Not all Very Important Pieces are accessories of personal adornment, such as shoes, scarves, or purses. Sometimes a VIP accessory is an extension of our persona that reaches all the way to the dining room, a coffee table, or a picnic on the family truck’s tailgate. I have proof. Paper plates or priceless porcelain, plastic tablecloths or event-themed linens, salt-and-pepper shakers or candlelit floral centerpieces, balloons or special occasion wall art: they surround us every day and influence our behavior. Seriously. Fortunes have been made or lost on them. Think of all the industries involved when you decided to decorate for Thanksgiving or Halloween. Americans spend more money on table settings than the annual gross national product of two-thirds of the world’s countries. OK, I may be exaggerating a tad, but then on the other hand I may be underestimating. Consider this: most county fairs across US have table decorating competitions held in sheds next to sheep sheering; cattle, pig, and horse judging; and pie making contests. That speaks volumes. If tableware was not a high priority, why would it be one of the first things archaeologists dig up from ancient burial grounds? Why would a dead Viking want to carry his favorite drinking horn with him to Valhalla? Why would the Minoans decorate their fruit bowls? Tableware is important. It has always been important, right from the moment Protoman discovered he could etch a design into his wooden food trough to today’s efforts at turning recycled materials into biodegradable yet totally adorable drinking straws. Last week I had dinner with three dear friends, fellow enthusiasts who share my demented interest in tableware. One is a collector of sterling flatware, so it was to him I addressed this bit of trivia: “I knew a woman who said she inherited a silver chest the size of a small refrigerator. It was built to house 16 drawers and each drawer contained 32 separate pieces of the same sterling flatware pattern. Could such a thing exist?” He nodded affirmatively. My partner-in-crime across the table couldn’t grasp the concept. “What are you talking about?” “I’m saying that there were 32 different sizes and shapes of spoons, forks, and knives and whoever owned that chest could plop them down in front of 16 people.” “Are you serious? 32 different pieces?” she asked incredulously. He replied, “That’s nothing. Some patterns include up to 100 pieces.” “How is that possible?” “You don’t use all the pieces at one meal. But if you serve melon, you provide a melon spoon. If you serve terrapin, you provide a terrapin spoon.” “How many pieces are in your set?” “Which pattern?” I rest my case. The same conversation could be applied to crystal stemware, bone china dish sets, drawers of fine linens, the list goes. There is no end to the number of pieces you can add to your collection. The manufacturer makes sure of that up until the pattern is discontinued, which is when the eBay bidding wars begin. However, that doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t do the same on a smaller budget. Just think about the time you went into Walmart or your version of the local 99 Cent Store to buy paper plates for a birthday party and walked out with four bags of matching cups, napkins, party hats, favors, garlands, and games, not to mention invitations, thank you cards and a disposable tablecloth. I sometimes think people spend more money on setting a pretty table than on the food that gets ladled out during the meal. What does that really say about the importance of an appealing setting? I suspect it has something to do with a hard-wired need to beautify the mundane, a challenge that gets modified every other generation. My children’s generation for the most part prefer using dishwasher-safe plain white plates set on bare wooden tables, framed by linens woven from organically harvested flax or cotton, with sleek, stainless steel, one-pattern-fits-all-uses flatware, and wine glasses that have ultra thin rims yet still fit on the top rack of the dishwasher. Oh, and there may be candles on the table but they are made of non-petroleum based materials. That’s their generation. They somewhat resemble my mother only they spend more for simplicity. Ma, on the other hand, had little interest in wasting her few pennies on such things. She preferred going to restaurants where she could eat and leave instead of washing, ironing, and tidying up after dinner. And when she did cook, whatever she prepared was delicious whether it was served on dime store plates or Wedgewood. So why bother? My answer to “why bother?” probably began with family meals at Aunt Rose’s house. Those were the days when, if you were lucky, you had an everyday set of dishes and the “good set” reserved for special meals. We weren’t that lucky, but at Aunt Rose’s I got to see what that it was like. It rotted my brain forever. Next week we’re going to a Christmas Eve dinner at my partner-in-crime’s house. She’s stripped the entertainment room of everything Fall or turkey-patterned and has turned it into a miniature version of FAO Schwarz. The rust-colored couch pillows will have been exchanged for Santa in a Christmas plaid hotrod. The table will be set with forest green stemware, perhaps gold-plated flatware, poinsettias, and … as my son would say … a plethora of candles, not to mention a special china set, the one with the Christmas holly around the rims. Her food is like my mother’s. It tastes scrumptious on paper plates. But that wouldn’t be the same. She loves to cook, but more than that, she loves to set a pretty table. Next month she may buy an extra china hutch because I’m giving her another set of old dishes. That doesn’t mean I don’t still dream of the day when I may decide to pick up a spatula and skillet and ladle out some scrambled eggs to the rare guest or two. If that happens, I still have what’s left of Aunt Rose’s good set and more, plus the stemware, the linens, the flatware, the centerpieces because, you know, atmosphere. If I dim the lights and fill the table with glittering objects, my guests may never realize I just reheated a ready-made meal from Trader Joe’s. I’m telling you, table settings are Very Important Pieces.