I read the other day that sharing meals, the act of eating together releases the hormone oxytocin. For thousands of years families, lovers and communities have bonded over sharing food, from the Sunday roast to the Harvest Festival and the Wedding Feast.
recent Missoni nuptials: a heels off feel good factor.
I love the ample ceremony of it, the feeling of ancient rites weaving their way down through the generations as we tear the bread and pass the
butter wine. Food is something that can be transformed from fuel into the sublime, etched into our memories.
So ‘sharing the love’ from BC to New Age, via rural idylls, cosy fireside and urban trough. Let’s eat.
after that there’s the table
I might consider changing my name to Mary to dine with John Derian …
during these summer evenings, fresh and vibrant feels good, in fact, think I might have to get that tiered-wotsit – for sharing, sharing, sharing.
Indoors, ancient polished farm house tables whisper of carved ham and orchard apples…
or maybe artichokes? Shared… the thrill of reaching the heart, the glorious mess, the finger licking.
I have never attempted oysters, but I should:
the point is an idyllic setting, an inviting table, raises the spirits even before you take your seat.
I would suffice with talking to my neighbour here.
make daisy chains…
oh I can’t join Reg and the boys, alright MAKE the tea. To be at the table.
At home, I must admit I love that twilight moment before guests arrive, when the work is done, and you lay the table.
whatever you choose
or pared back simplicity
be it breakfast
or a candlelit feast (complete)
And relax, because that’s the thing, it should feel effortless and son no. 1 looks happy enough
and I like the idea that as the plate is finished, the love is spread.
Invites in the post.