This trip always involves a visit to the grocery store first for provisions, so that we can have a quick lunch sur l'herbe before we have to head home. The baguette at the grocery store is pretty bleh, as you can see from Joodles' expression here.
Or maybe we're just spoiled because we haven't bought grocery store bed in such a very long time. Yay for St. John's having actual bakeries, here in the 21st century.
The landscaping at The Rooms is pretty lame, but there's a marvelous human-made rolling hill (it has some kind of meaning, but I'm not sure what). C-Bear had an excellent time rolling down it, just like Miss B used to do when she was his age. It made me a little misty, actually. All that stuff about them growing up too fast is so very true.
After all this, I decided that we should have another picnic for supper, since it's a sin to waste a beautiful St. John's evening. So I fried up some more chicken (I really don't make fried chicken very often, it's just that my mother-in-law keeps bringing club packs of chicken legs to our house, and what the heck else am I supposed to do with them?). And I made some caprese-type salad, with havarti, because I didn't have any bocconcini. Actually, I made individual salads in jars, because everyone on the internet keeps packing salads in jars and it looks so nice. I also made little peach and cherry cobblers in jars. Because that also looks nice. See?
Awaiting for their little biscuit hats.
All baked and blushing at the family picnic. Note jar of whipped cream in t background. Oh, yes.
Gone so soon? Oh, but you must come visit again, peach-cherry cobbler!
So yes. Salads in jars. Salad dressing in a jar. Mini-cobblers, and whipped cream in jars. Bread in a bag, but butter in a jar. Chicken in a glass casserole. A big jar of water for the grown-ups, and a little jar of water for Charlie-Bear (Joodles got to bring a sippy cup). What aesthetic pleasure! The napkins and the real cutlery and plates and all. Too bad the thing weighed a flipping ton. And, you see, this is the problem with packing a nice-looking picnic. You practically need a mule to bring it into the park for you. I think we forget that all the people lounging on the grass in those French paintings had attendants to drag their baskets around for them, and that the picnics in magazines are professionally styled. It's a good thing we found a spot close to the road, is all I'm saying.
It was a lovely picnic, though. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I expect I will. Except I think I'm done with fried chicken for a while.