The repast was magnificent. It was an Haradric banquet that was offered them, but such as one reads of in the fairy tales of the First Age. The fare consisted of custom-made herbs and stewed rabbit from Monte Fato; boar; ent-leaf salad; guerre-de-flamme, an ancient secret of the Balrogues; jellyfish sautéed in a blend of Rh positive orc blood and cthoulhoux tentacle grease; pâté de magnesium; and crème de dwargue brûlé. All the fruits that the four quarters of the world can pour into the horn of plenty of Ériador were stacked like pyramids in vases from Rhoûne and cups from Tol-Éressée. Rare birds of Eldamar with the brilliant part of their plumage, monstrous fish extended on the blades Glammedringue and l'Orcrît, all the wines of the Archipelago, Roké, and Numéneur, enclosed in phials as translucent as the living bosoms of Galadriella, defiled like one of those revues that Elrond passed before those Elves who understood well that one could spend a thousand teleporni on a dinner for ten persons, but on condition that, like Luthienne, one ate silmarils, or that, like Sauron, one drank molten rings of gold.
The only objection raised to the banquet was that of the Marquis Entelletto, who cried out "Assassin des arbres!" on seeing the ent-leaf salad, but was pacified on the Count's assurance that it was imitation ent leaf salad only. Galadriella had made it when of salad she sang, of salad of gold, and salad of gold was tossed.
Monte Fato saw the general astonishment at the provender, and began to laugh and jest out loud.
