Gourmet has forsaken me during these chilly months. Instead of the wintry alfresco tableaus I crave, I’m getting cauliflower with rye crumbs served atop chipped-paint, artfully aged dressers that may as well be straight from an Anthropologie catalog.
Luckily, some old British men threw a black-tie snowfall party in a fancy tent (they like calling these “marquees” over there—when my sister was describing her Welsh wedding I half-imagined her name in lights) for their hunting dining club and wrote about it for The Telegraph. Who knows why the taxidermied animals are wearing glasses, and I won't even ask about the paper crowns. Just add foie gras brûlé, black pudding and er, brambles, and you’ve got yourself a festivity.
I'll ignore the on-going marquee difficulties and skip to the paper crowns. They come in Christmas crackers. You know, the red and green wrapped parcels above their plates with a twizzle on each end. Two people pull on at the same time, like a wish bone. When it comes apart there is a small firecracker sound and inside there is always a paper crown, a very bad joke and usually a trinkety gift like a plastic ring. I imagine the gifts in that lot's crackers are more like diamond rings, as you can get super swish crackers from Harrod's, etc.
Posted by: Your sister | December 31, 2008 at 01:15 PM
My sister: Ha, I didn't know you were reading yes. Obviously, I'm still having problems with the marquee concept. I do know what you mean about the firecrackers--forgot that's where those paper crowns come from. A few Christmases ago, a coworker brought some to the office and my prize was this strange tiny cardboard My Melody on a bike. I still have it in my room.
Posted by: Krista | December 31, 2008 at 09:55 PM