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| Happy Birthday, Ma'am. God Save You. |
Coincidentally (though I shall pretend it was with aforethought) today has included not only Afternoon Tea but also A BRITISH PERSON. Between her, cold salad and biscuits, dainty cups and saucers, and a discussion of whether one pours the tea or the milk first (to be explained below in detail) we felt we behaved in an appropriately celebratory fashion.
I will admit, though, that we FAILED on the bunting front. But it will not happen again. There will be bunting for ever after.
AFTERNOON TEA IN HONOUR OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN
Cold Salad of Tomatoes, Green Olives, and Feta with Basil
Smoked Trout
Rosemary and Honey Bread
Cheese (Cheddar and Blue)
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Tea / Coffee
Hazelnut and Honey Amaranth Cookies
Today was the first day since, seriously, last Sunday, that the sun came out, and it was actually possible to wear only one sweater without dying of cold. Up until last night we had rejected the idea of tea on the side porch as the single most miserable prospect on earth. But then, dear reader, today dawned sunny and glorious. Huzzah.
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| Easy peasy lemon squeezy |
This also meant it was possible to have cold salads and not, say, a huge bowl of hot soup. Which obviously widens the culinary options a bit.
We got some lovely red and yellow cherry tomatoes yesterday, and there is really nothing nicer on a warm summer day than a fresh tomato salad. Cherries are the greatest for this because all you have to do is slice them in half and hey presto you're done.
The smoked trout was, obviously, because we try to include smoked fish in as many meals as is humanly possible. (It's humanly possible a lot of the time, turns out, if you are determined enough.) As a cold salad it works perfectly, and in case you didn't know this, smoked fish and tomatoes is THE MOST AMAZING COMBINATION EVER. Honestly, try it. Then go ahead and thank me for the rest of your life.
The Rosemary Honey Bread was an emergency bread this morning because I made 5-Grain Rye bread yesterday and it was not a, shall we say, resounding success. I made up the recipe, which is probably why it turned out a bit odd. Suffice it to say that I love dense bread, I have gone on record as loving dense bread several times here before. But this took dense to a whole new level. A level to which perhaps it should not be taken. I decided during my spin session this morning to chuck it (you should have heard the thunk it made in the trash can. It was SONOROUS.) and make more.
This is Nigel Slater's from the Guardian, and it is quick, easy, and freakishly good. I was able to make it running the mixer with one hand and drinking coffee with the other.
Now THAT, dear reader, IS SKILL.
Side note: When I put these loves in the oven and went out to pick some flowers, I set the timer for 25 minutes. After returning with a bouquet, I mooched around the kitchen doing last minute things, calmly waiting for the timer to ding. Looking up randomly a while later I realised it had stopped. But how could that be? I asked myself. It totally hasn't been 25 minutes. WELL. Upon questioning (ok, interrogation) it turns out for reasons best known to her Mum had TURNED OFF THE TIMER AND HADN'T BOTHERED TO TELL ME. FOR SERIOUS, YOU GUYS. The bread was fine, but only just.
As you can imagine, I put her in her place, as only a Warrior Beetle can do. And do you know what her response was?
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| You guessed it. |
The cookies are part of my continuing alternate flour kick, and I'll do a full post on them tomorrow because I HAVE BEETLE NOTES, YOU GUYS. They turned out quite well, but there was some serious Warrior Beetle last minute salvage going on. However, they are pretty pretty pretty and smell delightful (I forgot how good the smell of honey is when it's cooking) and went down a treat.
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| Hazelnut and Honey Amaranth Cookies (Warrior Beetle version) |
Now. I know all of you have been scrolling impatiently through food photos because obviously all you want to know is DO I POUR THE TEA OR THE MILK FIRST OH PLEASE GOD TELL ME. Well scroll no longer, dear reader, because . . .
IT'S TEA.
This explanation is two fold. A story and a fantastically esoteric fact.
1. THE STORY. The story came from Mum's bff, who was at tea herself last month with two lovely old ladies, and the subject came up, like it does. (For this, imagine the most cut glass English accent you can . . . then double it . . . that's what they apparently sounded like.) In this retelling, let's name one of them "Countess of Grantham" and the other "Countess of Trentham" (both Maggie Smith film characters. Hey, that's where my brain goes.)
CoG: "Well. I know that [gesturing] the CoT always does the tea first. [knowing yet totally refined smile] And there's a very good reason why . . . "
CoT: [apparently begins laughing hysterically yet totally elegantly]
[all guests press for this amazing reason]
CoG: Oh go on, tell them!
CoT: [still laughing, even more elegant than before]
CoG: Well, I will then.
CoG: [pausing for dramatic effect] The CoT does the tea first because [giggles girlishly yet aristocratically] the MAID only brought round the milk after she'd poured out!
[all guests fall about laughing. party is resounding success]
2. FANTASTICALLY ESOTERIC FACT. Get this. Apparently, if your china was exceptionally delicate (as of course it would be), pouring the tea in first would a)stain it and b)potentially cause a crack. Pouring the milk in first mitigated both of these risks.
I know what you're saying, dear reader. Beetle, you just said that it was TEA first WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?
WELL. Also apparently, if your china was even more exceptionally delicate, it would not only NOT stain, it would NOT crack. LIKE YOUR SOCIAL STATUS, IT WAS IMPERVIOUS TO EVERYTHING, leaving you perfectly free to pour the tea out first and share it with your noble relatives in the comfort and safety of one of your many country estates.
IN SNOBBISH CONCLUSION. If you were common and bourgeois, then you had only super nice china, and you poured the milk in first. If you were, say, the THE QUEEN FOR EXAMPLE, then you had even more super nice china, and you didn't have to stoop to the level of worrying about your teacups. Or, you know . . . anything. The best thing to come out of this is that you could TOTALLY TELL IF SOMEONE WAS FAKING AN ELEVATED STATUS.
MILK = FAKER
TEA = THE REAL THING
If I don't use this in a detective novel some day, then please someone else do, because it's such an awesome fact I LOVE IT.
So Happy Birthday to Her Majesty, long may she reign etc., and for future reference, only plebs do milk first. Obviously.
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