Anyone for tea?
There’s a wonderful quote by Bill Bryson, an American who has lived in Britain for many years, and author of the very funny Notes From A Small Island. In it, he writes of a wet afternoon in which a Mrs Gubbins came in with ‘a tray of tea things and a plate of biscuits of the sort that I believe are called teatime variety, and everyone stirred friskily to life, rubbing their hands keenly and saying, “Ooh, lovely”. To this day, I remain impressed by the ability of Britons of all ages and social backgrounds to get genuinely excited by the prospect of a hot beverage.’
It’s true that for most of us, the mere arrival of a hot cup of tea is enough to induce calm and pleasure. But while we may indulge in a biscuit or two – strictly divided by their ‘dunkable’ and ‘non-dunkable’ abilities – we do not often make time for a proper afternoon tea. It wasn’t always thus. Even in my own (medium-length so far) lifetime, my mother was a fan of the afternoon tea – she was a fan, essentially, of delivering treats to her loved ones. So my return from school would be heralded with a hot, buttered crumpet, ginger-nut biscuits (from the dunking category), Garibaldi or ‘squashed fly’ biscuits (non-dunking), and a French Fancy or slice of Madeira – the latter served not for its slightly-stale marzipan taste but for the joke: ‘More Madeira, my dear?’ The tea itself would be made with the new-fangled triangular teabags stewed in a well-worn red china pot.
Afternoon teas at weekends with my grandfather in his Cotswolds home were simpler but impressive nonetheless: silver teapot (with gaspingly hot silver handle), a bonechina service, a few black leaves caught by the strainer and the offer of a splash of milk. To eat, there would be just a fruitcake, dense and delicious. There would be no napkins and no fork.
Julian thinks this is something to do with a general disregard by the aristocracy for what they saw as the namby-pambyness of gentility – napkins and forks at afternoon tea were dismissed in the same group as fish forks and raised little fingers.
Afternoon tea is said to have originated in the late 1830s at Woburn Abbey, the home of the dukes of Bedford. The seventh duchess, Anna Maria, a great friend of Queen Victoria, complained of a ‘sinking feeling’ between the long hours of the light luncheon and dinner, which was rarely served before 9pm. Her solution was to have a pot of tea, buttered bread and cakes in her boudoir. She asked friends to join her and the practice was so well-received that it wasn’t long before others began to imitate her.
Today we’re more likely to eat a proper afternoon tea at a hotel than at home. The full-fat combination of pastry, sugar, butter and caffeine is advisably a rare treat in our diet, and highly enjoyable for that.
But what should it consist of? Lady Troubridge, in her Book Of Etiquette, published in 1926, suggests a menu of tea and coffee, buttered bread (brown and white), stuffed rolls (round and finger shapes), sandwiches and cakes (small and large). Which is open to any delightful interpretation, even allowing for one of those elaborate cupcakes that have been so fashionable of late.
In other words – eat what you want and plenty of it, so long as it is at halfpast four in the afternoon.
Jessica Fellowes, author of The Chronicles Of Downton Abbey, is hosting a series of afternoon teas at The Cadogan Hotel in London throughout the summer. Tickets cost £45 per person: 0800-023 5445, www.afternoontea.co.uk/downton
www.jessicafellowes.com Twitter: @jessica fellowes
It’s true that for most of us, the mere arrival of a hot cup of tea is enough to induce calm and pleasure. But while we may indulge in a biscuit or two – strictly divided by their ‘dunkable’ and ‘non-dunkable’ abilities – we do not often make time for a proper afternoon tea. It wasn’t always thus. Even in my own (medium-length so far) lifetime, my mother was a fan of the afternoon tea – she was a fan, essentially, of delivering treats to her loved ones. So my return from school would be heralded with a hot, buttered crumpet, ginger-nut biscuits (from the dunking category), Garibaldi or ‘squashed fly’ biscuits (non-dunking), and a French Fancy or slice of Madeira – the latter served not for its slightly-stale marzipan taste but for the joke: ‘More Madeira, my dear?’ The tea itself would be made with the new-fangled triangular teabags stewed in a well-worn red china pot.
Afternoon teas at weekends with my grandfather in his Cotswolds home were simpler but impressive nonetheless: silver teapot (with gaspingly hot silver handle), a bonechina service, a few black leaves caught by the strainer and the offer of a splash of milk. To eat, there would be just a fruitcake, dense and delicious. There would be no napkins and no fork.
Etiquette wisdom
Contrary to what most may think – myself included, until I checked with my uncle Julian (Fellowes, writer of Downton Abbey and font of all etiquette wisdom) – no cakes at tea should be eaten with a fork. There should be no implements at all, unless you have scones, in which case a knife may be used. Even in the days of enormous Edwardian teas, he says, there may have been sugar tongs but no one would use them. A lady always carried a handkerchief in her bag, and this meant she had a substitute napkin at the ready in case of a sticky situation. Men used the backs of their hands.Julian thinks this is something to do with a general disregard by the aristocracy for what they saw as the namby-pambyness of gentility – napkins and forks at afternoon tea were dismissed in the same group as fish forks and raised little fingers.
Afternoon tea is said to have originated in the late 1830s at Woburn Abbey, the home of the dukes of Bedford. The seventh duchess, Anna Maria, a great friend of Queen Victoria, complained of a ‘sinking feeling’ between the long hours of the light luncheon and dinner, which was rarely served before 9pm. Her solution was to have a pot of tea, buttered bread and cakes in her boudoir. She asked friends to join her and the practice was so well-received that it wasn’t long before others began to imitate her.
Edwardian mini-feast
By the 1840s afternoon tea was an established ritual in the drawing rooms of England; we must thank Queen Victoria for her sponge. Nor did the fashion abate: the upperclass Edwardians happily embraced it as a mini-feast, with pastries and fingers of sandwiches, potted meats, scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, cakes, crumpets and so on. Butter fair melted down the plump fingers of King Edward VII on a daily basis and his richer subjects eagerly followed suit.Today we’re more likely to eat a proper afternoon tea at a hotel than at home. The full-fat combination of pastry, sugar, butter and caffeine is advisably a rare treat in our diet, and highly enjoyable for that.
But what should it consist of? Lady Troubridge, in her Book Of Etiquette, published in 1926, suggests a menu of tea and coffee, buttered bread (brown and white), stuffed rolls (round and finger shapes), sandwiches and cakes (small and large). Which is open to any delightful interpretation, even allowing for one of those elaborate cupcakes that have been so fashionable of late.
In other words – eat what you want and plenty of it, so long as it is at halfpast four in the afternoon.
Jessica Fellowes, author of The Chronicles Of Downton Abbey, is hosting a series of afternoon teas at The Cadogan Hotel in London throughout the summer. Tickets cost £45 per person: 0800-023 5445, www.afternoontea.co.uk/downton
www.jessicafellowes.com Twitter: @jessica fellowes