I needlessly coaxed my 13-year-old son into smart clothes for our appointment to take afternoon tea at the Dorchester Hotel. As we entered the Promenade area that sweeps regally through the ground floor, it became apparent that, while the elegant surroundings surpass all expectations, the dress code is nicely relaxed and rather more circumstance than pomp. Gone may be the days of ties, gloves and long gowns, but happily all the other traditions of a right royal afternoon tea remain deliciously in place.
Refurbished a few years back, the Promenade is as long as Nelson’s Column is high and all giant palm fronds, vast mirrors and gorgeous upholstery arranged into a series of intimate spaces bathed in a golden light. After we were led to our table, my son took command of the armchair (as 13-year-olds do) and I melted into a sofa and a brace of stupendously squishy cushions.
As a distant piano serenaded us with a Bill Withers medley, a professional young man in tails navigated us through a sea of tea choices (24 in total — we wimped out and went for the Dorchester Blend, as well as a cheeky glass of Champagne for me), and recommended the traditional afternoon tea for two. Other ‘seasonal special’ afternoon teas are available throughout the year — and you can also take tea in the health club ‘Spatisserie’ — but Dorchester virgins should start with the obvious and, in my view, the best.
Our waiter, Paul, soon reappeared with silver teapots and ten of the most exquisitely dainty and crustless finger sandwiches presented two by two on a silver platter. He talked us through each sandwich’s contents with the care of a university lecturer (to précis, all are organic and halal, made with a variety of different breads, and contain fillings that variously include smoked salmon, egg, chicken, beef, cheese and cucumber). Dished out, silver-service style, on to our Limoges bone china, they were simply delicious and particularly delighted an atypically tidy boy who is often berated for leaving his crusts.
There followed a small 'pre-dessert' of rhubarb jelly and vanilla that, explained Paul, 'makes a taste explosion on the tongue,' before the emergence of warm scones, one plain and one raisin apiece, made from a recipe unchanged at the Dorchester for over half a century (gluten-free scones are also available, as are other dishes catering for special dietary needs). They were fabulously light, fluffy and crumbly. We slathered them in clotted cream and jams while nervously eyeing up a tiered cake stand piled high with cakes and tartlets.
Valiantly moving on to this, we found ourselves snagged on the cream horns of a dilemma. Faced with five (yes, five) wondrous confections involving pistachio, apricot, strawberry, panacotta, macaroon and other good things, how might we justly share these? Happily, I pointed out that as our tea was my treat, by rights, the outstanding hazelnut pavé should be my treat too. Temporarily floored by this chop-logic, the boy capitulated and I got to have my cake and eat it. And very nice it was too.
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