What they ate: What to serve when abdicating

Can you imagine holding a throne, much less being the King of England and so on and so on and Defender of Faith and having to serve dinner before you rise at the table and hit the royals with a real zinger such as: I love this woman, cannot do anything without her, and consequently, I abdicate this throne?

But before you can go stepping aside you've got to toddle over to the captain and mention to him, rather nervously, no doubt as he is really the first to know, that you intend to give up your throne and would he please give a dinner party to that effect and thank you very much.

And then same sort of words to your secretary.

Then, after they pick their jaws up from the floor. And after the exchange of a number of anxious glances and much clearing of throats, they stand, straighten their trouser legs nervously, rub their necks (up which the worried prickly heat is climbing) and one says, I imagine, to the other, "Crikey! What the devil is the soup for that?"

And somehow, without a stitch of drama (because they are achingly British), they would arrive at this menu.

Clear turtle soup
Lobster mousse with light piquant sauce
Bordeaux wine
Roast pheasant
Potatoes souffle

Mixed green salad
Frozen fresh pineapple and toasted cheese savory
Coffee and Liqueurs

Without one stitch of theatrics and with no one at the private table any the wiser during this meal (including the woman whose presence will cause this event), a man, then a king, rises from his seat.

When he sits again, he will be, in spirit, but not yet in name, a Duke; Edward, once again.

Not long after, this document will be drafted and signed by Edward (King then Duke) and Albert, his brother, who would become King George VI, as well as their two younger brothers, Henry and George.

The following day, by official act of the Parliment, the abdication would be accepted and just like that, it is over.

This last family dinner is a smaller and more serious a meal than I would choose: It was mostly the immediate royal family and Wallis Simpson and the food is quite a fall-asleep-in-the-turtle-soup-bore, until, that is, someone jumps up and abdicates the throne and sends the demi-tasse flying.

But in light of the hour in human time some might say apropos: It is 1936. The world is just moments away from understanding a concept that will change everything forever: World War II is on the horizon though they do not know it yet for what it will be.

My vision is perfect (and unfairly critical: How many thrones have I leaped from, after all?) from here, I know many things they do not: I know, for instance, that fabulous, sparkling meals will be gone for many years. I know the couple will go to France and witness the war first-hand. I know that while they would remain socialites and royals to a point, the days of excess would be far off.

Knowing all that, I might have done it quite differently; this abdicating thing. I might have invited a few more people. I would try to remove the somber tone as I am in love and while the nation will be handed off to Albert and the royals take this matter with grave seriousness (as they should), I might have made it more of a celebration. And, you know, I would have served a great deal of champagne, at the very least.

And you, how would you abdicate the most powerful throne on earth?

Photo credits: highbeam.com, wikipedia.