In the same forest, by the very steadfast oak tree as was the birthplace of the now late deer, one can see a glimmering of golden chantarelles wishing to be picked.

Prelude — The First Violinist

You step into the chef's dining hall. The aroma around you is palpable. You reach in with your mighty trident. And as you bring it to your watering gates, the conductor signals for a climactic moment. Bon Appétit.

The First Movement — The String Section

That first bite, oh what heaven that first bite is. The wild venison, gushing out savoury juices as they mingle with the delicate fragrance of thyme and oregano in a seductive pas de deux; and that's when it hits you.

The Second Movement — The Brass Section

From the towering wall of your bowl, across the oak table, you spot the humble wood plate, populated with innocent sweet potatoes. You cut through their soft skin into their supple insides. In mere moments you have entered into a hypnosis of the senses -- a crescendo of separate elements coming together in an ode to the very maker himself.

This is no mere meat stew of vegetables and mycelia my dear reader - this is God speaking to us, through food!

The Third Movement — The Choir

Lingonberries. The most playful little lingonberries. Capriciously sprinkled on the bed of sautéed chantarelles and caramelized onions - arousing the golden cream - still whispering a suggestion of the wet moss where they were picked.

In a blissful daze - just as you're about to float away in the river of flavour - out of the clouds up high, through a hole in the ceiling, drips pure spring water. And with an elegant sound runs right into a basin of wood.

You fill your glass. As if blessed by the archangel Michael himself, you're moved by something greater. As the crystal touches your lips, as all things must end, everything vanishes.

And echoes softly into the beyond.