The Burden of the Host

Of a disastrous lunch, Julia Child writes:

We ate lunch with painful politeness and avoided discussing its taste. I made sure not to apologize for it. This was a rule of mine.
I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook . . . ," or "Poor little me . . . ," or "This may taste awful . . . ," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings. . . .

I think this is a fine bit of introspection. I appreciate that Julia has though about what's truly going on in an awkward exchange of apologies and reassurances over a meal yet to be eaten. She might just as soon describe the obnoxious disclaimer that some people unfailingly give right before you open a gift from them. As you handle their present to you before opening it, excitement radiates through you like tea through a pot, and just as you're about to rip the paper, they lose all courage and say, "Now, if you don't want this, you can take it back, it was a complete guess. . . ." This disclaimer not only admits that they don't know you well enough to pick out something you like with more than 49% surety; it reverses the whole idea of gift-giving. Whereas they were the one paying you the compliment by giving you the gift, the burden is now on you to compliment them on their compliment to you--the very compliment that a moment ago they pronounced as probably worthless a moment ago.

On a personal note (I assure you the above was not), I apply Julia's thinking toward a different manners lesson that we all learned in childhood but which I now reject. We all have heard that it is polite, after halving one sandwich, cookie, etc., to share with a friend, to present both halves to the friend so that he or she may choose the bigger half. I, however, consider this rude.

First of all, "letting" the friend choose only shifts the burden for taking the smaller half onto him. The friend knows that you're offering him the chance to take the bigger half, but as he reaches out his paw for the big one, me must choose between a) being as courteous to you as you were to him, and b) rudely taking advantage of your weak position as the host obliged to offer. All you, the host, have done is sidestep responsibility of making your guest comfortable; you have checked your mate into your own position of host, while taking the luxury of guest for yourself. Maybe your guest/host/I'mnotsureanymore would like to wash the dishes as well.

The second thing is this: halves are halves. They're equal. Always. So if you're cutting something, cut it right. Your guest should assume that you are capable of this, so don't worry about them thinking you've shorted them. And if (when) you do cut unevenly, just take whichever one you want, because you're guest won't know, indeed, won't even think about, whether you've yielded the larger "half." But you must choose; if you do not, you merely shift the host's rightful burden.