (nor pudding). It was called the cheese course. Pretty simple, eh?

I think one piece of this puzzle which my learned adversary may not willingly share is that he would live on pudding alone if given half a chance. As a budding domestic cook, he has gravitated into the dessert realm with gay abandon where he may just be suffering from sugar shock.

I mean how seriously can you take someone who calls something they eat at the end of a meal “spotted dick” and actually argue that it is a pudding and not a dessert?

I do believe in giving credit where credit is due however. William is a student of rare Mancunian literature and has chosen to base his threatening opening argument on a (unbeknownst to me) best selling 19th Century novel (and made for TV mini series) written by the notable author Elizabeth Gaskell entitled “Cranford”, who allegedly in a footnote, has offered at least a crumb to support his stance. But I ask you, how much faith can one ‘pud’ in an imaginary tale from 150 years ago?

But, I ask you, what more universally acceptable source can one find than Margaret Vissar’s two well respected books devoted wholly to the subject of dinner. In one, pudding is not even mentioned; in the other it is synonymous with dessert. My gauntlet is laid.

My fair haired prodigious friend is one to whom I confer on any number of matters concerning etiquette, yet as far as his ability to accept defeat in a dignified way, I am afraid the jury is still deliberating. His desserts may just be plums and apples, but his puddings are far from just desserts. Just ask his personal trainer! They are dessert masterpieces. I count myself amongst the lucky ones to have had my just desserts from the young lad upon occasion, but I also just love his desserts which are almost always puddings.

The Defence, given by the Honourable William R. H. Hanson, Esq…

Much of what I have had to say about this matter I outlined in my blogpost on the 17th July, and I will not go over old-ground. I shall use my allotted 700 words to present my sources as to why I’m right in this matter of national, no – international, importance.

Arthur Inch, a former butler and technical advisor to the Oscar-winning film Gosford Park, writes in his 2003 work ‘Dinner is Served’, ‘…pudding (never called dessert, as this term was reserved for fruit at the end of the meal)’ (Inch & Hirst, 2003, p21). I could leave my case there and go and have a nice slice of cake, but I shall continue to present my sources.

Although Kate Fox is not an etiquette consultant, she is an astute social commentator and has lived both in America and Britain (she was born in the latter country). In her 2005 book ‘Watching the English’, she includes the following in her chapter on Linguistic Class Codes. ‘The upper-middle and upper classes insist that the sweet course at the end of the meal is called the ‘pudding’ – never the ‘sweet’, or ‘afters’, or ‘dessert’, all of which are déclassé and unacceptable’ (Fox, 2005, p79). She does, I admit, later state that ‘Some American-influenced young upper-middles are starting to say dessert’ (ibid). Yet, she then flies back into my camp by writing ‘[this term] can also cause confusion as, to the upper classes, ‘dessert’ traditionally means a selection of fresh fruit, served right at the end of a dinner, after the pudding, and eaten with a knife and fork’ (ibid). Well, this, I think you’ll find Mr. Remer, is exactly what I said in my original blog post.

The book I was given at 12 by my grandmother, which started me off on my road to becoming an etiquette consultant, Debrett’s New Guide to Etiquette & Modern Manners, has this: ‘Pudding, never ‘sweet’, ‘afters’ or ‘dessert’ (except when describing a fruit course)’ (Morgan, 1992, p330).

I have several other sources to hand that say the same thing, including Elsie Burch Donald’s 1982 book, Nancy Mitford’s 1956, and several books by Professor Allan S C Ross. I will not cite them in full, as it would just be repetition of the above. To me, and I hope to the more astute of the readers, it is clear that dessert is the fruit course and nothing else.

In my quest for backup I turned to a trusted colleague, namely Diana Mather, who belongs to the aristocratic family of Edward Weismuller von Vimis, a representative at the St James’s Palace court. Diana tells me ‘The dessert course is the fruit served at the very end of the meal. Dessert knives and forks are small and sharp in order to peel the fruit.’

Mr. Remer will, I am willing to bet, cite Margaret Visser’s largely excellent work ‘The Rituals of Dinner’. Visser is Canadian and I think this is perhaps the reason why Mr. Remer and I have been, civilly, disagreeing. Mr. Remer is American, although now living in Canada. Americans do call the course post-main course ‘dessert’. Today’s Americans all have British ancestors and so I conclude that the pilgrims who traipsed over to Newfoundland all those years ago went across calling said course ‘pudding’. But some bright spark got a tad confused one day and started calling it ‘dessert’. And over there they all went along with this, hence the muddle.

Earlier in the week Mr. Remer sent me some web links to prove his (wrong) point. One of said links was to Answers.com (need I say more?); the other was something a local school had done as a class project. Hardly very authoritative or conclusive. Remer also suggested to me that ‘pudding’ was considered ‘Non-U’ (meaning ‘not of upper class speech’). He is so far barking up the wrong tree here, in fact – the wrong forest, it’s unreal. As someone who just did a University dissertation in U/Non-U speech, I feel that I have some gravitas when it comes to saying what is U/Non-U, and I can say that ‘pudding’ is very much ‘U’. (See Nancy Mitford’s book Noblesse Oblige if you don’t believe me).

I admire my friend’s efforts to prove his point, but, alas, he is wrong. We all know that Britain is etiquette HQ and so what we do over here is pretty much always right – especially in this case.

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So who do you think is right? Post your comments below, please.

Landmines, Bond Girls, and Stroppy Italians

Saturday, May 22nd, 2010

I write this blog entry in the afternoon heat on Saturday. I’ve spent forty-five minutes or so out on my balcony reading but I don’t have any sun cream so I don’t want to risk getting burned. I may go and have another blast after this. I’m not a fan of hot weather in Britain: it’s just not natural. We are a nation not geared up for the warm weather. We become very silly and start having barbecues at the drop of a hat, and everyone drives much worse than normal, people wear shorts who really shouldn’t be in shorts (I can say this as I have very good legs – somehow – I’ve done about 2 hours worth of sport in my life, so not sure why they are so shapely. This may be too much information than you wanted, so I apologise.)

So, what have I been doing this week? Monday saw me make the most wonderful Hollandaise sauce, from a recipe my friend in Canada, Jay (@etiquetteguy) sent me. The shop-bought stuff pails into insignificance in comparison. On Tuesday evening I went to a networking event hosted by the Mines Advisory Group (MAG). The charity clears landmines in those countries that have such awful devices. Although I am yet to have an official invitation, they’ve asked me to speak at an event in September, which I am more than happy to do (…speak about etiquette/me, not landmines – that would be a short talk).

I met up with a friend, Derek, on Wednesday and we spent many hours in the Trafford Centre aimlessly browsing. He dragged me into a God-awful shop called Hollister. (I admit that I actually have two t-shirts from said shop although they have been bought for me – and to be fair, they are quite good quality.) However, their actual shop design/concept is ridiculous. They must make most of their money by saving on paying any electricity bills. The entire shop is lit by about three bulbs (on a low dimmer setting); shop assistants walk around greeting you with platitudes delivered in an America accent (we are in Manchester, not Manhattan, remember); the clothes are sprayed with their own sickly scent. Going back to the assistants, they walk around with not a care for the customer. After being greeted (and it was hardly a greeting) they just saunter around with their loose fit shorts or sweat pants and tight t-shirts and ‘look good’. Apparently, and this is what my friend said, they put the most attractive looking ones at the front of the shop. To which I tartly replied, ‘well if you worked here, Derek, you’d be in the stockroom’. He had the good humour to laugh, realising I was just joking. Mid-shop I spoke to BBC Three Counties (@jvsshow) on the phone to speak about ‘friendship’.

On Thursday lunchtime I headed down to London to meet a friend for lunch at Fortnum and Mason’s Fountain restaurant, where they serve the most wonderful Eggs Benedict. After that I popped next door into my favourite bookshop (Her Majesty agrees with me), Hatchard’s. What I like about this shop is its character. It’s a very old building and has been a bookshop for donkey’s years (established in 1797). Unlike some of these newer shops (I am thinking particularly the American owned ones) that all look the same, this one oozes charm and history. It’s also massive, which means their selection is top rate. I bought a cookery book; they seem to be my only vice at the moment.

I headed off to my rooms for the night, in Chelsea. A lovely woman called Mrs Eaton lets her spare rooms out, and very nice the house is too. What took me by surprise was finding an autobiography of ‘Shirley Eaton’ (‘Shirley’ being Mrs Eaton’s first name) on the bookcase. It would appear that Shirley Eaton is the Shirley Eaton (a Bond girl – the one who was painted gold in Goldfinger). Sadly, Mrs Eaton had left for her Gloucestershire residence before I found this out so I can’t actually check but I’ve done a bit of background research and it all tallies so far. How exciting! I stayed with her last year and hopefully will be with her again next year if I go to Milan again.

Shirley Eaton in James Bond 'Goldfinger'

This brings me onto Milan. This is why I was in London. On Friday I took an early flight from Heathrow to Milan-Linate in order to teach at a business school. I had been brought in to do a repeat seminar of something I did last year with a colleague. This year, it was just me: three hours of international business protocol… fun, fun!

This will be a longer blog than normal, because of the Italians. I love Italy. I love their food, culture and buildings. Sadly, the Italians themselves can be quite objectionable (there are, of course, exceptions – the people at the business school being prime examples of lovely, warm, and friendly Italians). By 8 o’clock I wanted to smack an Italian… and we were still at Heathrow. I took my seat on the aircraft between one rather over-preened girl, who can’t have been much older than me, and a middle-aged woman, both of whom were native Italians. When we were airborne the older lady (who was by the window) wanted to go to the lavatory. I got up to move into the aisle, but the younger woman just stared at me blankly and refused to move, even though I asked her nicely. This meant the older woman had to suffer the indignity of clambering over me and the other girl (although I was the bigger obstacle). This meant I looked rude to everyone else. The same madam refused to move when the other woman returned. I was livid. I put my iPod on and went to sleep.

The poster advertising my seminar

On my way back, I grabbed a bite to eat at a very nice looking coffee shop that served Panini, cakes, sandwiches, etc. I took my plate with my Panino (which is the singular of Panini, I assure you) and sat down at a table. Two minutes in, as I was tucking into my food and Piers Morgan’s latest set of diaries, a waiter came over and said something in Italian to me. I don’t speak the language but didn’t have to understand that what he said was not favourable. I turned to the table next to me to ask them (they were Italian) what the waiter had said. ‘Why are you asking us?’ they said – in English. ‘Because you’d have been able to understand what he said.’ They looked dumb-founded by this before telling me in a very surly fashion, that I was sitting in the wrong part of the café. I could tell no difference between any part of the café but moved to the furthest point away from where I had initially sat.

What I object to is the way in which a) the waiter first brought this to my attention, and b) the way the Italian couple thought I was being rude in asking them for some assistance. Had the waiter said (even in Italian) ‘excuse me, you’ll need to move to another part of the café’ (I still don’t know what was wrong with the part I was in – it looked the same as the other bit) I would have merrily moved. Argh! Anyway, I am calm now.

I missed the last train back to Manchester from Euston (plane was delayed on the runway, Heathrow Express took double the amount of time it’s supposed to take) and so I checked in to a nearby hotel for the night before returning this morning to Manchester, to be greeted by a big pile of ironing. Lovely.