Marcy Carriker Smothers

Twable Manners

I’m not talking about napkins in your lap or elbows off the table.

I’m talking about tweeting while dining.

I like to get my Twitter on like the next gal, but I can’t get past the idea that the dinner table is for conversation and not for broadcasting.

Leaving your cell phone on because the kids might need you – that’s legit.

Incessantly updating mundane details – not so much.

The art of conversation is just that, an art, and I’m put off when my dining companion’s attention is divided between the convo and the Blackberry.

I’ve attended lots of juicy dinner parties with famous guests of honor. Trust me, there were ad libs and quips that were tantalizingly twitterable, yet I refused to interrupt our confabulation for the prize of a well parsed tweet.

Lest I doth protest too much, I admit to taking photos of food during the meal. A lot. And while I’m in the confessional, I’ll fess up to having more pictures of edibles than my children, but I don’t post at the table.

My vintner pal whose identity I must protect, told me the tale of her dinner recently with a well known wine blogger. He and his team did not make eye contact with her for the first fifteen minutes. With Pinball Wizard skills, they Twittered and Facebooked throughout the four courses. It appeared as if they were more interested in bragging about their esteemed dinner companion than they were with actually getting to know her. Guess who’s not being invited to the next release party?

Twenty somethings think I’m old-fashioned but there are some things in the world of food that are sacrosanct:

Ordering with “May I please have” instead of the repulsive “I want.”
Waiting to add salt until after you’ve tasted the dish.
Marshmallows on the yams at Thanksgiving.
And no Tweeting at the table.

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