A Kinrowan Estate story: Breakfast for the Neverending Seesion players 

Raspberry divider

Oatmeal drizzled with cream, fat pork sausages sizzling with fat, eggs both simple and fancy, bread thick with butter and strawberry jam, scones with clotted cream, calves liver, bacon, lobscouse, crispbreads, tea, coffee, Turkish coffee…

At some point you stop playing and decide to get a breath of fresh air; there’re no windows in the Pub, you see, and, after Reynard goes to bed, the only light comes from the fireplace in winter after the candles burn down, guttering in brief spouts to smoke and dark, though he often leaves the gas lamps burning in other seasons — he used to try letting the musos sit and play in the dark, legend has it, but supposedly a few clumsy feet tripped somehow into the bar and several bottles were broken or at least emptied, so he started leaving lights.

Orange and grapefruit and cranberry and pomegranate juices, sausage patties steaming up fragrantly like a wish to the gods, sliced melons and fruit gleaming like jewels, mushrooms and onions sizzling in butter, buns and breads studded with berries and dusted with sugar…

You open the door, and, hey presto, there’s light. Damn. You’ve done it again, or perhaps rather the Neverending Session has done it for you again, you’ve gone and played through the night ’til the daylight, and now that you’ve seen the light of the sun creeping up into the sky, your body can’t make up its mind if it’s more tired or more hungry.

Crisp and golden potatoes, fried with onions and lots of pepper, omelettes stuffed with sour cream and spinach or asparagus or studded with bright squares of peppers, perfectly crisp toast ready to cut into soldiers to be dipped into that egg, and did I mention coffee?

Luckily, this is the Neverending Session, so this is Kinrowan Hall, and that means that any musician still able to stand and heigh themselves to the kitchen hall will find Mrs. Ware’s staff, crisply aproned and bright-eyed at an ungodly hour, serving a body all the breakfast it can eat before that body, now happily full, decides it’s had enough, and sleep becomes less of an option and more of a consequence…

Oatmeal drizzled with cream, fat pork sausages sizzling with fat, eggs both simple and fancy, bread thick with butter and strawberry jam, scones with clotted cream, calves liver, bacon, lobscouse, crispbreads, tea, coffee, Turkish coffee…

Raspberry divider

About Zina Lee

Zina Lee, Reviewer, is an Irish fiddler, writer, designer, and teacher (not necessarily in that order). "Career" is an excellent word for her working past; she has owned a landscaping company, designed and made wedding gowns, worked for lawyers, UPS as a delivery driver, several newspapers as a writer and editor, been a SAG/AFTRA actress, taught software, is an award-winning theatrical costumer, been a credit manager, a sales person, and a stage manager for an opera company, owns and runs several Web businesses, taught Irish stepdancing and makes Irish stepdancing solo dresses, among other things. Zina can't quite make out how a Chinese American woman ended up with her life built largely around the arts of a tiny island country thousands of miles away. Zina plays out at sessions around the globe and with Denver area Irish traditional music band Ask My Father, and can be reached by e-mail here. Slán!
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