Penny-Wise

"That's right Sarah, you have to finish your glass," affirms Christian, laughing.

"Why?" I ask, watching the bubbles rising on the surface of the submerged penny and picturing the millions of germs effervescing into my drink.

"Because you were pennied," responds Christian, as if no further explanation is needed.

"Careful you don't swallow the penny!" Caitlin warns, giving me a big dimply smile.

The group around me watches as I finish off my glass of wine. It may be my imagination, but the wine tastes slightly dirty. I leave a thin layer at the bottom so that I do not accidentally swallow the penny. One student nudges his neighbor. "She just got pennied!"

After I retrieve the penny, Christian promptly fills my glass back up. Wanting to join in the game, I toss my penny into the glass of the student next to me. He just laughs.

"It doesn't count," says the other student.

"But you did it to me!" I say, casting Christian an accusatory look.

"The victim has to be holding her glass in the air," explains Caitlin before turning her attention to the silver platters being placed in the middle of each long table.

This is Formal Hall, a tradition at Mansfield College. Twice a semester, 50 students are allowed to sign up on a first-come first-serve basis for a special four-course, black-tie dinner. I had been in England for only two weeks before getting the opportunity to sign up for Formal Hall. I came to Oxford from my home university in Alabama in the spring of my junior year, not knowing if I would be able to meet the demands of such a prestigious school. I worried about the one-on-one meetings with my tutors, which make up the Oxford curriculum. I worried about leaving my friends and family for six months. I worried about fitting in. And tonight, I had worried about what to wear to Formal Hall.

This evening, I had entered the oak-paneled dining room as the sun set through the 10 windows that looked out onto the lawn (on which we are not allowed to walk). I passed through the rounded doorway and a woman wearing a crisp black and white uniform checked my name off of a list. I chose a place among my new friends at one of the four long banquet tables. All of the Oxford students were wearing sleeveless open robes that hung down to about mid-thigh; only a handful of the American students, mostly male, donned these academic robes.

After consulting with a few of my female friends before dinner, I had decided to skip the robe and wear a black cocktail dress instead. I remained standing while 12 robed professors entered from a different side door to their table at the head of the room. I recognized a couple of them from the large portraits lining the front wall. A gavel banged, and Caitlin read the Latin blessing in her thick Irish accent. After she finished, we all squeezed into the long benches, and my first Formal Hall began.

As we sat chatting about our various paper topics and the strange quirks of our professors, several women shuffled in and out of the dining room. They were young, mostly Czechoslovakian women wearing the same uniform as the woman who checked our names off at the door: a tuxedo shirt, adorned with a bow-tie, tucked into black pants with a vest buttoned over the shirt.

They set small bowls of yellow soup at each place setting. We took guesses as to what flavor the golden-hued soup would be. Butternut squash? Potato? Once everyone at the table had a bowl, we all began. The soup was carrot and coriander, common in England, but something I had never encountered before studying in Oxford. It was sweet, thick and creamy, with a slightly tart aftertaste.

After clearing away our bowls, the young blonde women brought out small plates of swordfish filets garnished with lemon and parsley. While I never would have considered swordfish an appetizer, the soft, buttery meat almost seemed to melt in my mouth.

It was during this appetizer course that people started fishing around in their pockets for pennies, biding their time for a chance to take advantage of an unsuspecting student. I didn't notice; I was too busy eating my swordfish—that is, until I was the first at my table to be ‘pennied.' As the empty plates were cleared away, several silver platters were placed in the middle of the table.

"I'll bet a pint they're roasted," says Mike.

"No. We had roasted last time. These will be fried," says Christian, lifting the lid to one of the silver platters.

I realize they are talking about what kind of potatoes lie under the cover. Mike wins; they are roasted. Apparently, some form of potato accompanies every meal at Mansfield. The platter beside the potatoes contains carrots and a green vegetable that someone calls courgettes, but it looks like zucchini to me.

I serve myself from the two central platters, decide that the mystery vegetable is indeed steamed zucchini, and then cut into my steak. The grilled steak sits on top of something. I take a bite and realize there is a layer of pate under the steak, and a thin steak-sized crouton beneath the pate. I don't normally consider myself a pate connoisseur -- fatty goose liver is not particularly appealing to me -- but the consistency blends wonderfully with the steak and crouton.

As we eat, the penny game accelerates. I have to drink several more glasses of wine before I learn to look around carefully before quickly snatching a sip. The game has a very specific strategy. It is most fun to penny the most unsuspecting people at the table. As per the rules, if one of the students refuses to finish his pennied glass, then the rest of the table ostracizes him.

Although my aim is lacking a little, I work on my strategy throughout the meal and succeed in pennying Christian once and Caitlin several times. Caitlin gives a shriek of surprise each time she is pennied, but she always finishes each pennied glass. The third time I penny her, she looks at me with heavy eyelids and smiles weakly. "Well, we taught you so I suppose we deserve it," she says, "but I believe we've created a bit of a monster!"

Following the main course, we are presented with ceramic bowls of filled with what appear to be chocolate brownies. Several pitchers of cream are placed in the center of the table. After watching several other students, I pour the cream onto the brownie. It is incredibly rich with a hard crust on top. Already bursting at the seams, I end up passing my dessert to another student sitting down the table from me and focus on guarding my wine glass.

Once we have all finished and all the plates are cleared, the professors file out and we follow them to the main hall, where two chocolate fountains and flutes of champagne stand on a table in front of the room. We sip champagne and dip strawberries into the fountain. I feel like a princess in some fairy tale ball. As I stand chatting with one Oxford student about his love for Dolly Parton, a penny flies from across the room, narrowly missing my glass. I hear Caitlin squeal. I dodge another penny, worrying that I might spill my champagne. I worry that I might run out of pennies. I worry that I might never stop laughing. But I can certainly stop worrying about fitting in.


Sarah Meginniss is a senior English major at The University of Alabama. She studied abroad spring semester of her junior year through Butler University's program in Oxford, England.