Page 35 of The Hang Up
She shook her head. “The idea is to keep everyone at the table eating at the same pace. You don’t want him to be digging into dessert while you’re still working on your salad.”
“Unlikely.” Jason grinned. “I’m a fast eater.”
“For the sake of a professional dinner, that’s not a selling point. There’s no shame in going slow.”
“Sure there is. It means I get to eat less.”
Miriam raised an eyebrow at him, but Jason just grinned and lifted his wineglass in a mock toast to her. He took a sip, then set down his glass, picked up his utensils, and sliced into his meat again. With the skill of a surgeon, he cut his pork into a dozen little bite-sized hunks, his hands moving with meticulous precision. Miriam watched, fascinated, almost reluctant to stop him.
“Um, Jason? You’re very efficient there, but you kinda want to cut just one bite at a time,” she said.
“Got it,” he said, nodding once as he forked a bite into his mouth and chewed. “See? This is good stuff. The advice, I mean, but so is this mushroom thingy. Unreal, seriously.”
“Thanks.” Miriam took a bite of her own pork and savored the burst of flavors and the moist juiciness of the meat. “I take it you didn’t do a lot of formal business dinners in your previous job?”
“No. Half the time I was guiding trips, which meant roasting weenies over a campfire or eating baked beans straight from the can.”
“After opening it with a machete?”
He grinned. “Only if I forgot my Leatherman.”
Miriam flashed on a memory of her dad doing the same thing on a family camping trip, grinning at her with cracker crumbs in his beard. A prick of sadness needled her in the gut, and Miriam took a sip of wine to tamp it down.
“So what if I sit down in the restaurant and there are a zillion utensils?” Jason asked, pulling her back to the present. “I think I figured it out here, but I’ve seen TV shows where they have this huge arsenal of forks and knives and spoons and?—”
“Right,” Miriam said. “When in doubt, start with the utensil farthest from the plate and work your way inward.”
“Oh,” he said. “That seems simple enough.”
“It gets a little more complicated when you throw in early courses like soup or fish or oysters. In cases like that, you’ll want to?—”
Hiccup!
“Okay, that’s it,” Jason said as he threw down his napkin. “Every time you do that, you get this look on your face like you just cursed in church or something. It’s just a hiccup. Everyone does it. Hell, if it’ll make you feel better, I can probably work up a belch or something.”
“That won’t be necessary. I just?—”
Hiccup!
“Dammit!” Miriam set her water glass down hard. “I’m trying to teach you proper dinner etiquette. I’m hardly setting a good example.”
“It’s an uncontrollable reflex, Miriam. Besides, it’s not like you farted at the table.”
“God,” she said as she dropped her fork with a clatter. “This meal is going downhill fast. I feel like I need to?—”
Hiccup!
“That you do,” Jason said with a grin. “Wanna try one of the cures I suggested?”
“What were they again?”
“There’s plugging your ears while you swallow water, or bending over to drink it,” he said.
“Oh. Well, maybe I could try?—”
Hiccup!
Jason grinned wider. “Of course, we had a guy on a backpacking tour once that had seriously chronic hiccups. He’d tried some really crazy cures. Pulling on his tongue, having someone cover his mouth and blow air up his nose, rectal massage, or?—”
