On Saturday night we went to see the Fab Faux at Britt. The Fab Faux, in case you didn’t know, are known across the universe as one of the best Beatles tribute bands out there.
Our good friends Gary and Terry came down from Washington for the show (Gary’s in a Beatles band himself and likes to check out who’s doing what), and since the day-trippers had to travel that long and winding road, I volunteered to bring the dinner if they’d bring the wine.
I spent part of Friday planning a theme picnic dinner – you all know how much I love those. Any excuse, really. But I started to think through the possibilities and, well, what are we talking about here? A first course of oats, like the ones Doris got? Something to honor the Egg Man, or maybe Sergeant Pepper? I considered something from the octopus’s garden, but skip the pilchards from “I Am the Walrus.” There are some really unappetizing lyrics in that one. And what the heck is Uncle Albert’s butter pie, anyway? (even the Beatles weren’t sure: “butter pie? – the butter wouldn’t melt so I put it in the pie”)
So I put out a request for a little help from my friends on Facebook. Got some good ideas for a sheet cake topped with a strawberry field, a marshmallow pie (thanks, Hindey), a wild honey pie (Mandee), a coffee dessert - yes you know it’s good news (Steve). "Savoy Truffle" lists numerous other sweets as well. That would take care of dessert at any rate. And tea, always tea.
I almost went for some yellow submarine sandwiches (it’s that mean Mr. Mustard that gives them their color, you know) with some caramelized glass onions, but in the end it just didn’t come together. I wimped out and assembled some non-themed salads: orzo and green olive with pine nuts, watermelon with feta and mint, caprese, Mediterranean chicken with nicoise olives and green beans, cucumber and purslane from the garden. Along with some crusty baguettes it made for a pretty tasty picnic. Hey, maybe I’m a loser, but I feel fine.
It was a fantastic concert, by the way. We were on the lawn directly in front of the stage, where the audience was half the show: lots of aging fans (for many in the crowd, 64 is no longer something to plan for) singing along and dancing, having the best old time, and kids and grandkids right there with them (thank you Beatles Rock Band). I’ve got a feeling it’s the closest I’ll get to the boys from Liverpool in my life.
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