Feast

• kateshrewsday

We’re a bit stuffed, here at Shrewsday Mansions. We have just had an intimate barbecue for five if you include the dog. Phil pilfered forest wood, we all packed rolls with burgers and salad. The dog watched a sausage at close range when it fell on the pavement, just long enough for it to cool, before bearing it off to his Special Place for further attention.

What a feast.

Food: that universal, emotive, maddening necessity of ours, is never more revealing than when we humans celebrate together. We use it to send signals about ourselves and our lives, our power and our priorities. We can gorge to excess or preach with studied culinary minimalism.

Let’s take excess first.

Take George: George Neville. A man of the cloth raised to life as a clergyman he was destined for great things. He was related, in some way, to many noble lines. This translated itself into ridiculously early advancement. At nine or ten he was given a canonry at Salisbury, and advancement continued in the same vein, including study at Balliol College, Oxford, until, in  1465, he was given the Archbishopric of York.

The scale of the feast to celebrate his accession was monumental, even viewed from the 21st century. The cooking pots used by the 62 cooks were so vast they needed ropes and pulleys to move them. The menu included six wild bulls, 400 peacocks and 1,000 egrets; porpoises and seals were served, as well as 2,000 hot custards.

The feast was so much more than the celebration of the inauguration of a holy man. This Archbishop operated in the heart of the Wars of the Roses. He was well-connected and incredibly wealthy: and this was a demonstration of the power and wealth of a man of influence, who just happened to style himself a man of God.

For power demonstrated by the very opposite of gluttony: a tightly regulated minimalist etiquette – we need only cast our eyes far, far away and long, long ago to the reign of a Chinese emperor.

Emperor Zhongzhu (943-961) was a man who watched his back carefully. He hired the most sublime court artist, Gu Hongzhong, and one day he took him aside and asked for, perhaps, a little more than his artist’s remit required.

“I am unsure of the loyalty of my chief minister”, the Emperor said. “Will you observe him for me, and paint scenes to show me his activities?”

The artist’s answer is self-evident: because here we sit, centuries later, looking at the scenes of life he painted. Take a look: the five scenes are strung together like a picture book: and the one which depicts a feast show orderly tables featuring sparse rows of small bowls and plates and jugs. Intricate, courtly, powerful in a civilisation where power is denoted by qualities of self-control.

And yet, still power is behind this feast, staged centuries ago and far from the shores on which I write.

Surely the best feasts are not about power at all.

Like Babette’s.

Her story runs like a fairy tale through our fingers. Karen Blixen enchanted us with the plains of Africa, but the writing of hers closest to my heart is the story which unfolds like a Grimm fairytale: and dispels the Grimness forever.

The place: Jutland, or Denmark to you and I. The time? 1885. Two old women act as loving pastors to the little village population. Once, they had been beauties but their father would not release them for marriage.

A former suitor sends a refugee to their door with a recommendation: she is fleeing from bloodshed in Paris: would the two old ladies take her as housekeeper?

For fourteen years she works with them until one day, she wins the lottery. 100,000 francs! Imagine: The passport to a new life!

But Babette does not want a new life. No: she wants to show her love and gratitude to the little group of people who have enfolded her in their midst.

The film which uses Blixen’s story, made in 1987 by Gabriel Axel, is every bit as inspired as the words on the page. The menu is sumptuous: turtle soup, buckwheat cakes with caviar; quail in puff pastry shell with foie gras and truffle sauce; Belgian chicory salad and dressing, and a selection of fine cheeses; rum sponge cake with figs and glaceed fruits. The wines are rare and gorgeous.

And as the guests eat they change: the food , and the experience of eating beautiful food, break down the old petty distrusts and rivalries and release old loves. A spirit of love and generosity has broken through in this puritan little village on the edge of nowhere. The film gradually introduces colours, warming these villagers with a feast so sumtuous, and so selfless.

A feast indeed. Devoid of power play and filled with artistry. Babette confides simply at the end that she has no money left: the feast took it all. But, cried one of the old women, you will be poor for the rest of your life now!

“An artist,” replies Babette,”is never poor.”

Written as a sideways response to Side View’s weekend theme “The best meal I ever cooked”. I slipped an ‘n’ just before ‘ever’. Babette’s was the best meal I never cooked.

35 thoughts on “Feast”

  1. Babette’s Feast. The movie is a feast for the senses. I first saw this a little over a year ago and couldn’t wait to share. Last week, while perusing the sale shelf at the library, there the book sat, for a pittance, waiting for me to bring it home.

    I just love the actual feast scene, where the guests have taken an oath not to enjoy the meal, for that would be sinful. The feast is amazing, and beautifully filmed, as you have indicated, and the gradual awakening of the guests is a feast itself. I always wanted to see this at the theatre, with a like-minded group to discuss it afterwards. I’ll imagine that this is happening here with your wonderful post.

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    1. Well, that’s a coincidence, Penny! I have just vowed to re-watch the film within the next 48 hours, can’t think how I have gone away from it for so long. It is, simply, a masterpiece.

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  2. Love this post, Kate.
    Especially Babette’s final words . . . an artist is never poor.

    BTW: I cheated too . . . in the same way, by the insertion of an “n” before “ever.” 😉

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  7. “Surely the best feasts are not about power at all” – you’ve said it, Kate. ‘Feast’ implies excess – excess of conviviality, laughter, love and light.

    ‘Babette’s Feast’ is one of my favourites

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  11. Interesting post. Just a word on the enthronement feast of Archbishop Nevill. You wrote: “The feast was so much more than the celebration of the inauguration of a holy man. This Archbishop operated in the heart of the Wars of the Roses. He was well-connected and incredibly wealthy: and this was a demonstration of the power and wealth of a man of influence, who just happened to style himself a man of God.”

    The new Archbishop’s brother, the earl of Warwick (who had more money than God), sponsored this feast – held over three days for around 2,000 guests. As a man of immense wealth, he was expected to spread it around. Seriously – it was expected. To keep that much money tied up in the hands of one man (or even one family) would have been seriously bad form. This was not just a celebration of an archbishop’s enthronement, but very much a family affair. Warwick was immensely proud of his brothers and spent a good deal of his money celebrating their achievements.

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    1. Gracious, nevillfeast, that’s a great insight to Neville’s Feast, and what a fund of information your site is on the subject!

      A family affair it most certainly was: and what a family…I wish I had had the time to delve in more detail into their position in the society of the time in the post. I’d venture to speculate that the money lavished by Warwick on the feast was not done on purely altruistic terms. I would love to see the guest list – perhaps you have access to it? – to divine the station in society of the guests. To which eschelons of society did Warwick and Neville choose to spread that wealth around? Babette’s Feast, her King’s Ransom, was for the poorest of the poor. I wonder if Neville and his brothers were concerned with promoting a dynasty.Thank you so much for your comment, and I’ll be over presently to read much more 🙂

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      1. I’ve got bits of the guest list for George’s feast – some pretty important people were there, including Edward IV’s brothers and at least one of his sisters. Sure, Warwick was also concerned with his position (and his family’s), but he did it mainly because he could. He was generous with the ‘poor’ as well. The leftovers from George’s feast would have been collected and distributed and Warwick’s open door policy (kitchen door, that is!) was well known. His household fed whoever turned up, pretty much. He spent his money on other, far less noble, pursuits as well…

  12. A feast in a post. I love it … and “Babette’s Feast” is one of my all-time fave. Thanks for a great Sunday a.m. read, Kate.

    Happy day … Hope the pup enjoyed his sausage …

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