Fox in the Snow
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.