Time For Tea: Tea the Thirty-Third

The instinct which warns all good Englishmen when tea is ready

immediately began to perform its silent duty.

Summer Lightening - P.G. Wodehouse

The Ritz Hotel, Piccadilly, London - Saturday 8th February, 2014

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Tea Takers

Sarah Ryan

Paul Ryan

Olivia Ryan

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At the inception of the odyssey, it had not been my aim to complete the forty teas within a single year (I was always aiming for too many expensive establishments for that to seem a reasonable imposition on the Ryan coffers). At one stage, though, it had looked as if this might be possible - however, it seemed quite out of keeping with the style of the project to rush unnecessarily and potentially to miss both people and places that I would really like to include. With only seven teas left, I fear even now that I won't be able to cover every desired eventuality, but it will be possible to continue to draw out the anticipation, perhaps even as far as Paul's approaching fortieth.

However, standards dictated that the anniversary of Tea the First should be celebrated with ceremony and style, and with unusual planning ahead on my part back in the autumn I made a booking for tea at The Ritz.

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Another of London's iconic hotels, The Ritz was opened in 1906 by Swiss hotelier Cesar Ritz. He conceived it as an exceptionally luxurious and stylish location, with several unique features for the time - bathrooms for every guest room, double glazing and brass, rather than wooden, beds.

Architecturally reminiscent of a French chateau, with irrepressibly rococo styling, it remains both a landmark and an extraordinary confection.

Ritz had previously been manager at The Savoy, and took from there the idea of the hotel afternoon tea, which is taken in the elegant palm court. It has become an institution at the hotel and it is necessary these days to book months in advance to get a table.

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Given all this, we had high expectations of this tea, and the hotel do their best to develop this further. You are reminded at booking that there is a strict dress code - men are expected to wear a jacket and tie and no-one may enter the hallowed tea room in jeans or trainers (which leads me to wonder whether they have the same regular tussles that I have with sixth formers over what exactly constitutes a pair of jeans). Timings are also specified; you have a booking for a specific sitting and it is clearly stated that you may be there for up to an hour and three-quarters and no longer.

Now, I am all in favour of 'standards' (and it was very pleasing that people were smartly attired, although they were no noticeably smarter than at the Savoy or Brown's) but this then predicates a reciprocal excellence on the part of the establishment.

Once people had begun to take their places for the 3.30 sitting, tea was promptly brought to your table - a waiter took individual orders of tea blend, but the food was brought without consultation (so we had no chance to ask about minor requirements such as no mustard on the ham sandwiches). It did feel a little like they were simply going through the motions and depositing the teas on each table in a frankly canteen-ish manner. The staff were pleasant, and when asked for anything were largely helpful, although they were not as attentive as other places and there was no sense of your being 'looked after' by a specific person, as had happened not only at Brown's and the Savoy, but also at many other less renowned establishments.

The quality of the comestibles was, of course, extremely high - with light, fresh sandwiches, fluffy scones (perhaps a little chewy towards the base - I suspect the use of a strong flour with a lot of cream of tartar - the Nigella approach), plentiful cream and jam, and refined cakes and pastries, but the presentation was not absolutely top notch. Cakes were not very attractively arranged and were plonked a little haphazardly, very much to one side of the plate.

Floral china is clearly de riguer in these establishments across London, but I did feel this fluted design of little blue flowers was a bit 1980s BHS...

I am being harsh, I suppose, because much was very lovely - the lemon drizzle cake from the trolley was exceptional, and combined gooey stickness with an extraordinary lightness, and was deserving of high praise. However, again the slightly off-hand manner and inept serving skills of the trolley attendant compared not at all well with our experiences elsewhere (whilst you can't go too far wrong translating a slice of lemon cake onto a side plate, the gooey chocolate, caramel and pecan cake that Paul had was rather smeared onto his).

To finish off, as soon as other tables vacated around you, they went into clearing mode with little care to hide the fact that they wanted to clean up and start setting for the next sitting. The fact that everyone is herded in and out at the same time is not conducive to making it feel like a smooth and elegant feat of organisation. In other places where tables are discreetly cleared in an ongoing process you don't even notice - as Paul said of the whole experience 'you don't feel overwhelmingly welcomed'.

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Photographic Hazards of Afternoon Tea: The Cake Stand

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An interesting variation on the lounge pianist was the presence of a harpist, who manfully plucked his way through jazz standards for our entertainment. 'It had to be you' was interesting on the harp, and, of course, his medley included 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square'. He varied this diet with a snatch of Rachmaninov's second piano concerto, before completing his allotted hour and leaving so that the tea takers would have no difficulty hearing the clattering of plates and knowing that the staff really wanted us to leave.

Naturally, though, the company was delightful.

We did have a lovely time, and we did all eat a splendid tea (I'm still not really hungry twenty-four hours on), but if we were selecting a place for a very special tea in London in future it wouldn't be here.

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Thirty-Third Tea - Thirty-Third Year

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Birthday Treats

Coming up to town on the train for tea was an excellent excuse for a whole day of birthday joyfulness.

Starting with a visit to the Persephone book shop in Bloomsbury for a small spending spree courtesy of my Mamma:

Enjoying archetypal London sights:

Lovely browsing in Hatchard's, Fortnum's and Liberty's, with a little stop off in Hamley's for Paul, sorry, I mean Olivia:

Culminating in a trip to the Criterion Theatre on Piccadilly Circus, to see The 39 Steps, which we have long wanted to see and which was utterly hilarious and a fantastic end to a glorious day.

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Cake Horror

A small glossy, yellow dome on the top of the cake stand - it seemed an enticing morsel, possibly passion fruit or mango, some manner of glazed mousse, I thought to myself. Full as I was, it seemed a shame to leave it.

I delicately took a forkful and then everything went wrong. The curse of bannoffee pie gets everywhere. Those who know me will realise that this was a terrible trauma - and it wasn't just that it contained banana, but also it clearly contained that even greater horror 'banana flavour' - oh, people of The Ritz, why?

In the past I may have smiled indulgently at the way, in most smart hotels, they talk you through all the items on your cake stand - from now on I shall insist upon it.

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Olivia made full use of the varied facilities of the Ladies - although she was disappointed to be unable to get the lid off the ice bucket to freshen her glass of water.