The Quintessential Ritual of The Afternoon Tea

There’s something quietly rebellious about afternoon tea. It’s a ritual steeped in tradition, yet beneath the delicate clinking of porcelain and the elegant tiers of sandwiches lies a subtle defiance against the chaos of the world. Us Brits, have perfected the art of slowing down, and afternoon tea is our way of saying, "We can stop time, if only for a moment."

In a world where everything is moving too fast—where people gobble down their meals as if they’re fuel and not food—afternoon tea is an unapologetic pause. It’s not just a meal; it’s a statement. It says, “We’re not in a hurry. We’re here to enjoy this.” And enjoy it we do, with a spread that’s as indulgent as it is refined.

Picture it: a table draped in crisp white linen, the silverware catching the light just so, and a pot of tea steaming gently, releasing aromas that transport you to a simpler time. The tea itself,  Novus of course, is a thing of beauty, brewed to perfection, a world away from the sad, over-steeped bags tossed into office mugs across the globe.

But the tea is just the beginning. The sandwiches arrive, crusts meticulously removed, of course. They’re a study in subtlety: cucumber, egg and cress, smoked salmon. Each bite is delicate, restrained flavours that whisper rather than shout. It’s food designed not to fill you up, but to keep you lingering, sipping, and savouring.

And then, the scones. Ah, the scones. Fluffy, warm, and just slightly crumbly and made with the incredible Wildfarmed flour. They demand to be slathered in clotted cream and Tiptree jam. Here, the debate rages: cream first, then Tiptree jam, or the other way around? It’s a question of allegiance, and whichever side you’re on, you defend it with a fervour usually reserved for religion or politics.

As you reach the final tier, the sweet offerings, you’re reminded that this is a meal without urgency. The pastries are small, almost too beautiful to eat: macarons in pastel hues, tarts that shimmer with glaze, and cakes that tempt with their rich, velvety layers. You take your time because here, there’s no rush.

Afternoon tea is a relic of a bygone era, yes, but it’s also a quiet rebellion against everything that’s wrong with modern dining. It’s a rejection of the fast, the processed, the disposable. It’s a celebration of ritual, of taking the time to do something well, of appreciating the finer things not because they’re necessary, but because they’re pleasurable. 

So, the next time you’re in London—or anywhere with a semblance of civility—don’t just order afternoon tea. Immerse yourself in it. Let the world outside spin on its frantic axis while you sit in the calm centre, sipping, savouring, and remembering that life, at its best, is about these moments of quiet decadence.