In the U.K., Afternoon Tea (don’t call it High Tea!) has been elevated to an art form.  It is not merely drinking a pot of tea and eating some cakes—but rather enjoying an experience of delicacies accompanied by tea and served on beautiful china with bright, shimmering silverwear. Loose tea wades in a silver teapot, just waiting to be poured through a silver sieve into a cup. A bowl of sugar cubes (white and brown) is overflowing, and on the side are tiny silver tongs with which to retrieve and drop sugar into the teacup. Then comes a tier of plates laden with sweets and sandwiches and scones just waiting for clotted cream and jam.  One leaves Afternoon Tea stuffed to the gills, but happy and satisfied, and feeling a little like a lady of the ton in a Regency novel.

This summer, I partook of Afternoon Tea three times for lunch—once at The Georgian restaurant at Harrods in London (it took me forever to find the place in the department store–that store is labyrinthine!), sparkling with crystal and soft light, once at The Willow Tea Rooms with a view of Edinburgh Castle, and once at Prestonfield House, also in Edinburgh.

Harrods was the most elaborate of the three, with an individually-assigned waiter who took care of my every need.  His name was Dennis, and he was born in Australia but raised in Italy. With every delivery of treats (all vegan), Dennis explained what each item was and encouraged me to try everything.  The tea he suggested was Harrods own special blend—a black tea combination of Sri Lankan, Assam, and Darjeeling with hints of spice like star anise. Combined with milk and sugar, the tea was smooth and bright and I drank two huge pots of it.

The first course was the finger sandwiches, which included a Grape and Carrot sandwich, a Cucumber sandwich, a Button Mushroom Savory Praline sandwich, and a Cheese and Caramelized Onion Tart. My favorite will always be the Cucumber and cream cheese, but the nutty, earthy taste of the Button Mushroom sandwich was very good as well. Dennis offered me a second plate of sandwiches (minus the tart; I could have gotten another for £5 but I didn’t want it that bad), which I heartily enjoyed.  Following that came the plain and fruit (sultanas or currents, not sure which) scones, with Madagascan Vanilla Oat Chantilly (vegan clotted cream) and a selection of four jams—apricot, strawberry, blackberry, and cherry, each in little ramekins with a silver spoon.  I worked my way through the jams, a different flavor for each bite, though the strawberry was particularly fine.  Apparently I did not eat enough of the blackberry, because Dennis seemed disappointed that there was so much of the jam left.

Next came four sweet treats:  a Chocolate Calisson, which was a chocolate cake with chocolate cream mousse, and a yuzu center, which is a kind of hot pepper; an English Strawberry and Elderflower Tart; a Matcha Sphere, which had matcha mousse and cake, with a bit of strawberry sauce and real gold leaf; and an Apricot and Thyme baba (a kind of soaked cake) with white chocolate.  Of course, things are brought out very slowly, so that presentation is front and center—at Harrods, one is overwhelmed with service and luxury, and given time to appreciate each bite.  When I left Harrods, I was quite full and delighted.  I only wished I had had someone with me to enjoy the meal with.

I tried the Willow Tea Rooms across from the Castle on the recommendation of my students who went there to satisfy one of their “cultural experience” assignments for me. All four of the young ladies gushed over the presentation and the food, and I thought I would give it a try too.  It was about a quarter of the price of Harrods, but the tablecloths were a pristine white, and service was nice enough.  The large room accommodated many tables, but mine was tucked in a corner, across from a lady eating a bowl of soup and a cheese scone, and reading something heavy and Russian, maybe Anna Karenina. The design of the chairs was Art Deco, with black backs much taller than the person sitting in the chairs, and the logo printed on the napkins was like an Art Deco window with a rose on it and dark black lines mimicking the chairbacks.

I chose the classic Afternoon Tea, which came with four dainty sandwiches—Egg Mayo (otherwise known as Egg Salad), Scottish Salmon and cream cheese (I don’t think I’ll ever like cold salmon), Cucumber and cream cheese (again, my favorite), and Ham and butter (I did not eat the ham).  These arrived on a tier with a fruit scone with raspberry jam and clotted cream, and a nice slice of carrot cake with a vanilla buttercream frosting. I was not particularly adventurous with the tea—I just enjoyed a pot of peppermint, which was lighter on a hot day than a typical black tea would have been. The carrot cake was really the star of the show—while not as good as the kind I make, it had a lovely, spicy taste replete with carrots, and the sponge was soft but firm.

The final Afternoon Tea room I discovered by accident. One of my Facebook peeps mentioned they were in Edinburgh and had taken pictures of the tier of treats, and I was immediately drawn to it and the background of the room.  She told me about Prestonfield House, and I made my reservation for the last Friday before I left. I arrived about half an hour early, so I wandered the beautiful grounds on the lee side of Arthur’s Seat (the extinct volcano in the east side of Edinburgh), while I waited. The current Prestonfield House dates from the 1600s, but apparently way back in the 14th century it was an abbey. On the grounds live Heilan Coos, a peacock in a tree, and a rather scraggly black cat whom the major domo told me was “a bit of a hellion.”  The cat seemed perfectly nice to me, but as I was calling to it, the House’s flower arranger also called to it, and the cat, demonstrating utter disdain for me, zipped over to the flower arranger.  I don’t think that qualifies as hellion status, but it certainly betrays a bit of poor decision making, as I would have been happy to love on him.

As for the Afternoon Tea, how could it be anything but lovely? The room where I was led bore heavy, red and ochre damask wallpaper and velvet curtains, and paintings on the wall of previous owners of the house, plus two big bouquets of purple hydrangeas in the center of the room. Every table sparkled with multiple forks and knives, and more glasses than one person would actually need to drink with.

Prestonfield House prides itself on its exceptional service, and its service was, indeed, out of this world.  Not only did they seat me at a wonderful table (though, to be fair, all of them looked nice) with comfy bench seating, one of the servers actually put my napkin on my lap as she took my tea order.  I had thought about getting the Evening Chai, but then I noticed something called Black Fig Sencha, with aromas of forest fruits and fig. It was a green tea, or perhaps a white tea, which smelled like Christmas. Its delicate flavor was a little on the weak side for my taste, but it was plenty good with sugar in it.

The “water bearer” came out next and poured a glass of sparkling water into my water glass, and left the bottle.  So I had both water and tea to drink.  Then a third server brought out an espresso cup full of gazpacho for an amuse bouche, and believe me, my bouche was suitably amused to be drinking a cold tomato salsa. I sipped it slowly—it was very good—but had to smile when this Goth Girl at another table got hers.  She took one sip, wore a look on her face that was half horror and half disgust, and she put her espresso cup down with a thump. I did not see her girlfriend’s expression, and wondered if it had been the same.

After a while, the tower of treats came out.  First was a plate of savory crackers, one with English pea, mint, and marigold (interesting, but not my favorite); one with cream cheese and tomato on a little oat cake; and the third a whipped applewood cheese on cranberry toast with a bit of apricot (the cheese part was whipped but didn’t taste very cheddary).  All were tiny, no bigger than half a thumb, but they were pleasant to eat.  On the bottom tier were four sandwiches:  Avocado and Tomato; Corned Jackfruit and Pineapple Chutney (I didn’t really taste the pineapple but the jackfruit was interesting); Egg with Caesar Mayonnaise; and a Roasted Red Pepper and Hummus on half-a-roll.

But wait, there’s more!  A fruit scone and a butter scone with raspberry jam and clotted cream awaited me.  Both were dusted with turbinado sugar, and the clotted cream was almost the consistency of butter. But by then I was starting to feel full, having drunk a wine bottle full of sparkling water, plus two silver pots of tea, plus eating the sandwiches and savories.  How, I wondered, could I possibly eat anything else?

I was afraid that asking for a to-go box would be déclassé, but when I asked for a box, the server didn’t bat an eye.  I did try two of the desserts—a raspberry and dark chocolate rose cake (which was almost too chocolatey), and an apricot and pistachio macaron.  That left a coconut, pineapple, and ginger mousse sphere and a strawberry tart with black pepper (!).  But I packed up the scones and the clotted cream and the jam, and the two desserts I couldn’t finish.

Once I was done eating, the manager came by to tell me the history of Prestonfield House and he also remarked on the box of sweets I was taking home.  I told him I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, but everything was divine.  He looked as pleased with this remark as if he had created the feast himself.  And everyone else I passed as I made my way to the front of the hotel was charming and pleasant, and made me feel like I was someone famous and important, the way they fell over themselves to wish me well.

Of the three Afternoon Teas, I think I liked Prestonfield House the best. It was elegant and cozy.  Harrods was perhaps a little finer on the food, but I just felt more comfortable at Prestonfield House. For one thing, I wasn’t ragged and sweating like I had been when I was walking in London and suffering a bum foot. Instead, I had taken an Uber to Prestonfield House, and I was perfectly put together (though still with a bum foot). The Willow Tea Rooms was nice, but not in the same class as Harrods or Prestonfield House—it was more of your “everyday” Afternoon Tea, whereas the other two promise special occasions. I think Prestonfield House felt like I could belong there, where The Georgian at Harrods seemed more like a place you would go to be seen.

The only thing that would have made all three of these Afternoon Teas better would have been if you were there with me.  Maybe next time!