I find it hard to write objectively about something like a wedding. Leaving out the personal pictures and names, here I go:
Saturday I went to a wedding at Hart House chapel, University of Toronto. There was seating for about twenty-five people in the chapel, dominated by post-war murals and stained glass. A table, topped with a sculpted crucifix, formed an altar, lit by glass cylanders wrapped in textured papers.
The ceremony was moving, particularly since it was officiated by a close friend of the bride and groom. She said true love is not as hard to find as some say. If cynics call it a myth so be it. Real love is mythical in proportion, a sustaining story of our culture. She also used Maya Angelou for one of her readings. After the ceremony, we adjourned into the bar but I just had to sneak a peek into the dining hall first.
Distracted by the Alice-in-Wonderland confection of tilting pastry and cup cakes that was the wedding cake, I stepped into midair and landed on my feet -- barely. When a concerned gentleman asked if I was okay, I said "of course," like an embarassed feline, trying to maintain dignity after a stumble. I swear it was before I’d had a drink.
The bar displayed the Hart House viol collection, instruments dating from the 1600 and 1700s, topped with carved heads. My favorite was a gargoyle but there was also an assortment of pretty girls' heads, plus a bearded man so realistic he might have stepped out of the Renaissance. Too bad he landed on a violin;-)
There was much champagne between the ceremony and the dinner. Mmmmm, champagne! Dinner was spectacular: haute cuisine but with enough courses that we felt stuffed at the end. We started with a creamy squash soup, followed by a tiny cheese soufflé I won’t soon forget – and I’m not much of a foodie.
My favorite was the crème brulé au sirop d’érable (maple syrup, eh). The chicken was great too. Poussin farci à la bla bla bla. Basically it was herbed baby chicken with delicious wild shoots. My husband had the beef medallions in a red wine sauce, melt-in-your mouth good.
After attending U of T and misspending my youth studying at Hart House when I should have been partying, it was interesting to sit in a spot I’d never frequented. From the dining room, which overlooked the Great Hall, it was possible to look through the open windows and imagine that the stained glass windows in the stucco and stone walls opposite gave onto a narrow Spanish street below . There were even strings of blue lights strung across the space below as if to light up some popular festival.