dining room - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
It was a grand space, to say the least. The huge mahogany table took up most of the vast space the dark, romantic room offered, left without a tablecloth and daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine with their unworthy fingerprints. Two tall, silver candelabras commanded attention from the center of the table, holding smooth white candles whose wax never dripped.
It had once been an impressive dining-room but years of neglect had taken its toll. The table was long and solid wood. It was made of railway sleepers that had been stolen in the dead of night, then sanded and polished to hide their origins. It stood like some medieval banqueting table in the middle of the room. The once crisp golden wallpaper was torn in places. On the walls were gilded mirrors but the frames were dusty and the light that shone off them showed years of flecks of dirt and food that was never polished off. The floor at first glance appeared to be mud, but it was made of large terracotta flagstones covered in years of grime. Above the table hung an old wrought iron candelabra with several black-wicked candles in it burnt to stumps.
The dining-room was exquisite. The walls were covered with a shimmering gold paper and in the middle of the ceiling above the carved oak table was a candelabra. Down the center of the table was a runner with Celtic design woven in gold and green into the fabric itself. At the end of the table were floor to ceiling french doors, left slightly ajar to let in the scented summer air. The polished silver cutlery was heavy to the hand and shone brightly in the early evening light. At each place stood a tall empty wine glass and there were beautifully folded napkins to match the runner. All that was missing was the food and the guests.
Calling it a dining-room was somewhat misleading. It was a room. They ate in it. That was all. In it stood a cheap ikea table that rocked when you leant on it, two old white chairs from the thrift store and a pair of thread-bare orange curtains that let the heat escape in winter as easily as if they were not there at all. The light bulb in the center of the room was bare and hung down on it's white wire, adding to the meager ambiance of the room. It was the kind of room you ate Kraft dinner in washed down with own-brand pop.
Dinner sounded at last--at eight o'clock, or something after. He had to learn to expect the meals always forty minutes late. Down he went, down the long, dark, lonely corridors and staircases. The dining room was right downstairs. But he had a little table to himself near the door, the elderly women were at some little distance. The only other men were Agostmo, the unshapely waiter, and an Italian duke, with wife and child and nurse, the family sitting all together at a table halfway down the room, and utterly pre-occupied with a little yellow dog.
The dining room was elegant in a minimalist sort of way, yet still echoed the natural world outside the manor. The table dominated the space, an elongated ellipse of oak with the raw bark at the edges. The tree had been a victim of a violent storm a few years back, upended root ball and all. The chairs had come from the same tree, each one beautiful in its simplicity, all clean straight lines and high backs. The floor beneath it all was slate and with the cream walls and tall mullioned windows it was a fine place for the evening meal.
The dining room proportions were meaner than the food. The table for six had been squeezed in, the gouges in the drywall baring testimony to the difficulty in getting into and out of a chair. Ray looked at the food. None of it good and the portion tiny. His mind wandered to the money in his pocket. He'd meant to save it for a rainy day but perhaps his rumbling stomach was reason enough.
The dining room was more of a mess hall. The tables allowed for small groups to sit together and comfort was an afterthought. On each chair was a thin square of foam, likely from old sleeping mats too thin to be of use. The walls were bare concrete and the windows were perspex screwed on with chunky bolts. But for all the lack of luxury there was no shortage of ambience; just being together was the treat. The food was hot, tasty and plentiful. On every face was a smile and the volume rose with chatter and laughter. After that night it was called "The King's Dining Room," for each one of them, man and woman, left feeling like royalty.