The Demise Of The Lowly Spoon

By Lynnette Horn

Have you ever noticed how spoons have disappeared from a lot of restaurants? While it's not as earth shattering as world peace or feeding the hungry, for me it signifies our civilization's decline, a loss of refinement, a set back in American culture. I can easily conjure up a spoonless society where brutish men, fork and knife gripped on either side of their plate, shout, "Ugh! Me want meat."

The spoon didn't fall from grace overnight. It seems to have happened in proportion to the popularity of serving sugar, creamer, and sweetener in individual packets--already measured for you down to the granule. How convenient they've become. And if you have a sweet tooth like I, how inhibiting to use. The discarded empties quickly pile up on the table as a testimonial to my excesses for everyone to see and judge.

Restaurant owners will tell you cutting back on spoons has been a means of cutting back on cost. But, don't they understand the joy a true gourmand has from the tactile pleasures of a spoon to the lips? What utter delight to feel its smooth curvature glide across your tongue.

Even if you don't get your jollies from licking spoons, how do you stir ice tea without one? I'm sure Emily Post would suggest simply asking for a spoon. I've tried with mixed results. My request has most often been met with a strained look on the server's face. From that moment I'm marked as a difficult customer.

The young and inexperienced run off in search of a spoon only to return 15 minutes later with a woeful apology or a soup spoon so bulky ice cascades over the glass top at any attempt of using it. At the other extreme, the wizened server sizes me up. I can see the wheels churning as he decides whether my tip is worth the extra effort. He'll look me over from head to table. The brakes screech, the cogs sputter and gasp to a halt. The decision is made in a flash. "No way, Jose," his raised eyebrow says, while condescension sticks between the teeth of his plastered smile like burnt crust on toast. "I'm sorry, ma'am.  We have no spoons."

I suppose it's because I'm a woman, a gender erroneously harangued for bad tipping. But, don't let me get started; that's entirely another matter.

In either case, the end result usually is the same. I'm left in a quandary. Do I swirl my glass in the air and hope centrifugal force will evenly distribute my Sweet 'n Low? Or, should I opt for an index finger, as so many others do? Sweat beads spread across my brow at the mere thought of such a faux pas. Let's face it, short of giving up self-sweetened tea there aren't a lot of good options. They all rank among the top dining taboos: no elbows on the table, no eating peas with a knife, and no slurping spilled coffee from the saucer.

So what's a culture-conscious woman to do? I'm tempted to start bringing my own. It might catch on and spawn a whole new industry--fine dining spoons handsomely packaged in their own carrying cases, sold at fine jewelers and better department stores everywhere. Mmmm...I think I'll write up a business plan, but let that be our secret.