by Natalie Harris-Spencer

Your waiter or waitress is now your “server,” a squirmy word for you that’s uncomfortably close to servant.

Starters are “apps.” Mains are “entrées.” Puddings are “desserts.” Brunch is a long, drunk-in-the-daytime affair and “tea” is a piss-weak blend of stale flowers rather than the time of day you’re used to.

You can sometimes whip out your own wine in the restaurants which will make you somehow classier. Even though said wine comes from a brown paper bag. They’ll even serve it for you. Living.

Never say “Please may I have…” reminiscent of Oliver Twist. Instead bombastically announce: “I’m going TO DO the steak or lobster or other enormous miscellaneous protein.” That’s correct. “I’m going to do.” As in, you’re about to have sex with your food.

Listen, rapt, to the specials. Nod. Make yummy noises.

When your server squeals “OH MY GOD WHERE ARE YOU FROM I LOVE YOUR ACCENT” just keep calm, mutter something about Princess Diana, and carry on.

Your portion size is not a mistake.

Yes, that “side” salad and soup are just for you, in addition to everything else.

Politely embrace the fact that the Italian “arugula” is used instead of the French “roquette,” but that it’s topped with shaved “parmeshaaan” instead of your unusually uncouth pronunciation, “parmesan.”

If you pronounce the T in Tomato and rhyme it with fart your accent will be widely fetishized.

Embrace the candied bacon and sticky ribs and Nutella nachos (not crisps). Sweet and salty are apparently natural bedfellows. Never question this.

“Coriander” actually means the seed. “Cilantro” is the leaf. Don’t be surprised to see this leaf in everything.

NEVER order fish and chips.

You can substitute anything for literally anything else, especially if that something else is crispy, greasy or deep-fried. Add an egg here. A few extra chicken “wangs” there. Chuck a doughnut into your ice cream sundae if you feel like it. This is America.

Asking for “hot sauce” is mandatory. Food is never spicy enough, possibly for fear of legal action.

When asked if you want something “wrapped,” always say yes, even if it’s just sauce or a single carrot. Not to do so would be a great insult to the chef and the great American culinary institution in general.

Ask your unnaturally chummy server for the “check,” not “bill”. Failing this, use international sign language and wiggle an invisible pen in the air.

Dwell in horror at the fact that you’re expected to do mental arithmetic at the table to work out your wildly varying 15-30% tip, then hand-write the probably wrong amount. Still, always tip far more generously than you would back home.

Maintain a professional relationship with your server. Be thoroughly British about the whole thing. Don’t over engage. Don’t be surprised when their attention wanes when you get up to leave. Their work here is done.

Take your un-environmentally friendly “Have a nice day” bag home with you where it will be left in the fridge and widely ignored. Still, #value.

Repeat ritual over and over again several times a week because food in America is so bloody delicious.