I am a proud cool auntie with mostly nephews. My niece and I are close and have always enjoyed doing sophisticated “lady” things together. Every year since she was five years old, we’ve gone to The Grand America high tea for her birthday. We get dressed up, she borrows my fancy (costume) jewelry, and we have tea, or in her case, hot chocolate, and we have Afternoon Tea in the lobby lounge. Just the two of us.
We are approaching six years of our ladies who take tea tradition, and I will continue it as long as she is interested. It’s a chance for us to talk about everything from table manners to food preferences, and more recently, she’s been discussing her schoolwork, aerialist classes, and her friends.
I’ll never forget the first time we went. She was both excited and nervous. It was easily the fanciest place she’d been to. She was feeling shy, and as we sat down, the server came by to say hello, speaking to her as if she were a grown-up. We were seated on an overstuffed couch with the table low in front of us. In Grand America High Tea tradition, they pour hot water into a wine glass with a hand-sewn tea flower that blooms slowly over the course of your meal, providing a beautiful centerpiece.
When you attend High Tea at The Grand, your table is pre-set based on your reservation. Laid out when you sit down is a strawberry parfait with chantilly cream and scones with clotted cream, preserves, and lemon curd. I showed her how to put her napkin in her lap, and she reached out to take her first anticipated bite of scone. Then disaster. The scone tumbled from her little hands and landed clotted cream side down on the carpet under the table. She turned to me with sad eyes, looking like the world had ended. I could see all the emotions: disappointment at missing out on the promised bite, embarrassment for making a mistake, shame that she had ‘ruined’ things before we even got started, and fear that I would be angry or that she would be in trouble. It all happened in five seconds. My heart broke. I was determined to show her that everything was OK before the tears could start. I knew that the beautifully trained staff at The Grand America would back me up.
I told her, “It isn’t a big deal. I promise you. Let me show you,” and proceeded to beckon our server. She looked horrified. Why would I draw attention to us? I told our server what had happened, and, like an absolute professional, he whisked away the mess; someone else brought another scone immediately, without batting an eye (or, for that matter, a side eye). Both assured her that it wasn’t a problem. It was a showcase of stellar service, marked by kindness. The afternoon proceeded with tragedy averted. I know she remembers that moment. We’ve talked about it since. It was the type of service that sets a five-star hotel apart from all the rest. And one of the reasons I always go back…