Aberdare’s refectory, being a rather nice turn-of-the-century high-ceilinged hall with much of its original woodwork still intact, plays host for various catered dinner events, sometimes quite formal. When this happens, they pull a wooden screen shut across the middle of the room. They host the event in the half closer to the foyer, and shuffle us through the servants’ entrance to dinner on the kitchen side.
The dishes that the Aberdare kitchen produces for these events can be quite beautiful. Tonight I saw some kind of berry tart rolling by on a trolley, and there appeared to be pork ribs and some kind of long fish fillet. It looked like something bound for Cavern Hole in Redwall.
Occasionally, we’re the beneficiaries of leftovers from these events. You can always tell when this happens because all of a sudden the side dishes for dinner are way too nice. This is how I learned that I don’t like mince pie, and also how I came to understand “truffle” outside of a chocolate context.
Tonight there was a trolley in our half of the dining hall loaded with trays of sandwiches. It was a little ambiguous whether these were meant for us. I walked into dinner about fifteen minutes late and right away could sense the subtle current of attention, the clandestine glances and licked lips. About halfway through dinner a girl finally sidled up to the trolley. When she moved out of the way again there was a gap in the sandwich arrangement.
This opened the floodgates. Pretty soon there was a steady, if furtive, stream of girls slinking over to this cart and back. Which is the story of how I ate six coronation chicken sandwiches for dinner (…so we got a little carried away…) and the Aberdare staff learned not to leave unlabeled carts in our line of sight.