We have already seen the dangers that lie await for the unsuspecting biscuiteer, but now we move onto one of the most treacherous waters in our quest for ‘Biscuit Enlightenment’. In many cultures there are metaphorical lines drawn in the sand that once crossed by an innocent unversed in their social mores can lead to much offence and in some parts of the stereotypical world a short trip to large boiling pot laced with carrots, onions, and the obligatory pith helmet. In Britain this manners faultline is placed on the precarious tectonic plates of dunking and not dunking.
It has oft been stated that you never get another chance to make a first impression. This is certainly the case in the world of biscuitry immersion. You can be seated in the home of a charming family, enjoying maybe a game of bridge while in the background the children softly sing heartwarming renditions of songs they’ve written to accompany the works of Benjamin Britten, when into your hand is placed a cup of tea with two small biscuits nestling on the saucer.
You smile gratefully into the butlers face, place the beverage on your table, take a biscuit gently in your fingers and then plunge it into the tea. Immediately screams fill the air around you and your bridge partner collapses (requiring the attention of your opponents, who now curse your name for spoiling their chance to play a Ruffing Finesse). The children are torn from the room by a distraught nanny screaming at them to cover their eyes, while the lady of the house runs to her bureau where she pens a missive to the Duke of Monmoth demanding that he head at once to the Commons were he should beseech Parliament to declare war on her wretched guest. Things had been going so well.
To avoid this oh-so-familiar story there are certain survival tactics that you can employ. Firstly one of observation.
If the cup you are handed is of a fine bone-China variety, maybe with an ornate and stomach-turning rendition of various flora adorning both it and the accompanying saucer, then the chances are that you are in a non-dipping house. The biscuits will aid your detection too. If they are small, sugared, and generally dainty in vista then once again you should refrain from an act of baptism.
If on the other hand you are presented with a mug (of any description) then submerge your confection with gay abandon.
The real difficulty arises when you are in a home that plays host to the modern ‘large-cup’. This hybrid vessel is often a sign of the owners uncertainty in their social standing. Be wary of these people as they may be likely to crack at any moment under the pressure of class distinction. In this most perilous of situations your survival will hang on your ability to get them to dip first.
A tried and tested method is the ‘Whorish Flaunt’ pioneered by the Earl of Wessex in 1807. You should take the biscuit in full view of your hosts, tease the edge of the cup with it while absently chatting, then tantilisingly withdraw it to your mouth, all the time gauging the response of your potential assailants. If you sense any sort of arousal in their posture then they may be showing their hand too early in an attempt to draw you out – bide your time. Engage them in conversation about the abhorrent weather for this time of year, or how there’s nothing of worth on television any more, lure them into a sense of security and familiarity until finally one of them will either dip or finish their biscuits. Your steely nerves and adherence to the method will serve to make you the victor in this desperate game of ‘Parlour Roulette’ and allow you to avoid obliteration for at least one more social encounter.
One rule that is universally clear though, in any situation or setting, is to avoid people who dip chocolate biscuits…as they’re just plebs.