We like the way they live

"We like Downton Abbey because we like the way they live." With those words, my mother-in-law (hereafter referred to as MIL) not only gave a good explanation for why the popular British series captivates so many viewers on this side of the pond, but also drew an apt parallel from the world of fiction that illustrates how our sort, who were raised to appreciate gracious living and the finer things, just like the fictional residents of Downton Abbey, prefer, or at least aspire, to live.

On Christmas Eve, my bride and I made the short trip to her mother's house for dinner and pleasant company. At dinner, conversation got around to how much we all enjoy Downton Abbey. An account of the evening's activities and a description of the setting in which this conversation transpired will show why MIL's acute explanation of the series's appeal resonates so with our sort.

We began the evening in the drawing room with glasses of fine champagne, celebrating the holiday and decompressing from its related stress and fatigue. From there, we moseyed into the family room to be able to continue interacting while MIL finished preparing dinner in the adjoining kitchen. After exchanging gifts, we made our way to MIL's small, but elegant, dining room. Her table is an early 19th century drop-leaf. To the side is a lovely inlaid sideboard, and to the other side is her china hutch, where she displays the china handed down to her from her grandmother and great-grandmother. The table was set with sterling flatware, gold-rimmed crystal, silver candelabra, and damask napkins. This is the way our sort have always done things.

As landed gentry, Lord Grantham and his family are free from the demands of regular jobs; they fill their days with leisure activities, charitable projects, and entertaining guests. They wear just the right clothing for every occasion, and take their meals in a splendid dining room with the finest china, crystal, and silverware, pairing each course with an appropriate wine. Sometimes, after dinner, the gentlemen adjourn to take a nip of brandy or cognac with a cigar before rejoining the ladies.

Although descended from landed gentry, our sort did not inherit the means to operate large manor-houses with a full staff, but they have managed to inherit, and bequeath, their aristocratic ancestors' legacy of gracious living, albeit on a smaller, more practical scale. We buy as much house as we can afford within our means, then furnish them with well-designed pieces that serve their purpose while making life more pleasant and enjoyable. My whole house could fit in the saloon at Downton Abbey, but I have furnished it with elegant, yet practical, antique or second-hand furniture. You would be hard-pressed to find a house among our sort with a matching suite of furniture, but somehow all the pieces magically work together to create a feeling of both sophistication and comfort. Like at Downton Abbey, most of the furniture was handed down through the family, the remainder bought at auctions or second-hand stores for less than a comparable new piece would cost. Our sort also take on do-it-yourself home improvement projects that make our homes more elegant while saving funds for other nice things. I have already installed an attractive faucet in my downstairs powder room (purchased on clearance) and have grand plans to install crown molding in every room. I have just acquired a three-dimensional brass coat of arms cheaply on eBay, to which I will affix my own armorial and display in my foyer.

A couple of generations ago, even middle-class people had at least a cook/maid; sadly, with the advent of minimum wages, 99% of Americans settle for a weekly visit from a cleaning lady or, more likely, no one at all, and manage everything themselves. Within that 99%, there are key differences in how our sort conduct an evening at home, and how the rest of the slovenly masses do so.

Picture, if you will, Mr. & Mrs. McTacky. Before leaving for work, they either cram down a bagel or Pop-Tart while rushing out the back door, or crouch at the kitchen table over a melamine bowl of cereal and take their coffee to the car in a "to-go" mug. In the evening, arriving home from their McJobs, they enter through the back door as if they were servants or deliverymen, and the first room they see is either the kitchen or an unsightly utility room. They head to the fridge and grab a can of soda or domestic beer and plop down on their La-Z-Boys for a bit before it's time to make dinner. While Mrs. McTacky cooks, Mr. McTacky gets to see, smell, and hear all the food preparation from his barcalounger in the "living area" thanks to the fact that the rooms in their modern home "flow" into each other and therefore lack any barriers between where they relax and where food is prepared and consumed. If the couple have children, they huddle around the kitchen table, possibly with a pile of mail and other junk shoved off to one side, with an unobstructed view of dirty cooking pans and the kids' hideous "artwork" displayed on the refrigerator door, and consume their repast off of ugly plates from Wal-Mart, either of melamine or heavy stoneware, with stainless steel forks, guzzling water from plastic tumblers. If there's dessert, it comes on either a disposable paper plate or worse, a paper napkin. It's likely that they own moderately priced fine china and stemware, received as wedding gifts, but keep them locked away in a cabinet to be used only for "special occasions," staying out of sight the other 360 or so days of the year. They may even have a fully-furnished dining room, but it, too, is only used for its intended purpose about 5 times a year, serving as a depository for mail or a place to sit and pay bills the rest of the year.

By contrast, Mr. & Mrs. Grace across town try to live up to the Crawleys' standards the best they can while making some concessions to practicality. They have a simple breakfast in the dining room  using their Wedgwood china and sterling silver, having filled their Wedgwood cups in the kitchen instead of fussing with the Wedgwood coffee pot. After a relaxing breakfast, they leave for work through the front door. After work, they come home through the front door, process the day's mail, prepare cocktails in real glasses, and catch the news or quietly read for a bit. Mr. Grace can enjoy a little peace and quiet while Mrs. Grace makes dinner out of sight. When dinner is ready, they and their children serve themselves off the stove, take their dinner on fine china to the dining room table, which the youngest would have already set with sterling flatware and cloth napkins, and sit down for a quiet, relaxing meal together, out of sight of the messy kitchen. Down the street, their child-free friends, who find it boring to sit at the table when it's just the two of them, take dinner in the den on their Royal Doulton with glasses of wine, setting up their wooden tray tables with place mats and sterling. They may have a little port or sherry with dessert, poured from crystal decanters kept on a silver tray, or maybe some decaf coffee. Later in the evening Mr. Grace might have a dram of cognac or brandy.

When it comes to hosting guests, without butlers, cooks, maids, and footmen, we can't serve the seven-course dinners that Lord and Lady Grantham host all the time, but in order to preserve the richness of those spectacular multi-course feasts of old, our sort use exquisite dinnerware to serve a soup or salad course, an entree with side items, and dessert, all paired with an appropriate wine. Entrees and side items are passed around in serving bowls in the same china pattern, and crystal water goblets are filled from a silver pitcher. After dinner, coffee is served from an heirloom silver coffee service that belonged to someone's great-grandmother. For lack of a butler, a coffee maker with a timer makes sure that a fresh batch is ready, when dinner is finished, to be poured into the silver pot, which stands on a tray on the kitchen counter with a full sugar bowl while the creamer sits in the fridge, and the coffee cups and spoons wait on the sideboard. Because we keep entertaining in mind while shopping for houses, and avoid houses whose rooms "flow" into each other, our guests won't have to watch the hostess dump coffee from the Krupps into the antique silver pot or see a stack of dirty plates festering in the sink while trying to enjoy dessert; nor will we adjourn to a "living area" while a table littered with used coffee cups and soiled napkins stands in full view. Cleanup happens after the guests have left or gone to bed.

As far as aspects of life not related to dining and entertaining, I make every effort up a gracious standard of living. I will not wear jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, or athletic shoes to work. My bride's childcare job calls for sturdy clothes, but she makes every effort to pick natural fiber articles that fit well, coordinate, and flatter her figure, and keeps herself well-groomed. We make sure to dress appropriately for all occasions such as shopping, dining out, and meeting friends or relatives. I keep our calling cards on my person when we're out and about, and use them as gift enclosures or for brief correspondence. This past New Year's Eve, we set out champagne for our friends in a silver chiller on a silver tray with four crystal champagne flutes. Lately, I've taken to enjoying an electronic cigar (which doesn't leave an odor) after dinner with a snifter of cognac or brandy. I think the Crawleys would nod with approval.