What does the object, a white table cloth, mean? What does it
symbolise, conjure up or denote? In terms of denotation, of course, a white
table cloth is a white table cloth. Since there are no words involved here, the
thing denotes itself. But what it conjures up and symbolises is as varied as
the cultural milieus in which this item might be put to use. It is as complex as
the societies which eat from its pressed linen surfaces. There are those who
flagrantly spill wine on it, those who revere it, those who regard it as an
indication of their excellent choice in eating place or those who regard it as
an artefact, minimally, required for civilised eating. Does the reader find
this hard to believe; the claim that white table cloths mean different things
to different people? Can anything be a more unassuming object than a plain of
white cloth? Bear with me.
Whilst making my case about white table cloths I would like the
reader to extrapolate the moral expounded here to other physical features of
eating places; such as tables (with or without white table cloths) set up with
wine glasses and cutlery, the absence of brightly coloured menus with seasonal,
uplifting messages on them, waiters in black and white, cut flowers, cloth
napkins and many more. All these features, these moments of creating an
identity for an eating place, have the potential for meaning different things
to different people. Sometimes, they evidently mean different things to the
Patrons and the owners.
In France something called a bistro or even a café can have
starched white table cloths and waiters dressed in black and white. And that is
not because a café in France is like a posh restaurant in South Africa. Cafés
in France are what they say they are; places where people drink coffee during
the day and have light meals, and perhaps a glass of wine. To eat in a café in
France is to not plan one’s outfit, gather a group of friends and secure a
booking. It is a place where one arrives, perhaps, in the middle of a working
day, asks for a sandwich, pastry or bowl of soup and have that, perhaps, alone
over a white table cloth served by a waiter dressed in black and white. One
might do so in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Why is this? Why are the French
not intimidated by the same things that we see as formal and demanding? I am
not sure. Perhaps it was their revolution that changed things. This is not the
seminal question though. The point is simply to show that white table cloths
and other artefacts, mean different things in different contexts.
To others a white table cloth, or tables set with wine glasses,
or cloth napkins means a show. A show of
pomp and ceremony; of finery and formality. But my suggestion is that to think
of a white table cloth – and any of the other artefacts mentioned – as
necessarily signifying formality is either a sad petit bourgeois hangover or it
is an unresolved childhood fear of bed linen and going to sleep at night. White
table cloths, wine glasses, rows of cutlery, cut flowers are beautiful, and
beauty is supposed to bring succour to the artistic soul, the unconstrained
soul, in pursuit of finer things. This is surely the only way to think of such
things. Beyond social demarcations and etiquette – into a meritocratic world. A
world where a beautifully arranged space can simply be there to form a backdrop
to a quick bowl of soup and a glass of wine.
