There were some fine tea rooms in San Francisco's Chinatown, but after all the elaborate ceremony preparing your Second Flush Darjeeling (because everything didn't disappear after the first flush?) you weren't even offered a biscuit to dunk! Poor.
It was time to see if Canada could do any better, and the opportunity came with Christmas vouchers for The Urban Tea Merchant from John and Laura. This place is the real deal, offering not just tea but high tea, although for some reason - the ongoing French influence around here - it's referred to as Petite Afternoon Tea Service.
Despite the linguistically-jarring name, it was legitimate. Cucumber sandwiches! A mini scone with jam and cream! A teapot each, and a jug of milk! Hannah went for a brew called Eau Noire (enough with the French!) and I opted for exotic-but-classic Lapsang Souchong. "Like drinking an ashtray," Hannah commented, but I hadn't tasted its smokey delights since Mum and Sheila came to stay. Sheila, like the seasoned British adventurer she is, always travels with her own tea.
We talked politely, we emptied our three-tiered cake stands, Pete quietly munched macarons, and the rain fell constantly and heavily outside. It was almost British, it was almost perfect. Almost - still no dunkable biscuit was presented. Next time I'll be bringing my own custard cream.
Discerning tea drinkers wait in judgement.
Storm in a teacup?
This pot better make really good tea.
Only three layers. Perhaps we should have ordered the Grande Afternoon Tea Service.
It's a chicken cornetto! Amazing.
The apotheosis of sophistication.
Reflecting on a fine brew.
Then, all too soon, it was over.
Keep calm and macaron.
