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09:13 am: Seven Imaginary Feasts


The First Feast
The feast is held in a nautically-themed basement, somewhere in a distant and unedifying part of town. A reproduction of the last feast on the Titanic is served by a host of waiters in Pierre et Gilles sailor-boy costumes. As soon as the doors are closed, the noise of a tremendous rainstorm can be heard. A drip develops in the centre of the table. The first few courses are accompanied by the sounds of water trickling under the door.
By the third course, the floor is covered with a thin skim of water. The guests splash their way to the toilet, then back to their seats. The outside door is locked. By the fifth course, the waiters are wading through a foot of water, their sailor costumes damp and see-through. For the eighth course, the table is winched clear of the rising waters. The guests stand to eat their asparagus vinaigrette. By the tenth course, the guests must swim to recieve their peach and chartreuse jelly, delivered through a hatch in the ceiling.
The jelly is spiked with a powerful sleeping draught. The guests awake the next morning, alone, on a bare raft somewhere in the North Sea.

The Second Feast
The invitation states, wear masks. To avoid confusion, you are informed beforehand in a splendidly-typeset letter as to who of the others will be wearing which mask. The room has black, glassy-smooth reflective walls. Once the meal is served, it becomes apparent that nothing is what you expected it to be. The water is vodka. Eggs are served which have the white centrally, surrounded by a layer of yolk. A cake is brought in that is made entirely from meat; a game course sewed inside the skin of chicken legs; chocolates that are made from cheese. The final course is the facsimile of a full roast dinner in cake, marzipan and fondant.

At the end of the meal, the masks are removed. No-one is who you were told they were.

When you get home, the door of your house will be curiously ajar and small items will have been moved from their usual places.

The Third Feast
The third feast is held in a library. You are familiar with this library, but you were never aware of the room the feast is held in. It is behind a curiously nondescript door, which seems as though it might lead to a broom cupboard but in fact leads to a high-ceilinged gallery filled with all manner of obscure volumes. The head librarian meets you there, carrying a tray of magnetic letters. The letter you choose determines the meal that is served to you.
One might choose P and be led to a purple parlour, where peacock pate, partridge with pickled pear and pomegranates would be served; or A, and be led to an alcove in which waiters dressed as angels would offer asparagus, artichokes, andouillettes and amaretto. Those who choose X are strapped to a cruciform frame and spoon-fed a limp cross of xanthan gum. The unlucky few who choose Z are fed zebra steaks laced with opium, and sleep for the majority of the meal.
The next morning, the guests find a letter tattooed, discreetly, in the crook of their arm; but it is not always the letter they chose.

The Fourth Feast
The fourth feast is held in the room at the top of a tower, in a circular room with chequerboard windows of red and white stained glass. When the guests have taken their places at the round table, the ladder is drawn away and they are shut in.
After some time waiting, it becomes apparent that the cutlery is only a crude facsimile, and is in fact silver-painted biscuit and quite edible. The table decorations are inflatable and pressurised by soup. Shortly after this, the guests realise that the plates are fake, too; they form the second course. A valve is found whereby the windows can be drained of their central layers of red and white wine to reveal clear glass and the surrounding forest. A layer peels off the table to reveal the third course, and by deconstructing their chairs they are able to extract the fourth, which is hidden in the legs like marrow in bones.
By now it is well past midnight, and still no-one comes. Inspecting the walls, the guests find that some bricks can be removed. These bricks are chocolate-framed replicas, containing splendid puddings. The holes left by their absence form a ladder, by which they can descend the tower and go home.

The Fifth Feast
The first course is a food course. The second course is a sex course. They alternate in quick succession, until no-one can quite remember what they are supposed to be doing with their hands and mouths.

The Sixth Feast
The sixth feast is a replica of the funeral feast of King Midas. It is held in a remote country house, lit by dim lamps and perfumed with incense; a greek orthodox choir can be heard at times throughout the proceedings, although they are never seen. The black-clad waiters are hired magicians, sleight-of-hand artists and illusionists. Throughout the meal, they stealthily replace the items in the hall by exact replicas in pure gold, beginning subtly (table decorations, door handles, strolling peacocks) and ending with the cutlery as the guests are using it to eat dessert. As a finale, the waiters line up to pull the tablecloth out from under its contents. The guests laugh drunkenly over their honey wine, expecting a golden table; but instead the house disappears, and they are left, bereft of riches, on a low hill in the dim light of early sunrise.

The Seventh Feast
Jaded and tired, the guests meet on a ship in international waters. After making certain preparations, they secretly draw straws and then retire to their cabins. Later that evening, avatars of each guest meet at a virtual-reality table, where they share their thoughts on the splendid meal that is being served to each, individually, in separate parts of the ship. The guests know that one of their number is not real, but is instead an AI which has been supplied with certain knowledge about that person. The missing person forms the prime ingredient in the banquet they are eating.

Nostalgic for their first feast, they later sink the boat.


Comments

From:gobserver
Date:June 16th, 2010 09:47 am (UTC)
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Three with a smattering of five please.
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From:lnr
Date:June 16th, 2010 10:51 am (UTC)
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This is by turns bizarrely wonderful and bizarrely freaky :) I find myself wondering who the participants are. Really loved reading it. Even if I'm still shuddering a bit at the last one.
From:(Anonymous)
Date:June 16th, 2010 12:00 pm (UTC)
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Komehyoで、いくらまで値切れるか、楽しみね。
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From:perlmonger
Date:June 16th, 2010 02:02 pm (UTC)
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I love your mind.

I'm perhaps a little worried about it but, still, I love it.
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From:splendorsine
Date:June 16th, 2010 03:36 pm (UTC)
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I think one of these feasts is REAL and you have just surrounded it with six imaginary ones to throw us off the scent.
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From:gnimmel
Date:June 16th, 2010 03:39 pm (UTC)
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Actually this is more or less true. :)
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From:yvesilena
Date:June 16th, 2010 04:18 pm (UTC)
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This is absolutely awesome.
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From:randomchris
Date:June 16th, 2010 05:11 pm (UTC)
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I'm not sure if this should go to a publisher, or to Heston Blumenthal as a job application.
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From:ceb
Date:June 16th, 2010 05:44 pm (UTC)
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Beautiful :-)
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From:caprine
Date:June 16th, 2010 05:57 pm (UTC)
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This is utterly amazing.
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From:hairyears
Date:June 16th, 2010 09:04 pm (UTC)
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I read 'Feast' in the heading and thought: 'Yay! Bacon Butty!'

I think I need to get out more.
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From:smhwpf
Date:June 16th, 2010 09:04 pm (UTC)
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That is absolutely wonderful.

Definitely graphic novel potential there.

You so need to be published. (If you want, that is).
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From:caprine
Date:June 21st, 2010 07:01 am (UTC)
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May I have permission to repost this, with attribution, at <a href="http://www.weird-proof.org>the Weird Proof blog</a>? I really want the rest of my writers' group to read it.
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From:gnimmel
Date:June 21st, 2010 07:10 am (UTC)
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Sure, go ahead.
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From:pinkdormouse
Date:June 21st, 2010 09:27 pm (UTC)
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I love those.
From:(Anonymous)
Date:January 12th, 2011 06:08 pm (UTC)

re:

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why not:)
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