Legendary Feasts

The Last Supper

You don't have to read the New Testament to know about Jesus' final dinner — has any meal inspired more artistic representations? And has any been more somber? There's some debate over whether or not the Last Supper was indeed a Passover seder, but either way, any notion this feast in Jerusalem was going to be a joyous celebration was put to rest when Jesus announced to his disciples that one of them would betray him. Paintings, of course, aren't the only manifestation of the famous feast: the Eucharist commemorates the Last Supper, when Jesus purportedly blessed the bread and the wine at the table and said, "This is my body" and "This is my blood."

The First Thanksgiving

While there is strong evidence that the real first Thanksgiving occurred much earlier in other countries, as any grade-schooler can tell you, the one that matters was between the Pilgrims and Native Americans at Plymouth in 1621. The First Thanksgiving was a gathering between the English colonists and the Wampanoag Indians — the same natives who helped the Pilgrims cultivate the land and learn to fish, which saved them from starvation. While the Pilgrims meant to celebrate the holiday as a fast (not a feast) to give thanks, the Indians who joined in the three-day affair contributed their harvest celebration traditions, including dance, games and food. They likely ate fish, eels, shellfish, stews, vegetables, and yes, turkey. The meal formed the basis for a peace treaty that lasted between the two groups until King Philip's War in 1675, during which hundreds of colonists and thousands of natives lost their lives.

King Midas's Funeral Banquet

The life of King Midas, 8th century BC ruler of ancient Phrygia (in modern day Turkey), is full of myths and legends — not least that fable of a monarch who turned a few too many things (and people) into gold. But his death offered historians a real glimpse into the past or, more precisely, of dinner time. After excavating Midas's tomb in 1957, archaeologists discovered the remains of a vast meal, what was likely the king's funerary feast. Three giant 33-gallon cauldrons that likely bore a mixture of wine and mead were accompanied by 100 bronze cups — suggesting each guest drank at least a gallon of alcohol. The booze washed down what scientists and paleobotanists imagine was a glorious repast of goat stews, grilled lamb and hearty concoctions of pulses and lentils. Evidently they were so full that when the eating was done — and the dead king interred — no one bothered to do the dishes.

A Feast Fit for a Queen

It seems the quickest way to a queen's heart is through her stomach. In 1560, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, threw a large banquet in honor of Elizabeth I. Dudley, rumored to be Elizabeth's lover, had a feast prepared with 26 turkeys and pineapple — both exotic delights only recently introduced to England — 10 sheep, six herons, 48 ducks, 60 eggs, 41 dozen loaves of bread and 89 lbs. of butter, among other things, according to historical documents. And, for Elizabeth's sweet tooth — an addiction that would later turn her teeth black — there were cakes and other sweets that comprised 86 lbs. of sugar. Another feast, again thrown by Dudley in honor of the Queen, in 1575 reportedly lasted for 17 days.

Babette's Feast

This 1987 Danish film is set in late 19th century Denmark and depicts two sisters, Martine and Philippa, who have forgone lives of their own to stay and take care of their father, the founder of a small religious group. The sisters take on a woman, Babette, as a housekeeper and servant after she shows up at their door explaining that she was made a refugee during the Paris Commune in 1871. Babette works dutifully for her saviors and after the death of Martine and Philippa's father, the sisters decide to have a feast in his honor. Babette, having secretly won the lottery, begs them to allow her to take care of all of it so that she could show her immense gratitude. She spends her entire winnings on a feast that is depicted at great length — every slurp, bite, crunch and lip smack of gustatory delight.

Persia's 1672 Feast for the French Ambassador

When the French ambassador visited Persia in 1672, he and his entourage were given one of the great meals in all of history. First, a golden tablecloth was spread on the floor, and on it were several kinds of bread. They were then served a dozen basins of pilau or pilaf (generally a dish with rice and meat) as well as Pomegranate juice and Saffron. Four of the main entrees had 12 birds in the rice, and four others included a whole lamb each. The plates were so heavy that the diners needed help from porters to unload them. According to one account, each dish weighed 80 pounds, and just one could have satisfied everyone.

Feasting in Neverland

In 1991's Hook, Peter Pan (Robin Williams) is all grown up — too grown up. He has trouble fitting in with the Lost Boys when he returns to Neverland; having lost his inner Pan, he's initially not impressed with the "feast" the others devour. The plates appear empty to his aged eyes. "There's nothing here!" he exclaims. "Gandhi ate more than this!" But the only ingredient missing from the meal is Peter's imagination. When he gets carried away trading inventive insults and pretends to throw food, he finally sees the chow. A spectacular food fight ensues, and make-believe was never so delicious.

The Feasts in Redwall

Brian Jacques's Redwall series of books are much-beloved, but tend to follow somewhat repetitive story lines. A young mouse (we are, bear in mind, in a medieval world populated by furry woodland creatures) takes on a much bigger villainous rat, embarks on a well-intentioned quest only for the bad guys (or critters) to engage in some sort of devious subterfuge and imperil Redwall Abbey — the home of most of the books' protagonists. Said young mouse, like other mice before him, eventually rescues the situation and saves the Abbey and then, well, they have a feast. And what a feast! Candied chestnuts, beetroot pies, and cauldrons of hotroot soup jostle with trifles, cheeses, dishes of watershrimp and gloriously grilled fish (conveniently, among the few non-anthromorphic animals in the Redwall universe). These cozily earthy repasts are easily the highlight of each of Jacques's books.

Beefsteaks

The New Yorker formally called them New York State dinners in 1939. What started probably in the early 19th century was a tradition of bowling and fishing clubs, political machines, lodges and labor unions to cook giant pieces of meat and eat them in social settings — to the exclusion of women. The meat was sometimes sneaked from slaughterhouses along the East River into the local saloons where these groups held their meetings. By 1920, Suffragists had called enough attention to the slight to make the beefsteak bashes a two-gender affair. The events slowly disappeared from the New York scene, but have recently been revived in hipster enclaves in Brooklyn and parts of New Jersey as a nod to the old days when massive amounts of meat meant a grand ol' time.

How The Grinch Stole Christmas's Who-ville Feast

After the Grinch (you know, the creature with termites in his smile who hates everything and everybody, especially Christmas) is finally won over by the adorable Cindy Lou Who, he flies to Who-ville on his sled, loaded with the gifts he stole from them the night before. The Whos, meanwhile, love to feast. According to Dr. Seuss, they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! In return for their gifts, the Whos let the Grinch eat a mighty Who-ville meal with them, despite his theft of all the Who-pudding. And in the end, he brings back the toys and the food for the feast. And he, he himself, the Grinch carves the roast beast.