It is such a stereotype, isn’t it, tea and scones? Proper, stuffy women in proper, stuffy clothing sitting primly in chairs with uncomfortably stiff cushions, their elbows tucked in as they hold their hands filled with tea and scones as far from themselves as possible, in case of crumbs and stains and improper mess. The tea is drunk in a seeming competition to see which lady can sip most delicately. Small bites are taken of the cream lathered scones, yet napkins are still needed to repeatedly dab at the corners of the mouth. Tea and scones. Little girls at tea parties grown into women still playing that spilling their tea is the worst happenstance of life. Tea and scones.
The reality of tea and scones.
Baking in a kitchen, deviating from the recipe and laughing with anxiety that all will come out well. Batter sticking to fingers. Flour everywhere. I’ve forgotten to heat the oven. Tea and scones. The oven door is opened every minute or so, despite the dire warnings against such behavior given in many cook books. I get dirtier washing up than I do making a mess. I forget about the scones, so engrossed with the novel I’m rereading I become, yet I am too experienced a baker to be startled by the timer anymore, things usually need an extra minute to bake anyways. Tea and scones. The scones are set on a glass platter whose showy glass lid was broken ages ago.
The kettle is filled with water, tea bags hide inside the tea pot waiting for their scalding bath. The cupboard is ravaged in a search for matching cups and saucers. Two cups and saucers from one set must be used beside two cups and saucers from another. Oh well, uniformity is never so attractive as a charming hodgepodge. Tea and scones. I only upset my tea cup once, today’s tea is a great success.
Who knew tea and scones could be so filling?