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They're offering feasts fit for a king

By David Shaw And Norman Smith

(BOAC Supplement—Advertisement)

Now we know how Henry VIII and his well-heeled contemporaries felt when they sat down to dinner . . entertained by lute and song and served mountains of food and free-flowing wine by comely maidens.

Embark on a gastronomic ven ture to Chilham Castle, near Canter bury, Kent, and you step back 400 years, give or take a century or two, to the dolce vita of medieval times; feasting on boar’s head and venison and supping mead—“the drink of the kings”. It is a memorable trip.

Medieval banquets are held at the castle two or three times a week to give tourists and visitors the chance to live in regal fashion for a reason able outlay.

The banquets (£6.60 a head from April next; cheaper at the moment) were started at this old English cas tle three years ago as the brainchild of businessman Alex Jardine. And where better to eat and drink your fill of royal fare than in a majestic fortress marinated in history.

The banqueting hall has eight-foot thick walls covered in armour and weapons. Oaken tables support the food and benches clad in sheepskin support the guests.

As the players of lute and singers of song strike up their dulcet tones the diners are bebibbed by the velvet dad wenches, and then comes the highly succulent First Remove.

Thick white candles in wrought iron holders reflect on the glistening trout, fresh caught, we are told, from sparkling waters only hours before.

Steeped in white wine and fine herbs, the fish lies tempting on a bed of cress and lush lettuce on a earthen ware platter.

Trout disposed of, the Second Re move appears; terrine of boar’s head in brandy wine and gar nished with parsley and greener-than green herbs. It’s a distinguished flavour, and one to be enjoyed with the nut-brown, locally baked bread on hand in plenty.

The main course is venison—dark,

rich meat usually taken from the 700-strong herd of fallow deer which roam Chilham’s ample grounds. Spit roasted with a whisper of wood smoke, this regal dish is accompanied by crab apple sauce and thumbpots of blood-red Burgundy supplement ing the ever-flowing honey-based mead.

The Third Remove comes in two parts, the first a real confectioner’s delight; apple de Lucy, an apple, honey and cream concoction named after a former owner of the castle, Fulbert de Lucy.

With the minstrels—the Mad Maudlin—maintaining the musique with “Greensleeves” and other yes teryear hits of that ilk, the banquet rounds off with syllabubs, a smooth recipe of snow-white cream and sweet sherry. A touch of sorcery in that one.

The Chilham extravaganza was enough to evoke sentiment in Aus tralian Ken Hitchcock, from Perth: “Australians are just as much fas cinated by history as the Americans

—and this place is just captivating to people like me,” he said. “I have some relatives coming over to Eng land later this year, so Chilham Castle and its banquets will go on their itinerary—that’s for sure.”

The castle within whose walls these medieval blow-outs are held is of great interest to the history-consc ious and lovers of tradition. It was here that Julius Caesar trounced the Britons to introduce a breath of civil isation and it was here that he foun ded the beginning of Chilham’s fortress heritage.

The walls of part of the keep bear graffiti witness to guests gone by.

Some signatures dating back to 1610 are claimed to be genuine—but one somehow doubts the engraving “J.

Caesar”!

Many of history’s big names have owned or stayed at Chilham at some time. The aforementioned King Henry regarded Chilham as one of his favourite hunting haunts.

Now the castle is the family home of Viscount Massereene and Ferrard,

and stands sentinel over the sleeping, quaint village with its square of half timbered homes, shops and inns.

One of the banquet’s serving “wen ches” is Elizabeth Fay who comes to the functions as often as she can, sometimes three times a week.

“I don’t just see it as a job. Jt’s a pleasant evening out as well,” she says. “I don’t think any of us ever gets tired of coming here. Every party of people is different, every atmosphere enchanting”.

Though she did say that the en chanting atmosphere has been known to get a little hazy from the con vivial effects of that honey-sweet mead.

Alex Jardine, looking somewhat incongruous in his dinner suit and black bow tie, took a break from pouring out history to wide-eyed visitors. “As far as possible all the food is Kentish,” he says, “our Gar den of England apples, venison from our own fallow deer supplemented by meat from other reserves, and even the white wine which is blended with the mead is from vineyards near Dover,”

Satiated, it is hoped, with good food and history, the Chilham guests wheel away to a somewhat ironic note —not the musique of the jolly minstrels, but that of the castles Dungeon Bar disco, where liquid spirits now share the accommodation with the spirits of former residents, who sojourned there in less rhy thmical times.

Ah we u—even in this historic spot, progress, it seems has to catch up somewhere. And we’re not purists.