A Weekend Afternoon Tea Obsession

Posted on by
1

I spotted an interesting piece of news this week. The Houses of Parliament is entering the world of Afternoon Tea. I know, sounds like a gripping movie trailer doesn’t it. Stick with me. Afternoon Tea is not as simple as it sounds. You might be thinking it’s about having a cup of tea in the afternoon. It isn’t.

This ritual is just as complex, long winded and intricate as a Japanese tea ceremony. Although there’s less bowing involved and you don’t have to sit on the floor.
To give you a clue to the complexity here is an extract from the House of Commons press release:
“The chefs have created a tempting array of savouries such as citrus marinated Scottish salmon with cream cheese, lemon curd and chive on a mini bagel, and free range egg mayonnaise with watercress on wholemeal bread. Room should be saved for the sweet course which includes sultana scones with strawberry jam and Devonshire clotted cream, and Valronha chocolate delice. Beverages are a selection of teas or freshly brewed coffee.”

And this is for a tea that costs £19.95 which makes it the budget airline of the Afternoon Tea world. Cheap as chips. To give you an idea of the lengths hotels go to to give their Afternoon Tea the edge I discovered a 24 Karat Gold one recently. During which you drink Champagne with gold in it and eat gold leaf jelly and gold leaf and strawberry tart. Guess what’s sprinkled on top… you guessed it, gold flakes.

Did those brave frontier Americans really push west into uncharted territory risking life and scalp to find gold just so that Brits could eat it? Yes, it turns out.
If staff from top hotels ever gather in Trafalgar Square and have a massive brawl it’ll be who has the best Afternoon Tea that they’ll be fighting about.

Thankfully the Tea Guild (yes tea has a guild) created an awards ceremony 28 years ago to stave off the requirement for fisty cuffs.
The judges follow very strict guidelines, I’m told, covering the décor, the appropriateness of the crockery, staff attitude, tea knowledge, efficiency of service, overall ambience and how the tea itself is served.

Guess who received an Award of Excellence, you’ll be pleased to hear, a Small Luxury Hotel of the World -The Capital Hotel & Apartments.

HULONCH_38405333_The_Capital_Afternoon_Tea_Compressed_431x288

So there you have it. If you want the very best Afternoon Tea in London don’t go to the House Of Commons, head to The Capital Hotel. Hmm, I’m feeling a little peckish. See you next week!

The delights of Pottery Barn

Posted on by
1

I can’t be trusted with interior design. If you need some advice on which curtains go with which carpets, or which chairs with which table I suggest you ask a room of colour-blind monkeys before approaching me.

I’ve been attempting to make my abode a more aesthetically pleasing one over the last couple of years and it’s been an abject failure. I seem to be able to buy a nice piece of furniture. Standalone this piece of furniture would garner some respectful cooing from the ladies of London Town.

The problem arises when I try to fit said piece into the muddled shambles of a cluttered bohemian/shabby chic/Scandinavian puzzle I’ve created in my flat.

I’ve given up now. It was getting so weird that I could see guests considering calling the men in white coats. Or at least I had until, after whinging at an American friend for half an hour about my appalling décor skills, she suggested I have a look at Pottery Barn.

Pottery BarnI almost lost my temper. “I’m not sure pottery is going to help my dear, have you not been listening? More pots (yes I bought some giant pots) are not the answer.”

She was kind enough not to call me a moron before explaining that pottery barn does a lot more than pottery. I’d imagine my American readers already know this. And I fear a large number of everyone else knows too. Perhaps the part of my brain that could have stored this knowledge was destroyed at Dukes on Monday

After five minutes looking at furniture and soft furnishings I predictably got bored and drifted into the travel section where I purchased a faux fur neck roll (it looks like a puppy that lives quietly on your shoulders) for flying. Although I think I might wear it all the time. It’s so comfortable that taking it off makes me cry, and I’ll be able to power-nap anywhere at any time.

It’s at this stage in my blog posts I usually panic about mentioning SLH. No need this time. As my finger strolled through the pottery barn blog, I randomly found a competition to win a trip to the Sandpiper Hotel would you Adam and Eve it! (an SLH hotel if you didn’t know).

The Sandiper, Barbados

I love it when a plan that didn’t actually ever exist appears to come together.

Bank Holiday Monday in the UK

Posted on by
Reply

Next Monday is a bank holiday in the UK.
So I, along with the vast majority of the working population, will not be at work on a day of the week that we would ordinarily spend in the office.
Pleasant, but no big deal. Right? It’s only one day.
Wrong.
It is a big deal. It’s bigger than a big deal, it is a MASSIVE deal and Londoners – who decide not to go away to a lovely little boutique hotel somewhere – will collectively lose their minds, forget that work will ever come again, and embrace the day like it’s their last.
I’ll be one of them.
The streets, bars and parks of the English capital will be rammed with, traditionally reserved Londoners behaving like it’s spring break in one of those American teen movies that my man friends like to believe is more documentary than fictional nonsense.
(Just in case any men read this I should say to them: “Of course those films are an accurate depiction. Approximately 95% of American school girls are, indeed, in their early 20s and look like models – everyone knows that!”)
Anyway. Bank Holiday Monday. In short, it’s utterly utterly brilliant. Unless it rains.
In which case plan B kicks in and then it’s rubbish.
Everyone gets in their automobile and turns the city into an extended IKEA car park full of road rage and regret.
But they won’t give up once they’ve started the journey. Because we English love an angry queue. Hours later the sales of tea lights and cheap/pointless household furnishings have rocketed, the Swedes are laughing and we all make a promise we won’t keep – to never get in our cars again on a bank holiday Monday.
The good news is the weather forecast is looking promising. So you probably don’t have to worry about getting lost in IKEA following the arrows around that fly trap of a shop.
I’ll be in Dukes Bar, arguably home to the best cocktails in the city, with three girlfriends enjoying, no doubt, more cocktails than is entirely sensible.

HULHRDU_43002147_Hotel_Facade_600x399So prepare yourself for an incoherent and potentially grumpy blog post next week. I’ll be writing it on Tuesday morning with a large cup of coffee and a sore head for company.

I do love a good birthday…

Posted on by
Reply

I’m going to a birthday party next weekend.
‘Oh that’s nice Melissa, let your hair down, quaff a few drinks, have a dance and enjoy yourself,’ I hear you say.
Well, I’m probably not going to.
I might wear my hair down (depending on where I am in my hair-washing cycle) but last time I checked nobody quaffs Ribena and the only dancing at a one-year-old’s birthday bash is head shoulders knees and toes.
That’s correct. The birthday boy is going to be one.
Officially I’ll tell you that this is a momentous occasion and a vitally important milestone that must be celebrated.
Off the record I don’t understand why lots of adults who would, without exception, rather be somewhere else have to gather to congratulate a baby for 365 days worth of sleeping, eating, and the other thing babies do a lot.

HUOPOCB_46927812_Exterior_600x399 This child, who I shan’t name because it seems a little early in his life to be derided on the internet, will not remember the occasion. He will be more interested in wrapping paper and boxes than the gifts. And he will sleep through large portions of his own party.
But I’ll be awake. Does this seem fair?
If the child were turning five, I get it. I remember my fifth. I know there was a pony involved and junk food. No idea who else was there, I only had eyes for the pony.
But one seems a little premature for a human birthday celebration (although I reserve the right to completely change my mind if and when I have my own).
What is worth a party however is when a lovely hotel turns one. If it’s survived a year it means enough guests have come to stay to pay the bills and the chances are they liked it because these days bad hotels get quickly hammered on-line and then die a swift death.
So I’d like to raise a toast to a beautiful little Portuguese hotel – that never wets the bed or demands to be fed at three in the morning – Carmo’s Boutique Hotel which turns one in a couple of weeks.
And best of all, you don’t have to buy it a present but it’s got you a little something.

I’m not a tree. And other pointless sentences.

Posted on by
Reply

There’s a chance I may offend some of you today.
Not my favourite thing to do (because I’m programmed to want everyone to like me) but something has irritated me and I’m going to share it in the hope that there are some kindred thinkers among you.
‘Philosophical’ quotes are on the agenda.
I’m a keen Facebooker and as such I read my news feed every day to see what’s going on in the world of my Friends, with a capital F, and my ‘friends’, with a small f.
Those I actually care about and those I met once, or vaguely knew two decades ago, who have made it onto my friends list but with whom I would find it awkward to spend 30 seconds.
I’m pleased to say my irritation sprouts predominantly from my friends with a small f.
It started with this: “Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present.”
Woahhhh… where did that update come from?!?! I remember thinking.
Where are the baby photos or pointless group skiing shots with hats and masks still on so you have no idea who’s who? These are what I pay good (ok, no) money to see.
A couple of weeks went by and then another gem popped up: “If you don’t like how things are, change it! You’re not a tree.”

TREENo I’m not a tree. Very good point small f friend with poor grammar.
Then: “Don’t wish it was easier, wish you were better.” Bleugh.
Like an extraordinarily sticky snowball rolling down a mountain of nonsense it grew into a giant blob of yellow snow where my links to cute baby animals used to be.
The real slap in the face was the positive reaction to said quotes. Barrels of ‘likes’, that don’t appear to be ironic, and comments that make you want to throw your phone into the nearest body of water.
“You go girl, be happy NOW!”
and
“You’re so right, I’m not going to postpone my happiness ANY MORE!”
If someone has some genuine happiness tips then share away. If there’s a fruit-based drink proven to lighten my mood and lower my BMI, a film that will have me skipping joyfully for days afterwards, or a new hot sauce I can fire up my chilli with (spicy sauce makes me happy) then by all means give me the info.
But ambiguous conceptual hot air won’t do. I need facts.
Having written the above I spent a little time wondering how this relates to my blogging home here at SLH. And, thankfully, it does.
“Unhappy because it’s cold? Go somewhere hot with Small Luxury Hotels of the World!”
“Sad because you’re at work? Don’t do any work in a Small Luxury Hotel of the World!”
Could someone read these words and be left feeling uncertain how to proceed if being cold or bored of work were affecting their mood? I think not.
Solid useful words one after the other. If hotels that are small and luxury and in the world make you happy then happiness you shall have.
Unless you’re a tree. No trees allowed.