Читать книгу Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table - Nigel Slater - Страница 20

While most of the world relishes a cup of tea in the afternoon, and perhaps a biscuit or even a slice of Strudel, few have gone to the lengths of the British, who have managed to turn a cup of tea and a sliver of cake into a national trademark. It is tea, rather than lunch or dinner, to which we inevitably take visitors from abroad, as much for the cultural experience as for sustenance. Though when we do, it is only fair to point out to them that this is a rare and special treat, and not, like grabbing a sandwich at lunchtime, a way of life. Afternoon tea is the works: scones, sandwiches, cakes, and of course a pot of tea. A cream tea is the edited version: a plate of scones, tea, and if you are lucky a bowl of strawberries. It is what the Cornish feed to tourists.

It is Anna Russell, seventh Duchess of Bedford and reputedly a bit of a glutton, who is generally credited with introducing afternoon tea early in the nineteenth century. At home in Woburn Abbey, she would get her maid to bring tea to her boudoir in the middle of the afternoon, to combat the ‘sinking feeling’ she experienced between lunch and dinner. I know it well. As the new meal became something of a habit, she took to inviting friends to join her, and soon afternoon tea became a social event. You can always trust the rich to turn greed into a fashion statement.

The wealthy British have long been fascinated by China and Japan. Making a fuss over serving a pot of tea, to which the inhabitants of both countries knew no bounds, was probably seen as our way of buying into their culture. This is why many of our tea services were decorated with Chinoiserie, and goes some way to explaining the preponderance of the once ubiquitous willow pattern china. The Brits never having quite understood the ‘less is more’ message, the original elegance and grace of the Oriental tea ceremony became somewhat besmirched by the addition of buns and sandwiches, albeit served in dainty proportions.

It seems that no matter how much we adopt a healthy lifestyle, by which one currently means meals that are lower in fat and carbohydrate and with distinctly fewer calories, we still rarely refuse an offer of afternoon tea. There is no real excuse for it; this is not about filling the tank or regulating our blood sugar level. Tea in this sense is an undeniable luxury, a sybaritic pleasure, an orgy of crumbs and cream. Afternoon tea may be the only meal we take that is purely and utterly for pleasure.

Perhaps this simple fact is what keeps its popularity steady, not just with tourists looking for the English experience, but with ladies who gossip, lovers of a certain age, aunts treating nieces and nephews, and those celebrating a birthday. It is something that exists purely to make us feel good about life. On recently arriving for a meeting to find it had been cancelled, one of my colleagues saved the day by suggesting we all decamp for tea and cakes. Our spirits were lifted in a way no other suggestion could have equalled.

Despite the presence of butter and jam and plates of cream cakes, tea remains a quietly polite meal rather than a greedy and excitable one. It is a treat to share with friends and family, rather than business colleagues. You may do business over a full English breakfast or serve coffee during a power meeting, but it is unlikely that the exciting new business plans you are putting forward to your company will be taken seriously if you have a buttered crumpet in one hand. Especially if that crumpet is dribbling warm butter down your arm.

Anyone who doubts that such decadence has a place in a twenty-first-century world of sushi-to-go and travelling cappuccini should attempt to get a table at Betty’s in Harrogate on the turn of four. Or perhaps they might like to step into the Wolseley in London’s Piccadilly at about half-past three in the afternoon. The latter will be awash with silver pots of Darjeeling and three-tier cake stands piled with all manner of little tarts and fancies, the vast room a veritable sea of tea strainers. The clatter of cake forks amid the gentle buzz of gossip can be seen as a cry for sanity in a world obsessed by calorie-counting and pilates.