“This is definitely a maid’s job,” says Art as he stands in the kitchen having volunteered to polish silver for me.
I can clearly picture our different kitchens when I was growing up, in Buenos Aires, the dark medieval one in São Paulo, and others in Bogotá, Montevideo, and Mexico City. It is afternoon, a soft radio is on in the background. Two maids are chatting as they polish silver and decorative pieces of brass. Sometimes the chofer sits with them until he’s called upon to take la señora” somewhere. It’s a task they perform regularly…dinner party or not. It's a familiar memory.
Art is working on the sterling silver hand hammered covered tureen. It is one of Mother’s prized antique finds from Buenos Aires. She called it a soup tureen but it has been put to many uses since the 1950’s. I don’t recall it holding soup but perhaps it did. Since I inherited it, it’s been a plant holder, a serving piece for breads, and with its bird topped lid, a decorative accessory that cries out to be commented on.( I love owning something no one else has.)
Admiring its round indented shape and the four lion paws which are its base, I watch it come to life under Art’s strong arm. Something nudged me to get it out of a drawer and use it for scones for Art’s proper Afternoon English Tea Party. Then I looked for the heirloom silver teaspoons that also needed a good cleaning. The spoons,engraved with Virgie, belonged to the great- grandmother I never knew, after whom my Mother, Virginia, was named. They will go nicely with the English ramekins with the clotted cream, marmalade, and imported lemon curd, I thought.
Recently, after a year of staying home during the pandemic and no entertaining, I decided I must do something special for Art’s birthday this year. With no desire to socially distance in restaurants and with a sense of nostalgia for what I have missed most, I came up with an afternoon tea. I would make it as authentically British as I could. There is nothing, when it comes to food and entertainment, that I love more than afternoon tea. Growing up in Argentina we had afternoon tea every day. I converted my husband to teatime after we married and explored many wonderful “teas” in hotels and restaurants around the world, and of course, on our many visits to England. Mother’s ritual all her life was having a cup of afternoon tea.
I invited our two vaccinated good friends, Bruce and Ayla, and they were delighted. I started researching tea sandwiches, ideas for different kinds and how to make the real kind. Who could have imagined there is an “art” to preparing small tea sandwiches? I found my scone cutters I bought in England years ago, and made a batch of fruit scones. I scoured local grocery stores for British cream and Lemon Curd. Ayla volunteered a birthday cake and a chance to perfect her cake making skills she has acquired staying home all these months. She came up with a perfect chocolate cake with peanut butter icing.
Setting an artistic table is a part of a tea party I like best. I savor this as I would taking a bite of something delicious before moving on to the next thing. I found the cream linen placemats trimmed with satin ribbon, my Lebanese friend, Roseanne Khalaf, brought me as a house gift in Dubai. They were from an upscale store in Beirut. As I unwrapped them I remember she casually mentioned, “They will most likely need to be dry cleaned.” They have never been used. I put them on the table for the first time.
Coal Port Ming Rose china and Lebanese linen table mats...
I took out Mother’s Ming Rose Coal Port English bone china, remembering how she had ordered the entire set while on a trip to London. It included 24 dinner plates, two teapots, a coffee pot, and every conceivable piece they had available.. She blithely had it shipped to Washington D.C. and used it for all the entertaining she was expected to do as the spouse of a diplomat. It is mine now.
I found the scalloped dessert places with the pink roses and sky blue border knowing they would be perfect for the cake. My mother’s voice echoed in my head as I set these out. “These belonged to your grandmother,” she told me. “There are only six of them left and they must be washed by hand because they are hand painted.” I can see her gazing at them as she told me this, remembering her Mother’s voice in her head. I was doing that now.
I put the walnut Tea Box on the table remembering how my friend Heidja Kruse in Vermont had surprised me with it, telling me that “no one should be without a proper tea box”. Heidja is German and morning coffee and afternoon tea are part of her ritual.
The Afternoon Tea Birthday party was a success as the four of us sat at the table for hours not wanting it to end. We celebrated Art , while embracing a hope for more such gatherings. I felt a nostalgia for my Mother and grandmother, my childhood, my many trips to England, all reinforced by memories that surged through me as I prepared and lived the tea celebration.
“Let’s keep the antique tureen out as a table centerpiece,” Art said to me yesterday. “After all, it’s so unusual…I don’t mind polishing it”.
Art is the one who often says, “let’s get out and use your Mother’s china for a change…it’s so beautiful to look at.”
He’s right. The tea party has reminded me that I have many memories of an unusual childhood, and a Mother I adored and learned much from. I no longer want to collect “things”, but perhaps that’s because I have many objects that remind me of a life well-lived…my own.
Beautifully written Mom. Another memoir masterpiece! I hope the home made high tea tradition continues!
ReplyDeleteLovely, Kristina. I can relate to your appreciation for china and serving pieces handed down in your family. I, too, have many here in Chile, continuously bringing to mind memories of their previous owners.
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