If you look to the Los Angeles County Fair’s annual tablescaping competition for a little place-setting inspiration, you may find, among other eccentricities, a giant handmade squid pressed against a floating submarine porthole, a fake urn for a fictitious dead cat, a dozen or so dolls and the endless glittering frills of tinsel.
I’m sorry, you were expecting the quiet drama of a seasonal floral arrangement? Maybe some muted tablecloths and tapered candles? These are not those kinds of tables. These are extravagant, excessive and technically precise set pieces that some contestants will spend all year designing and crafting.
“People think it’s trivial,” said Ava Tramer, a film and television writer who started competing in 2018. “But I take the idea of getting everything right and respecting the sport very seriously.”
Ms. Tramer’s first table theme was “Helen’s Birthday Party,” a study of a lonely cat lady whose party guests included her cats Princess Fishbone, Mr. Tinkles and Muffy 2. (If you looked carefully, you’d notice a fake urn holding Muffy 1.)
“As a creative person, it’s really fun because some of it is visual, and some of it is character and story,” Ms. Tramer said.
She didn’t place that year, though she did get engaged — Ms. Tramer’s boyfriend proposed as she was styling her cat tower. And her narrative approach and dedication to handmade elements has since helped her win ribbons.
The British designer David Hicks coined the term “tablescape” in the 1960s, describing it as “the discipline of selection.” Amateur table-setting competitions predate the term and they’re fixtures at state and county fairs across the country.
At the Los Angeles County Fair, where tablescaping is especially popular and over the top, the event has drawn crowds since the 1930s. Though the tables have evolved, a discipline of selection still drives each one.
Contestants commit wholeheartedly to an idea and are given four hours to assemble their visions in a frenzy of irons and steamers, snapping tape measures and safety pins, while the scent of Windex and hot glue fill the air.
Tips for your holiday table
Find your theme, commit to it.
Pick a color scheme of about two to four colors.
Use handmade items whenever possible.
No matter the décor, start with straight, even place settings.
Use cloth napkins; try a fun napkin fold.
Make sure people can see each other over the centerpieces!
When your table is finished, sit down at it; take it in from different angles.
Whether a table is holiday-themed and cluttered with glittering stars or crafted to resemble the surface of the moon, with papier-mâché aliens emerging from rocky craters, judges expect it to be set with spotless silverware and glassware. Contestants display their themed menus and though real food is prohibited on competition tables, each setting should anticipate its respective menu.
Tables are 40 by 60 inches and must be set for at least two people. Judging is strict, focusing on creativity, originality, use of color, correctness and presentation.
Scores are posted publicly for fairgoers to see as they walk around, and contestants often photograph them to study the judges’ notes later on. These can be brief (“inconsistent napkin pattern”), affirming (“love how the references are properly cited”) and occasionally haunting (“a dessert spoon would have been nice.”).
Ben Dewald, a judge who teaches at the Collins College of Hospitality Management, said he marvels each year at how contestants find new ways to outdo themselves. Based on the previous year’s top tables, microtrends will move through the tablescaping community. “It’s amazing,” he said, “People now decorate even the legs of the tables.”
He docks points for what might seem like obvious stuff: stained or crooked silverware, a wrinkled or unevenly placed tablecloth, an overachieving centerpiece that blocks the sightline between diners.
But even Mr. Dewald admitted that “correctness” can be debated, and that so much about a great tablescape is harder to quantify. “It’s easy to look and find out what’s not perfect,” he said. “But ‘best in show’ is the hardest thing to pick.”
Perfection is almost everything — a technically flawless tablescape doesn’t distract you with mistakes — but a truly great tablescape goes beyond that into squishier territory. It makes you feel something. It makes you giggle or gasp. It transmits delight and tells you something — maybe everything — about the person who set it.
Branden Boyer-White, a writer, grew up near Palm Springs, Calif., with a mother who didn’t cook, but hosted themed parties for holidays, birthdays and Girl Scout events. “The tablescaping around a Stouffer’s lasagna was insane,” Ms. Boyer-White said.
Every fall, the family went to the Los Angeles County Fair and Ms. Boyer-White was drawn to the tablescaping competition. “I’d dream about what I would do at my table and I’d try to get the other kids to talk about it with me, but nobody was biting.”
When she met Shannon Watters, a comic book editor and writer, they started dating and tablescaping became their joint project. This year, Ms. Watters and Ms. Boyer-White entered their “Murder Mystery Dinner Party” table, reminiscent of the Edward Gorey-illustrated introduction to the PBS Masterpiece series “Mystery!”
It was filled with line drawings, handmade characters that danced on the table and a tablecloth cross-stitched to look like inked wood grain. It wasn’t just a table, but an ephemeral shrine to the couple’s shared vision of beauty, whimsy and craft.
In times of uncertainty, it can be a relief to focus your attention on completely transforming a small space within your jurisdiction.
Courtney Carman, a psychologist exposed to vicarious trauma in her day to day work, started competitive tablescaping in 2017. “Tablescaping is a way to escape,” she said. “It’s a way to have this beautiful magical thing that you can control.”
When Ms. Carman was growing up, her family ate meals in front of the TV, except for special occasions or holidays. Now, her father helps her set up her competition table, and even if Ms. Carman is eating alone at home while watching a show, she sets a simple place for herself with a folded paper napkin.
On Thanksgiving, Ms. Carman will fill her holiday table with pumpkins and the pine cones she collects from around her home in Lake Arrowhead, Calif. She won’t starch the napkins and iron them so they’re practically crispy, as she does at the fair — too much! — but she will go through the trouble of folding every napkin.
“The tree shape is so easy and looks so cute,” she said. “It’s just one extra thing that will delight somebody.”
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