Thursday, May 14, 2015
Harrods English Afternoon Tea
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
"A Teacup Collection" by Molly Hatch
In her introduction to the book, Curator of Decorative Arts Kathleen Morris of the Clark Art Institute notes, "Porcelain cups and saucers were made in profusion in the eighteenth century due to the new fashion of drinking the exotic beverages of tea, coffee, and chocolate. All of these were introduced into Europe through trade in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and had taken hold as fashionable drinks by the early eighteenth century. The raw ingredients of these drinks—tea leaves, coffee beans, cacao beans, and sugar—were all very expensive, so that at first these drinks, like the porcelain they were served in, were the purview only of the wealthy." Sterling Clark, by the way, was one of the heirs of the Singer sewing machine fortune.
The real highlight of this book, though, is all the charming paintings, included in a catalog format and even featuring tiny details from the saucers, which are not pictured. In a book such as this, I love to stop and linger every few pages and decide which cup I find the prettiest, which one I'd choose if, say, the Clark Art Institute lost its mind and had a yard sale.
I was frankly surprised (but very pleased) that a book publisher today would devote an entire book to, well, pretty teacups, but I'm so glad they did! And when I looked online, I was tickled to find a Chronicle Books blog post about the design process for the cover, which I think is simply splendid. If you'd like to see the other covers that were in the running click here, and you can also see some of the interior pages from the book. I highly recommend "A Teacup Collection" and think you'll enjoy perusing its charming pages with a cup of your favorite tea nearby!
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
A different kind of birthday cake!
Monday, May 11, 2015
How we spent our birthday money
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Teatime Tale #19 - The Mother's Day Tea Mug
The Mother's Day Tea Mug
“Is my nose really this big?”
I whispered the question to Dan this morning after the boys came in with a tray bearing my Mother’s Day gifts, which included a pottery mug supposedly bearing my likeness that David, my six-year-old, made in school, and the breakfast that Jared, my eight-year-old, made in the kitchen. I’m already self-conscious about my oversized schnoz, and when I saw the one on my mug from David, I was ready to book that appointment with a plastic surgeon.
Dan assured me he thinks my nose is “cute,” but I’m not buying that.
A better mother wouldn’t have pondered such things and would have graciously accepted the tray of cereal and burned toast with a smile on her face—which I did—but without thinking, “I wonder how much they wrecked the kitchen?” So I ate the soggy Cheerios, insisted on sharing my toast with Dan, and proved to David that I really did love my new mug by heading into the kitchen and steeping a cup of English Breakfast Tea.
I don’t know where his teacher got the clay or whatever probably-toxic substance this thing is made of, but it weighs ten pounds empty, and with tea, a solid fifteen. As soon as I finished sipping, I told David I loved the mug way too much to use it every day, and I plucked a hydrangea blossom from a vase by the kitchen window and voila, a new tea mug vase.
Mother’s Day ought to be renamed National Motherhood Guilt Day. Seriously. Older moms may enjoy this day and bask in the adoration of their successful adult children, but those of us with young kids? We know we’ll never be Mother of the Year. I’m simply trying to get my boys through elementary school without too many more calls to the principal’s office.
And two nights ago, I had just finished doing laundry when Jared ran in yelling that David had something stuck in his cast and couldn’t get it out. Yeah. As if a cast isn’t bad enough…
Turns out, David had an itch on his broken leg and wondered if a plastic army man holding a bayonet might relieve his symptoms. He poked the stupid thing so far up his cast that it got stuck and was causing him, apparently, excruciating levels of pain.
I did not enjoy explaining this to the good people on duty at Emergency Care. One of them remembered us from the night David first broke his leg six weeks ago, but then it’s not every day a kid comes in with a leg flopping out from under his Iron Man costume and refusing to let go of his plastic pumpkin full of Halloween candy. In March.
My boys are forever challenging me to research new topics that none of the parenting manuals ever address. Forget about the books on teaching kids self-esteem and anti-bullying stuff. I want to see a book for kids with chapters titled “Places You Do Not Poke Marbles” and “Why We Don’t Replace Mommy’s Ocean Scent Body Mist with Windex.”
This morning before church, I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out what Jared did with the khakis I laid out for him yesterday. They were pressed and draped across his beanbag chair when I kissed him good night, but this morning, there was nothing there. Nada. He hadn’t seen the pants. David said he hadn’t seen them either, and just to be sure, I looked up his cast, though Dan said that was overkill. So maybe there’s a pants thief wandering around the neighborhood and I just haven’t read that e-mail from the homeowners association yet, but I doubt it.
After Sunday School, the boys came out with Mother’s Day cards they’d made for me. Jared’s was addressed to “World’s Best Mom, Amy Simpson.” David’s was a fill-in-the-blank model from his Sunday School book, and it read, “I love my mom because …” and he’d written, “she makes good tacos sometimes.” Sometimes?
The pastor called on all the moms to stand up and be recognized, and I thought—not for the first time—that a gift certificate for babysitting would be a much nicer gift than the carnation and bookmark they give us Every. Single. Year.
After church, we headed to Dan’s mom’s for lunch. I called my mom on the way to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. She and my dad are in Hawaii on vacation, and they were about to go snorkeling. Sigh.
Dan’s mom loves to cook, hallelujah, and the boys gave her the new Pioneer Woman cookbook, which she appeared to love.
After lunch, we went home, and I got my real gift this year. Dan took the boys to the park for two whole hours. I was going to organize my crafts studio, read my new novel, and wash the boys’ ball uniforms for this week’s games. Instead, I took a nap.
When I woke up, Dan and the boys were just getting back. He’d gotten a pizza for supper, bless him. A few hours of computer games later, and it was time to tuck the boys in for the night.
Jared is my easy child and goes off to sleep without a fuss. David, this time, was actually kind of quiet—for him—when I went in to say good night.
“Did you really like your mug, Mom?” David asked.
“Sweetie, I love it,” I said. “Didn’t you see me drinking tea out of it this morning and then using it as a new vase?”
“Yeah,” he said, “but my teacher made all the noses too big. I told her your nose is much smaller than that, and my mug isn’t nearly as pretty as you are.”
I gave him a kiss, told him I loved him, tucked the Iron Man sheets around him, and headed to the kitchen, where I admired my beautiful new tea mug-slash-vase.
Happy Mother’s Day? Yeah, it was.
Friday, May 8, 2015
A new-to-me Nippon tea set
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Hats, lingerie and … tea?
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
A special birthday tea cozy
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Celebrating Derby Day and supporting a great cause!
Monday, May 4, 2015
Surprised by a birthday tea party!
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Teatime Tale # 18 - Teatime with Aunt Eleanor
Teatime with Aunt Eleanor
“Melissa Levinson of Chattanooga has just released her fifth book of afternoon tea recipes, ‘It’s Teatime, Y’all.’ The book of southern-themed teatime recipes will be in stores May 12, 2015, and a book signing is scheduled at Barnes and Noble for 2 p.m. that afternoon.”
No matter how many tea books I’ve written, I always enjoy a new book launch with all its fanfare, especially the book signings and events where I get to meet so many lovely people.
My Aunt Eleanor recently joined the Chattanooga Tea Society, and since she’s my favorite aunt, I was happy to oblige when she asked me to speak at their May meeting. Aunt Eleanor was beside herself over getting to host the meeting and show off her niece with the new tea book.
I promised to bring copies to the meeting, which was held at my aunt’s charming Victorian home near downtown. The afternoon of the meeting, I walked up onto the porch and, as always, admired the lush Boston ferns hanging there. Aunt Eleanor had decorated her white wicker porch furniture with needlepoint pillows featuring teacups and teapots. It was going to be a fun afternoon.
When I went inside, Aunt Eleanor proudly introduced “my niece, the author” to her friends, who seemed like sweet ladies. If they were friends of my aunt, that was all I needed to know.
At three o’clock, my aunt signaled it was time for the meeting to begin. My talk, I had been told, was to be short and sweet—fifteen minutes, max—with plenty of time for questions afterward. I love talking about the history of tea in the United States, particularly about tea cultivation and teatime customs in the South.
Afterward, the women asked some great questions. I knew someone would ask about my favorite tea, Darjeeling, because someone always does, and I also knew someone would ask about the difference in black tea and green tea. My aunt had told her friends about my visit to the tea plantations of India two years ago, so I showed them a few photos of the tea fields, photos I had saved on my iPad for just such show and tell.
At four o’clock, we gathered around the dining table my aunt had elegantly arranged with family silver and floral arrangements. Three-tiered servers were spaced along the table, and tiny vases of fresh flowers were at each place setting, a chalkboard-style tag inscribed with the name of each guest.
My aunt’s teenage neighbor, Caroline, helped serve, and she arrived with a tray of what appeared to be piping hot scones. At Aunt Eleanor’s urging, Caroline served me first before moving along to the other guests. Once everyone had scones, Aunt Eleanor offered a simple prayer for the meal—she insisted Afternoon Tea was a meal—and then everyone used my aunt’s old-fashioned pastry forks to take bites of scones, most of the ladies enjoying the lemon curd and clotted cream as well.
The sound of a fork clanging on china was my first clue these scones weren’t quite up to par. Aunt Eleanor had ordered them from a local bakery, and they had assured her that warming them in the oven for a few minutes before teatime would work fine. I knew that was a bad idea the moment I heard it, yet I’d hoped for the best.
I carefully sliced into the scone with my fork. A chunk flew up and hit me in the eye, but I blinked away tears and hoped no one had noticed.
Aiming for a smaller bite, I lightly chipped off a piece of the soft interior, only it wasn’t a soft interior. It was raw, and I could see the gummy dough oozing in spots.
Aunt Eleanor said several of the women wanted to see more of my India photos, so while they were busy getting refills of tea, I picked up my napkin, discreetly tucked the rest of my scone into the folds, and headed for the tote bag where I’d stashed my iPad. Napkin in hand, I reached into the bag and pretended to fish around for my iPad while I deposited that dreadful scone.
Several of the women glanced my way, as if they wondered what was taking me so long. I said, “Ah, here it is! Sometimes it gets tangled up in that charger I carry around with it.”
When I returned to the table, I was horrified to realize Caroline had placed another scone on my plate.
“Your aunt said you must have enjoyed that other one, so she wanted to make sure you got plenty to eat.”
“Your aunt said you must have enjoyed that other one, so she wanted to make sure you got plenty to eat.”
“Oh, my goodness, I’m already getting full. I think I’d better save room for the tea sandwiches and sweets.”
“So what do you think of the scones, Melissa?” Aunt Eleanor asked. “I don’t eat them anymore since I’ve gone gluten-free, but the bakery tells me they’re some of their most popular items.”
Remind me never to eat at that bakery, I thought. “Aren’t scones great? I love that legend of the scone from over in Scotland. Do you ladies know that story?”
And with that, I went off on a tangent about the history of scones and the many shapes, sizes, and flavors of scones on the market today.
The afternoon passed quickly, and since I had another speaking engagement that evening, I told my aunt I needed to sign books for the friends who wanted one and get on my way. I was pleased when they bought every copy I’d brought.
I was almost out the door when my aunt said, “Caroline, bring that box for Melissa, would you, dear?”
The young helper arrived bearing a plastic-lidded tray filled with scones.
“The rest of these are going home with you, dear, because no one enjoys a good scone as much as you. Isn’t that right?” said Aunt Eleanor.
A good scone?
“That’s absolutely right,” I said, giving my aunt a kiss. “Absolutely right.”
Friday, May 1, 2015
Native American Tea Company's Victory Tea & Green Tea
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