Arnie Weissmann
At various points in my life, I have been a vegetarian, a pescatarian and an omnivore.
The reasons have been, depending on my stage in life, philosophical, medical-based and, for lack of a more pithy description, "for the good of the planet."
Today I would define myself as a "guestatarian," a word I believe I coined. I'm not trying to tell anyone else how to live their life, but I believe the easiest way to explain my new dietary viewpoint would be in the form of a manifesto, a philosophical treatise based on observation and underpinned by a few rules.
My philosophy's evolution can be traced to my own behavior as a traveler. On the road, despite whether I was, at the time, a vegetarian, pescatarian or omnivore, if I were a guest in someone's home and they served me a bowl of octopus eyeballs with a side of braised lemur brain, I would smile, eat it and tell my host how delicious it was. Perhaps ask for seconds.
If my host took me to a local restaurant to share what he or she considered the finest example of local cuisine, I would encourage them to order for me so I could experience what they felt was best. If a stew of palm tree grubs and scorpion tails arrived, I'd dig in with gusto, make grunts of satisfaction, wash it down with fermented pig bile and say I hoped dessert was as good as the main course.
Perhaps I exaggerate -- I've never actually drunk pig bile, but I have ingested palm tree grubs and scorpions, tails and all. But the underlying point is that there is a great deal of tradition, and even entire books, on the art of hosting. Increasingly, however, less emphasis and fewer restraints on guests.
It's now commonplace for servers in restaurants or dinner party hosts to ask guests whether they have any dietary restrictions before a meal.
That is both courteous and sensible; no one wants to see a diner's throat close up or watch them break out in hives due to a food allergy, and there are medical reasons that one may be gluten-free or have a condition that necessitates avoiding certain types of food.
And beyond that, good hosts want to please their guests. In my experience, that is universal across cultures.
But I also think it's time to put some rules on the ground for guests.
Firstly, there is a big difference between "restrictions" and "preferences."
This really came home to me when friends, an Italian couple, invited me to their home for dinner recently.
I knew that the husband took great pride in his cooking and heritage. His brother sends him a case of olive oil grown from the family land in Puglia every year, and I'm fortunate to be on his list to receive an annual bottle. When going out to eat at an Italian restaurant together, the wife will give a good-natured critique on how "authentic" any dish is, using her mother's cooking as the ultimate standard.
Knowing this, when they invited me to dinner and asked whether I had any restrictions, I nonetheless volunteered that I was a vegetarian. In their home that weekend, as Rocco put a dish of orecchiette with homemade tomato sauce in front of me, he sighed and said, "This is so much better with a ragu of braciole," a regional beef dish.
And it struck me: Why do I eat whatever a stranger in a foreign land puts in front of me but deny my friends the opportunity to show off what they can do in their kitchens?
As a guest, why is the obligation to please the host less important than the host's desire to please the guest? The host has spent money and perhaps a great deal of time in the hopes of making a guest happy; is it such a hardship for a guest to make an effort beyond bringing a bottle of wine?
The host is giving a gift of the most personal kind. If it were a physical gift, would the recipient set out a list of limitations and say, "My birthday is coming up, and I don't want this sort of present, I want only that"?
Actually, and regrettably, the general drift toward self-centeredness does mean that, increasingly, some people feel it's acceptable to tell others what gifts they want. Of course, it's their loss. Some of the presents I appreciate most are things I never knew existed until I unwrapped them. I'd say the same is true at mealtimes -- it's simply exciting to find a new and delicious preparation.
So, in the end, I guess the guestatarian manifesto really comes down just five rules: 1) Eat what's put in front of you. 2) Make enthusiastic noises. 3) Compliment the chef. 4) Express appreciation again on your way out. 5) Follow up with a thank you note.