Music festival feasting


Outdoor music festivals are great. Especially for eating at. It’s not like the days of yore where you had to be content with a greasy salmonella burger and slimy ‘festi’ noodles, then sit for days on end on the loo while your body tried to figure out what you’d done to it. You can now eat organic wood-fired pizza, grilled halloumi and paella, darling. Usually without catching some revolting disease. What I love, though, is the total absence of order when it comes to shovelling in the food – there is no set pattern to the grazing. Three meals a day? More like 15!

For example, last weekend I went with N my hubby to The Secret Garden Party in Cambridgeshire. The mere fact of being outdoors made me totally ravenous. The music was a bit lacklustre, so I concentrated on the food. We were surrounded by temptation on all sides – in the space of one day I shovelled down a fried egg (organic) sandwich from Cafe Ooh La La, a mint choc chip sheep’s milk ice cream from Shepherd’s, a wonderfully aromatic thali from Gujurati Rasoi and…creme de la creme…a half rotisserie chicken and potatoes from Roaming Rotisserie. Bliss! It had that exact same crispy tangy herby skin that I remember from rotisserie chickens purchased on holidays to France, where the rich dark gravy spills out of the foil bag…mmm. There’s something a bit dirty about those rotisserie chickens. Don’t you think?

Anyway. As as I wandered around the fields in a state of disarray at 3am, I was even contemplating a cheese and spinach crepe…but drunkenness prevented me from actually sorting it out. But no matter: the following day had just as many food delights in store…including a sausage baguette that was the size of a baby’s arm – a bit horrorshow! But totally delicious.

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2 comments

  1. It's a market entirely based in the food-maths:Festi = stoned. Stoned = munchies. Munchies = "Gahhh! get me large scrummo thing with meat/chocolate/cheese immediately."I miss UK festies…Kev

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  2. At every music festival, I automatically gain six extra stomachs – constant hunger. But unlike you, Kev, I manage to do reach this state without magic ciggies!

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