Tee-totalling on the high side

FIRST they came for the crayfish, then the humble abalone and high tea has been hijacked for some time now by the chi-chi puffballs. All these used to be food for the working class, the common people. High tea as well, believe it or not.

Crayfish and abalone were once staple foods for fishermen, their families and working class communities. Now you pay through your nose to indulge in one of these dishes. In some restaurants you spot a single crayfish in a large fish tank; small it is, and big the price. It can cost up to R800.

Usually, a forlorn ag-shame abalone keeps the crayfish company and tries to escape unnoticed by slowly slithering its way up the glass.

Our “stone socks" (from klipkouse, nice old word for abalone) will one day probably be completely wiped out, so sought after have they become among rich people abroad. Poachers earn up to R1 000 for 1 kg. The illegal trade in abalone in South Africa is estimated to be worth around R1 billion annually.

Snoek is getting more and more expensive; for a plate of curry afval I paid almost R300 the other day. The so-called Smashed Avocado on toast can cost you more than R100. That unique Cape meal, a Gatsby, is now in the sights of places wanting to package it as a “Bespoke Gatsby"; and the humble bunny chow which originated in Durban, will demand you fling a lot of ghienies on the table. But I digress.

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Last week I received an article via email: “The 12 Best High Teas in Cape Town + Surrounds." This was at the same time that I'd come across an article in The Spectator: “Cake expectations: afternoon tea has gone OTT.”

I did a lot of research on the internet and chatted with British friends au fait with its strange tea culture; about high tea, low tea and afternoon tea. There is a big difference and what is my gat se deksel (not a swear word, it refers to your coffin's lid), is that the British had colonised us such that local nose-in-the-air people continue with so-called high tea ceremonies believing it's the real deal. Turn a crumb into bread, and it poses as cake.

From where, square? High tea was at 6 pm, the time when Britain's working class returned home from the factories and mines. In those parts it was still early but having worked all day, often without lunch, they were hungry.

Food for this poor people's dinner varied in accordance with the cash in the family purse. High tea usually meant a large pot of tea placed in the middle of the table, served in mugs, with home-baked bread, bacon, cheese, fish, pies and potatoes. If there wasn't enough food for everyone at the table, the children had to make do with just the tea.

The phrase comes from the height of the tables used to serve these meals and also being a “higher" hour on the clock. Low tea, or afternoon tea as The Spectator and the British refer to it, was for nobility, who were peckish by 16:00, because dinner was only served at 20:00.

Low tea was not served at a dining table, but on low tables, which in America were called coffee tables. It was a gathering of rich bored women too hungry to wait until dinner time. For most poor families, on the other hand, there was little time for afternoon tea.

Men were not part of these gatherings of noblewomen which gave them the space to dress a touch less conservatively. They could talk about things together that could not be discussed with their stiff and patriarchal men, especially in Victorian times.

Conversations, however, had to be civil and stay within bounds. If you felt like having a laugh, it had to be quietly and certainly not naughtily or with innuendo; you had to hold your satin handkerchief in front of your mouth (probably due to halitosis horribilis, or rotten teeth, or crooked or missing in action).

The number of people at such a soirée could vary from two to 100. According to the Financial Mail, snacks were served on antique silver trays at these exclusive tea parties: Frosted red strawberries, jugs of rich cream, cucumber and tomato sandwiches (thinly sliced) and freshly smoked salmon with cream cheese.

Soon there were Scottish jam sandwiches, Dundee cake, Balmoral tarts, Chelsea scones and doggones farting in the air too. The tea was only the very best, such as Darjeeling or Earl Grey. You had to pour the milk first because the cups were made of expensive and thin porcelain that could easily crack from the hot tea. Imagine the high drama that could follow? There probably were fainting spells and hot flushes.

Jane Austen and her contemporaries described the rise of these tea carnivals with great care and detail. In Dickensian times, I've read, the noblemen were apparently smoking opium with evening primroses during their own “high tea" – while their spouses chirped over low tea about everything and anything else – satin tissues handy.

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Allow every creature its unique feature! Now that I've cleared my throat, I'll get to the point. Folks, this “High Tea" that hotels and posers go on about is low tea, or afternoon tea. It has gotten completely out of hand.

Melanie McDonagh writes in The Spectator : “I’ve just been to tea at Claridge’s, and the menu was extraordinarily elaborate. After the excellent sandwiches (poached Scottish salmon with lemon and tarragon mayonnaise; Dorrington ham with nasturtium, crisp shallot, mustard and celeriac remoulade on onion bread) there were scones with Marco Polo gelée. Then patisseries: Earl Grey macarons; raspberry and blackcurrant cheesecake; strawberry and mascarpone tart; vanilla religieuse. It was all fabulous, but not cheap. Afternoon tea was once an inexpensive treat; it now costs £70. Or £80 with a glass of champagne.”

That's R1 600 or R1 850.

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The folly is here too. One of the Cape hotels has, among other things, dark chocolate and honeycomb tart, caramel popcorn choux puff (google it, I had to), and they excel in a divine raspberry and pistachio Swiss roll. Cost: R455 per person.

This “High Tea" is far removed from freshly baked bread spread with lard, vegetable soup, steak and kidney pie, baked beans, goat's milk, mashed potatoes, strong cheap tea, with a lot of sugar and sometimes, only sometimes served with milk, if there was enough money.

I know that I would have had a blast at such a table of working-class people where one could laugh out loud with exposed candyfloss pink gums without a lappie hiding your mouth and without being nervous about a cup cracking, because the tea is served in old mugs.

Another hotel's “High Tea" offers coronation chicken samosa, spring vegetable pie, ratatouille frittata: “All this is just a preliminary to the pièce de resistance, a show-stopping birdcage tower of exquisite sweet bites. Each delicate creation is a symphony of flavour: buttery palet Breton, hazelnut Paris Brest, cocoa nib financier, the crackling snap of a tuile dentelle, decadent hibiscus chocolate cake, delicate macarons, and many more.” This tea costs R550 per person.

How I would love to meet the person who penned this spread. My deepest sympathy and I wish you a long life.

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Obviously, these misused terms are not as serious as war, but there are people who will fight you about it.

One David, a former friend, was so upset that I'd dared to speak about this, he stopped seeing me. He ghosted me, and that because of tea! This is what comes from mingling with opera queens who drink tea pinkie-in-the-air and sing in church choirs for entertainment. He originates from Alberton but speaks proper English, better than Helen Mirren. As people from the rural areas say, when he talks, he spits fish.

What is interesting is the anthropology of the English class system, even when it comes to tea (and with hindsight how absurd it is). I must confess, I went to the Mount Nelson for a “High Tea" one day.

The man in front of me sliced a piece of cake and between the cake and his plate, the whole affair fell onto the expensive carpets. I tried to make him feel better and said nonchalantly, yet with a touch of empathy and in the Rooitaal, because what else do you speak at the Pink Lady: “Oh, it's a sign of good luck, you know."

He dramatically swivelled around like Søren Kierkegaard played by Laurence Olivier on stage, looked me straight in the eye and said in a souffléur's whispery voice: “Yes, one has to make sense of it ... somehow."

Ah, yet another existential crisis that's not a piece of cake.

• If you will be visiting the Cape over the festive season and you fancy the Jane Austen experience, consider this list of places that offer “High Tea".

♦ VWB ♦

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