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Eight long trestle tables had been laid in a sprawling octagon, covered in the finest white linen, overlaid with pastel hued mats of woven rushes. Intricate flower arrangements trailed night-scented stock, roses, pansies, kingcups, jasmine, lupins and ferns at the junction of each table. Places were set out and named in neatly printed small scrolls, each of which doubled as a napkin. Bowls of hot scented flower waters steamed fragrantly, awaiting the advent of sticky paws. There was no top table or concession to rank, and the humblest sat alongside the greatest. Everything was perfect, except for the food...
That was beyond mere words.
Salads of twelve different types, ranging from beetroot to radish, right through many varieties of lettuce and including fennel, dandelion, tomato, young onion, carrot, leek, com - every sort of vegetable imaginable, cut, shredded, diced or whole. These were backed up with the cheeses, arranged in wedge patterns of red, yellow and white, studded with nuts, herbs and apple. Loaves were everywhere, small brown cobs with seeds on top, long white batons with glazed crusts, early harvest loaves shaped like comstooks, teabread, nutbread, spicebread and soft flowerbread for infants. The drinks were set out in pitchers and ewers, some in open bowls with floating mint leaves, October ale, fresh milk, blackcurrant wine, strawberry cordial, nutbrown beer, raspberry fizz, elderberry wine, damson juice, herb tea and cold cider.
Then there were the cakes, tarts, jellies and sweets. Raspberry muffins, blueberry scones, redcurrant jelly, fruitcake, iced cake, shortbread biscuits, almond wafers, fresh cream, sweet cream, whipped cream, pouring cream, honeyed cream, custardy cream, Mallows bell tower pudding, Mrs. Lusamines six-layer trifle. Burnett's gatehouse gateau. Pikarla's sweetmeadow custard with honeyglazed pears, Ulu's wildgrape woodland pie with quince and hazelnut sauce.
