The great high tea heist

Gastronomes, socialites, poseurs, debutantes and tea cognoscenti have been frothing for years over the concept of high tea at top-end hotels. The Mount Nelson comes to mind, a bastion of tiered cake stands, linen napkins and tiny sandwiches with aspirations.

Yet beneath the veneer of refined elegance, there is a mounting frustration about the cultural and historical erasure occurring at these tables. This is because the well-heeled first came for the poor man’s crayfish and then for the humble abalone; now, the target is high tea.

High tea was once the domain of tired people with dirty hands and hollow stomachs. It belonged to ordinary working people who required supper rather than spectacle. In a broader context of culinary gentrification, crayfish and abalone were once staples along the coast, harvested by regular fishers for their families and neighbours. These fishers could once make a decent living from such catches. Today, however, the modest man’s ambrosia exists as a luxury hostage.

In certain modern restaurants, a single undersized crayfish sits marooned in a vast glass tank, looking confused and vaguely ashamed, while a price tag of up to R800 glares at the patron like a threat.

Next to it often sits a lone abalone, a klipkous, as it was traditionally called in Afrikaaps. This beautiful old word is now mostly spoken in the past tense as these creatures vanish into the maw of international demand. With poachers earning up to R1,000/kg, the illegal abalone trade is estimated at R1bn a year. It is a staggering valuation for something that was once eaten simply with one’s hands.

The creep of luxury branding onto working-class staples is relentless. Snoek is steadily increasing in price. A plate of curried tripe can now command nearly R300. Even “crushed avocado” on toast can relieve a diner of R120 or more. The Gatsby, that heroic Cape Town artery-clogger, a huge submarine sandwich filled with slap chips first served in Athlone, is now being stalked by establishments keen to rebrand it as a “Bespoke Gatsby”. Even the bunny chow appears to be getting ideas above its station.

The madness of tea culture ... is described by critics as settler twaddle and culinary theft

The madness of tea culture has reached a point where locals attend expensive, “nose-in-the-air” ceremonies under the impression that they are participating in something authentic and traditional. It is described by critics as settler twaddle and culinary theft.

Historically, high tea was at about 6pm, served when Britain’s working classes returned from factories and mines, exhausted and hungry. Because these workers had been awake since dawn and were running on fumes, it served as an early supper for the poor.

The “high” in the name referred strictly to the height of the furniture, a proper dining table, rather than a dainty little perch. At the centre of the table sat a large pot of strong tea served in mugs. The meal consisted of bread, bacon, cheese, fish, pies and potatoes. During tough times, children received only tea and learnt not to complain.

In contrast, “low tea”, or afternoon tea, was an entirely different social ritual. This belonged to the aristocracy, who became peckish around 4pm because dinner was not served until 8pm. It took place at low tables, occupied by a coterie of well-fed women killing time and calories. Men were largely absent from these gatherings, providing women a rare space to loosen their corsets and be themselves.

Etiquette dictated that hilarity be restrained; a laugh was covered with a satin handkerchief, perhaps to hide teeth decayed by the high sugar content of the refreshments. At these affairs, which could involve anywhere from two to a hundred guests, refreshments were served on antique silver trays: strawberries, cream, paper-thin cucumber sandwiches, smoked salmon, Dundee cake and Chelsea buns. The tea was of the finest quality, with milk poured in first to protect the delicate porcelain from cracking.

While authors like Jane Austen documented these rituals with affection, other historical accounts suggest a darker side to the era’s social habits. While women discussed their lives over low tea, Dickensian accounts suggest their spouses were sometimes elsewhere, engaging in their own versions of “high tea” involving opium and other illicit activities.

Today, what luxury hotels and socialites are promoting as high tea is actually low tea, and it has become increasingly extravagant. One Cape hotel offers dark chocolate and honeycomb tarts, caramel popcorn choux puffs and a raspberry and pistachio Swiss roll for R455 per person. Another establishment provides coronation chicken samosas, spring vegetable tarts and ratatouille frittatas, followed by what is described as a “show-stopping birdcage tower of exquisite sweet bites” for R550 a person.

This is not high tea; it is theatre and cosplay. Genuine high tea included, among other things, fresh bread soaked in fat (wonderful), vegetable soup, steak-and-kidney pie, baked beans and mashed potatoes. It was accompanied by cheap, strong tea with plenty of sugar and milk, provided there was enough money left in the household budget.

There is a dignity in the original tradition, a crowded table of working-class people, laughing loudly and drinking from chipped mugs, unafraid of cracked cups or stained tablecloths. There were no napkins held over mouths, no birdcages, and no illusions. The call from critics is simple: call the meal what it is and stop stealing the supper of the working class.