
There is a certain kind of picnic that sounds lovely and rarely happens: the one requiring a cool box, a folding table, three salads in matching bowls and a two-hour drive. The picnics people actually remember tend to be the ones cobbled together on a Saturday morning — a blanket pulled from the boot of the car, sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper, a handful of apricots, and a flask of tea. The food matters far less than the decision to go outside and sit down for an hour.
What follows is a practical framework rather than a recipe book. The aim is to get you from "we should do this sometime" to sitting under a tree by early afternoon, with everything you need and nothing you will resent carrying back to the car.
Think in five categories and the packing sorts itself out. Anything that does not fall into one of them is probably optional.
That is a complete picnic. The bunting, the wicker hamper and the cold roast chicken are decoration, and mostly for photographs.
The enemy of a good picnic sandwich is moisture arriving in the wrong place. Butter both slices of bread before anything else goes on; it forms a barrier and stops the bread turning soggy. Keep tomatoes, cucumber and pickle in a separate small tub and add them once you are sitting down.
Reliable fillings include:
Wrap each one in greaseproof paper and then tuck them into a reusable tub. Wrapping individually means nobody has to share, and nothing gets squashed under the flask. If you are travelling more than half an hour, make the sandwiches the night before and refrigerate them — they will be fine, and the morning will be calmer.
Everything should fit into one bag or basket that you can carry comfortably for ten minutes. If it needs two people and a trolley, you have overpacked.
Shade first, and remember that shade moves. A tree on the eastern edge of a field will be in shadow in the early afternoon; by five o'clock you may be sitting in full sun with your back to the trunk. Sit with your back against the tree if you can — it is more comfortable than leaning on an elbow, and it keeps your plate level.
Before you settle, do a slow circuit of the patch you have chosen. Check for ant nests, glass, dog mess and low-hanging branches. A gentle slope is fine, but a steep one means you will spend the whole meal sliding your flask back into place. If it is breezy, the lee side of a hedge is worth the extra fifty yards of walking.
For the best spots, think local rather than famous. A village recreation ground, the meadow behind the church, a local nature reserve, or the corner of a country park that everyone walks past on the way to the car park. Many parks have rules worth checking before you go — no barbecues, dogs on leads near livestock, that sort of thing — and a quick look at the noticeboard at the entrance saves embarrassment later.
Eat slowly and in stages: savoury first, a walk or a game of something, then fruit and whatever sweet thing you brought. It stretches the afternoon and stops the post-lunch slump arriving too early. Keep the flask closed between pours and the food covered as much as possible — wasps are persistent in late summer, and a plate left uncovered will attract them within minutes.
When you leave, shake the blanket well away from where you sat, gather every crumb and every crust, and check the grass around you for things that rolled. Leave the spot looking as though nobody had been there, which is the only real rule of a good picnic.
The rest is simply weather and inclination. Keep the basket by the door, keep the blanket in the boot, and the next warm afternoon will take care of itself.
Hi, my name is Anthony kuber. I am artist and fashion designer.
I love to travel and writing blogging.
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