Paul Sassone

It is conventional wisdom to lament the death of dinner-table conversation.

Television sent it into a coma. And texting gave it the coup de grace.

Meals now are silent, save for the nearly inaudible clicking of tiny keyboards. But perhaps conventional wisdom isn’t so wise. Perhaps eating meals in silence isn’t so bad.

Recently, I was invited to dinner. The food served was aromatic and pleasingly plated.

I was hungry.

The hostess came in from the kitchen to announce that the main course was cholesterol free and gluten free. She also offered us the choice of butter or diet margarine “for those who can afford the cholesterol.”

“I can,” another diner volunteered. “My cholesterol count is 185.”

(Applause, applause.)

Later in the meal another diner turned down a slice of delicious home-made apple pie because her “triglycerides are too high.”

Another asked if the pie crust was gluten free.

You likely have been involved in similar conversations. I don’t mind that people want to take care of their health. That’s admirable. But, must they tell me about it? Do they have to make me feel guilty and gross and one forkful from death, just because I like butter better than that yellow chemical coagulant spread?

It seems that at every dinner there always is at least one person who feels obliged to go on about calories and cholesterol and gluten and triglycerides (whatever those are).

I’m sure my triglycerides could use some work. But, that’s private business between me and my cardiologist — if cardiologists are the ones who deal with lowering (or raising?) triglycerides.

Since I don’t bother people with my triglycerides, I’d appreciate it if they wouldn’t bother me with theirs.

Even the best of dinner tastes like charcoal, when you are worried that your next mouthful might be your last.

Food is bad. That’s the message.

And going for a walk can get you hit by a car.

And adopting a dog can get you bitten.

And airplanes can crash.

And …

I get it. Bad things can happen. But not necessarily and not all the time.

Please keep your morbid fears and obsessions to yourself. I have access to the same information about what is harmful as you do.

If I choose to act on that information, I will. But let’s talk about something else, OK?

Or perhaps we should just be quiet while we have dinner.

Text, if you must.