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.
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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.