Summer Solstice Feast

The brief was a single long table that felt as if it had grown out of the orchard rather than been carried into it. We began with raw linen in an undyed oat tone, laid unironed so the light could catch its creases as the sun dropped.

Tableware was kept low and matte — hand-thrown stoneware, smoked glass, and antique silver collected over three seasons of sourcing. Runners of wild grasses and cream scabious were cut the same morning and left loose, never arranged.

As the light went, ninety beeswax tapers took over. Everything on the table was chosen to behave well in candlelight: nothing reflective, nothing bright, nothing that competed with the food.