You’re in a restaurant fancy enough that they hang up your coat for you but not so fancy that there are no prices on the menu. Your party of four is seated, you’re perusing your choices and the server arrives with some water and a basket of assorted bread.
You can smell that it’s warm. One of the slices looks like it might have walnuts in it. Your stomach rumbles. You can concentrate on little other than which piece or roll to choose. They’ve sprinkled extra salt on the butter and, my God, there’s a little carafe of fancy olive oil. Your table mates are chatting, they don’t even seem to have noticed the cornucopia of treats assaulting your senses. You can wait no more. You pick up your knife with a deliberate clatter against the side plate. “Well,” you breathe, “I’m going to make a beast of myself with the bread if nobody else is!” The floodgates open. The bread is ravaged. All is right with the world.
A few weeks ago, a tweet about bread baskets at restaurants went viral after the poster claimed that it was “tacky” to eat the bread without waiting at least five minutes first. Now, nothing divides the internet more than an arbitrary opinion or question. “Can a married couple go on a date?” “Is Die Hard a Christmas film?” “Do you wash your legs in the shower?” are some classics of the genre. And now we can add “Should you wait five minutes to eat the bread at a restaurant?”
Articles were written, debates raged, etiquette experts were consulted, and no consensus was reached. And the world kept turning. What was missing from the conversation though, was an examination of the real nitty-gritty of bread basket politics; the times when to eat or not to eat really does make a difference. I’m referring to, of course, the communal wedding table.
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There are very particular rules when it comes to the wedding table bread basket. Let’s say there are 10 people at the table. Séamus is third in the rotation of said basket. Sinéad and Rebecca before him have taken one piece each, because they’re not animals. Séamus is starving because the bride and groom made the classic error of having the speeches before the dinner and now he can feel that the five pints he’s already had are doing nothing for his blood sugar, so he takes two.
As a result, when the basket nears the completion of its cycle it becomes clear that there is no bread left for Niall. Niall is Sinéad’s boyfriend and is also starving. He noted Séamus taking the two slices and his eyes have been frantically following the remaining bread around the table. Sinéad is no fool either and can already tell she’s going to have to give Niall half her ration. She is fuming with Séamus. Who raised him? Who invited him? Has he ever even eaten a cream of celeriac soup without an accompanying slice of Guinness bread so decadent it’s basically cake?
This scenario, though horrifying, raises the question of the appropriateness of asking for a second basket of bread.
In a restaurant scenario it is permissible to request more, particularly if the establishment has bragged about how it’s made on the premises. If you’re that proud of it, then keep it coming. Of course, there is an unspoken contract between you and the serving staff that you will tip them handsomely for the inconvenience.
The definitive rules of communal bread are nuanced, and not exhaustive
At a wedding though, you’re not paying for the meal. The kitchen is being run on precision, not whims. Niall shouldn’t have to throw things into disarray because Séamus neglected to have a Snickers in the car after the church. If Séamus wanted more bread, he should have been the one to ask.
If by some miracle or you are at a table of deviants and there is bread left at the end of the wedding meal, it is permitted to save the excess for when hunger strikes at 2am. Do not, under any circumstances, put a slice or a roll in a suit jacket pocket though, for it will be lost forever when the wrong person takes the wrong jacket and then there’s a mild row over what’s navy and what’s black with one of the bridesmaids’ boyfriends.
The following morning is a completely different story, of course. It is absolutely acceptable to secrete at least two pieces away from a hotel breakfast buffet in a flimsy serviette (you call them serviettes in hotels because it’s fancier) for later. Your willingness to do this increases relative to your age and by the time you are 50, you’ll be blatantly carrying whole baskets back to your room. Same applies for tiny marmalades and matchboxes of butter. If you need to console yourself by telling yourself they’ll only throw it out otherwise, then you go right ahead and do that.
The definitive rules of communal bread are nuanced, and not exhaustive. You must never interfere with bread that comes as an accompaniment to a specific starter, unless the diner in question has indicated they are finished with an infinitesimal push of their plate. If you reach for the fanciest slice in the basket, you must at least offer to share it. Séamus might not, but you absolutely must.