Maple syrup on a leather stirrup

With the sound of horseshoes on dry earth and hay, the prairie breeze rustled through gorse bushes as we rode into town. The hot Texan sun beat down on drying tobacco leaves and apricots, while in the air came wafts of delicious cherry barbecue sauce amid clouds of fragrant hickory smoke. After a dash of water we swung open the doors of the old saloon and perched ourselves at the bar. As we were served aged armagnac, maple syrup-roast ribs with toasted chestnuts and flambéed madeira cake with dried apricots and nectarines, we realised we had stumbled across the remotest Society bar in the world.