English high tea is still a celebration, though an overpriced one at The Savoy

One of the classic questions in job interviews is: "are you an optimist, or a pessimist?" Journalism school's infusion of cynicism, and 25 years of banging my head against various corporate brick walls, can incline my knee-jerk reactions to the latter. But I think this blog probably gets to the essential, more positive nature of my character.

Since the turn of the year I could have shared my anxiety over the renovation of my mother's house in St. Louis, sucking in enormous amounts of cash to bring the place up to a standard that will sell. Or the even greater worry about what happens if it doesn't sell. Back home, I could tell you how my property woes continue with expensive repairs to my old house in Datchet, now rented out. I could moan "why me" about the complete collapse of my lovely convertible, which now requires a new engine. (You may sense some stress about cash flow here.)

I could whinge quite a bit about being sick; the hair loss, the lack of energy, and the lingering chest cold that morphed into pneumonia, or the horrible pain every time nurses go digging around trying to hit one of my delicate, hard-to-find veins. I could bore you with my panic over my rapid weight gain (the combo of stress eating and no ability to exercise is lethal). I could explore the frustrations of returning to the office, especially during the nightmare of planning and budget battle season (which I will never do, of course, because I don't blog about my work). Or I could consolidate it all and tell you about the stress dreams that are coming every night, usually about being lost, late for an important date, or both.

But such gloom is not what this blog, or Ellen Ferrara, is all about. I far prefer to concentrate on the fun, cheerful, entertaining and glamorous side of life. Must have been that steady Disney diet in childhood. So today, we're going to talk about afternoon tea.

Back when I was just an eager and occasional British tourist, I had a vague idea that just about everyone in the country paused to drink tea and consume a light, sweet snack around 4pm in a civilised prelude to their late dinners. Moving here, I learned that "tea" is an alternate word for dinner for many people (especially northerners), or the evening meal you serve your kids before putting them to bed and having a proper dinner with your partner. The idea of most people, who barely have time to gulp a sandwich at their desk for lunch, stopping for a sophisticated afternoon ritual is ludicrous. The "tea" that Americans expect has been relegated to holiday afternoons or grand hotels. And the latter are usually filled with foreigners trying to capture a ritual that's only flourishing in the England of Downton Abbey and the other historical dramas that shape the rest of the world's perception far more than reality of this country.

All of which brings us to the Savoy. My visiting American had never had the full on ritual. Turns out I was lucky to get a table. Working 10 days out, on a Wednesday in low-season January, the Ritz and Claridges were already booked. (Recession? What recession?) But the Savoy had a table. I hadn't been there since its recent refurbishment, which closed the place for three years and cost the new Fairmont Hotel group owners more than £220 million. Why not?

The restored and updated Thames Foyer, home to the afternoon ritual, is an architectural triumph. They've opened up the ceiling to natural light for the first time since WWII, filling the central space with a gazebo topped with a stained glass dome, all modern but channelling Edwardian elegance. The room is finished with subtle, classic Georgian decor and generous couches and arm chairs with more of a French feel. It's elegant, sophisticated and you can comfortably settle in for hours.

The tea itself is less impressive, both in experience and taste. Even with the finest of ingredients, I figure the per-head wholesale cost for high tea can't be more than £7. We're talking a couple of scoops of gourmet tea with some hot water; a variety of narrow finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off (generally an allowance of one complete sandwich per person, if you joined up the strips); scones with clotted cream and jam (generally

two each); a variety of gorgeous, mini French pastries and thin slices of cake (about four per person). Even adding in a percentage of staff costs, running costs for the building and the salary for the pianist, you're still making a hefty margin. Because tea in any of the grand hotels is around £40. Add a glass of the heavily promoted champagne, and the tip, and you're crossing the £60 mark.

All of which means this is about the experience, not the meal. It's likely to be for a special event. Given those dynamics, I expect perfection, especially from the service. The Savoy tries, but is not up to standard. The food is average. The sandwiches were the traditional fillings, thinly spread, unremarkable ... and I even tasted a few slices of bread that might have been approaching stale. The scones were fine, but I've had far better in many a countryside tea garden, and the pots of both jam and clotted cream were too small. Sure, you can ask for more, but then you have to wait on the staff. (More on them to come.) The pastries and cakes were the best of the offerings, but this quality is easily bought in from a range of French patisseries in London. I must commend them on having a more savoury tea for the less sweet-toothed, which cut out the scones for scrambled eggs and salmon ... though I wondered why they didn't make the substitute for the much sweeter pastries.

Most impressive on the culinary front is the tea menu itself, which featured multiple pages of beautifully-described exotic teas. It's no wonder part of the renovation is a new tea shop, given that most of this stuff isn't generally available.

Service is genial and, as we've come to expect at every level of London establishment, foreign. Everyone's English was excellent, but nobody got any points for speed. Glasses of water requested while perusing the menu took ages to arrive. We ordered champagne, which seemed to be a signal to the staff to hold back the pots of tea until our glasses were empty. Meaning there was still no sign of the tea to go with the scones, which is about the only food on the planet with which this confessed coffee preferrer thinks the stuff actually works well with. We finally had to ask for it, and our different pots arrived and were poured at different times. Sure, there were five of us, but as this variety is the point of high tea and they had plenty of staff, this shouldn't have been a problem. The more savoury tea was a lovely idea, but they didn't coordinate its serving with the traditional one, meaning Piers was lagging far behind the sweet-toothed girls and had to call over the staff to get two of his four courses started.

Since I know the majority of my payment is going to service, I have to put the Savoy far down my value for money scale. Seeing the restoration was worth it, and the company and occasion (a reunion of our bridesmaids) made for a delightful afternoon, but I'm not setting foot back in the place unless someone else is paying. My own cash ... with more extended reservation time ... would go to tea at Claridges, which impressed me when last I indulged and recently won one of the papers' best tea in London award. And I wouldn't mind trying the Ritz, though I expect to be surrounded by Americans and Chinese. I haven't been since my first London trip in '82, when the then-£20 fee (now £42) was a painful sacrifice. But it served as dinner, and it had to be "done" to say I'd had the full London experience. I can't deny it. That early foray into the sophisticated luxury of one side of English life, no doubt, influenced my desire to move here and the entertainment choices I've made since.

Clearly, my tea cup is ... and has always been ... half full.