Feast - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Aaron had indulged, eating more than he'd thought possible. He'd started on creamy nettle soup that felt warm in his belly, which he'd needed on a night as cold as last. When the bowl had been in front of him white wisps had etched themselves on the cold air, stretching out to caress his nostrils. It had been mossy green, with islands of orange floating through the broth. A handsome fish dish had followed. The servants had laid a silver platter in front of him on top of which sat a fleshy pink strip of trout, garnished with dashings of green herbs that Aaron didn’t know, but liked the taste of. The fish course was supplemented by a side plate of mussels. Their black shells lay open, the beige insides spilling out - sickening yet enticing. Aaron had never eaten them before, they felt horrible on his tongue, slippery and nasty, but they tasted pleasantly of the ocean without an overwhelming aroma of fish. After the seafood dishes had been cleared away, the servants had returned from the kitchen with the main meal; a full spit roasted pig, its skin a sizzling, mouth-watering golden brown, jaws prised around a forest green apple.
The two servants had harmonised their heavy breathing with the screeching wheels of the cart as they'd pushed the pig to be sat in front of the King. Cuts of the pork had been served with a refreshing apple sauce, easing the perfectly cooked meat down. It had been accompanied by potatoes that were diced up in a bowl with carrots, mushrooms and zucchini topped off with a healthy dash of pepper that stung the throat in the most pleasurable way. Then after the pork, had come the desserts, the servants placing a slice of a cherry torte on the table in front of him. The pastry had been light, both in texture and colour, with a thick dark brown crust, all of which contrasted with the beautiful cherry red sauce that poured out of it. The torte was topped by a thin layer of icing sugar as white as snow, but as sharp as salt.
But the real star is the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the walls. Everything you can think of, and things you have never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savoury fruit and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames.
Three benches that were dedicated to desserts had on them lemon tarts, rhubarb crème brûlée, orange blossom cakes, minted strawberries fresh from the garden, meringues so beautifully shaped it was a pity to eat them and apple strudels served with ice-cream. There were decadent chocolate bonbons that oozed rum cream on first bite. Drinks for the children ranged from orange juice to candy apple punch, whereas the grown-ups socialised around a waterfall wine chiller and champagne fountain that sparkled with flames.
Table tops layered with trays of the most delicious food and drinks lined the walls, delicacies capable of making one's mouth water: a whole roast deer with sprigs of rosemary threaded through its antlers and stuffed with bacon and rye bread, marinated Glenloth chicken, grilled trout with lemon, smoked sausages and a pineapple glazed ham, mounds of fragrant wild rice, potatoes and diced pumpkin smeared with butter and spices baked on hot stones, countless cheeses that went with baskets of crackers and bread rolls shaped as seashells, and all sorts of varieties of salads and side dishes. A tureen or two on each table contained either hot soup or hearty casserole.
Laid on the long oak table is an amount of food that on any other day would be expected to last several more. I crave the sensation of fullness and the richness year round. At the sight of the delicacies my mouth waters. There are pheasants and goose, a bowl or roasted root vegetables, creamy sauces with garden herbs and best of all there are fresh tomatoes. We haven't had them for a while, not since the virus that nearly wiped them out. It was fortunate that one old farmer had refused to grow the commercial varieties and stuck to the seeds his family had used for generations. The sight of them is a tonic. With the aroma of the food igniting memories we bow our heads and hold hands, then we thank God for this bountiful harvest, for each other and for the salvation he bestowed through Jesus Christ. After that we dig in with joy, piling plates and not minding our manners. Manners are not for feasts! And we talk, laugh, reminisce. Then between mouthfuls farther tells a tall tale...
It is a sign of the times I'm afraid. What now passes as a feast would have been a poor man's meal a generation ago. A feast is a larger portion of beans and something fresh, anything fresh. You have no idea the excitement an apple can bring. We keep all the old books and we read of how they lived. Every day there was fruit, vegetables and even baked goods. No-one really is sure what bread or cookies taste like, we lost the wheat fields a long time ago.
They sat before a feast! Three large pizza piled high with toppings, a box of pizza wings and a large bottle of full sugar pop. On the side were corn chips, every dip the store sold and a cake. A carrot cake. Sarah loved birthdays!