Word: feasting
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...convention. Such a celebration is well suited to an age when life has too often been stripped of drama, romance and the sense of limitless possibility. Says Rutgers Anthropologist Lionel Tiger (Men in Groups): "The convention is an effort, like the fair of old or the harvest feast, to generalize one's experience, to making something more meaningful...
Everything took on a grander scale then. At one feast, the Archbishop of York laid in 300 quarters of wheat, 300 tuns of ale, 100 tuns of wine, 104 oxen, 6 wild bulls, 1000 sheep, 304 calves, 304 piglets, 400 swans, 2000 geese, 1000 capons, 2000 pigs, 104 peacocks, over 13,000 other birds, 12 porpoises and seals and 13,000 dishes of jelly and all this was only for part of the meal...
...more courses, both larger than the first Richard's feast continued. It included delicacies likes cranes and pheasants, larks and an almond soup. It took all day to eat as dish after dish was scooped up with spoons and fingers. By sunset, the last goblets of wine were brought in and the guests left to make their peace with God and stomach...
...roasts and baked pies, nearly every dish was what my grandmother used to call hassenpfeffer--a mess, tossed together from mangled remnants of carcasses hidden underneath a spicy sauce that would ideally completely obscure the bastard origins (or incipient rot) of the ingredients heaped on the platter. The feast, rather than the ordinary run of the mill pigout, required hundreds of these "made" dishes, for which most valued praise the cook could receive was if the satisfied diner could not tell what had gone into the original concoction. At a feast given by Henry VIII in 1519, 260 such delightful...
...South Crews presents in his novels (Car, A Feast of Snakes, and The Gypsy's Curse, to name three of the better ones) is inventive, absurdist, existential, savagely funny--like a script by William Faulkner and Jean-Paul Sartre. Good books, some of those novels, but sometimes just too frustratingly weird. Crews also used to write a column called "Grits" for the pre-Felker Esquire, and the best of them stick in your memory like Georgia mud to your boots--an old, nearly-blind mule trader sagely discusses the art and artifices of a trade that is almost dead...