The Tyranny of Inch-Longs

The quest for the appropriately sized placemat is a perilous journey, fraught with hazards for the uninitiated. One must not be seduced by the siren song of a “standard size,” for what barbarian can truly dictate the dimensions of our domesticity?

A man’s table, be it mahogany or humble pine, is his castle. To confine its expanse with a paltry twelve by eighteen inches is to stifle the very spirit of a hearty breakfast. And what of those evenings when the family gathers, clamoring for space to accommodate platters of roast beef, mounds of mashed potatoes, and bowls of gravy that could drown a lesser meal? Dare we confine such bounty to a few meager inches? No, a thousand times no!

A placemat, like a man’s ambitions, should be generous, expansive, capable of encompassing the unexpected. A fourteen by twenty-inch expanse, now there’s a canvas worthy of a Sunday dinner! Imagine, if you will, the gravy boat, secure in its expanse, the silverware laid out like surgical instruments—for is a well-set table not a triumph of precision?—and still, room for elbows, for animated conversation, for the comfortable sprawl of good company.

But I caution you, dear reader, against the siren song of the oversized placemat. While grand in theory, it can overwhelm a table like a too-hearty handshake. Balance, that’s the ticket! A sense of proportion, of harmony between the practical and the aesthetically pleasing.

Ultimately, the size of your placemats, like the cut of your suit or the shine on your shoes, is a reflection of your own personal taste and discernment. Choose wisely, my friend, and may your table always be a haven of good food and even better company!