Late mornings are a wonderful time for eating al fresco, especially when it's bright and balmy outside. Of all the manners of outdoor munching, it is the picnic I have chosen to negotiate. The title for this chapter came before the idea. It is a lyric from a folky tune, Louisiana by Cerys Matthews, which bring to mind vivid images of summer gardens. If you know the rest of the lyrics, you'll appreciate the irony.
I know picnicking is not a popular practice and I have no intention to campaign with wicker baskets and ice boxes. Much as I enjoy the idea of communing with nature - the euphemism for unrolling a mat and spilling a cornucopia all over it - it is the concept that is paramount. The concept of well-behaved, portable food eaten as languorously as it had been prepared. The concept of no utensils. The concept of the lack of decorum.
This makes a breezy, light picnic brunch for 6! Don't forget the bread and wine.
'Whose to say we might wander in the trees and shimmer under canopies of autumn's rich kaleidoscope of gold and ruby'
