Tea for Three

I forgot to send a card on Father's Day. My excuse was that I was in the middle of the Big Move to Ol' Squit Towers. I know my duty, so as soon as I landed in Sheringham, I promised my dad a nice lunch somewhere. Then I remembered reading about afternoon tea at Morston Hall. I have wonderful childhood memories of picking samphire at Morston, along with the rest of the family. We'd spend all day trudging through the mud collecting samphire and cockles, then return home tired and smudgy, ready to boil up the samphire several times in changes of water to remove the excess salt. Then each of us would be handed a plate full of the gorgeous green stuff which we would douse in malt vinegar and eat with gusto. You can't beat a nice bit of gusto.

We all know that in recent years samphire has become very posh and so has Morston with it's resident TV chef, Galton Blackiston. I'd never heard of Mr Blackiston until he appeared on that Great British Cook Out (or whatever) a couple of years ago. He did Norfolk proud, even if he didn't actually win anything. He looks anguished most of the time; I wonder if he has Eastern European roots somewhere and occasionally reverts back to writing heart-rending poetry while knocking back a bottle of vodka.

Back to the Father's Day treat. It was decided that afternoon tea at Morston Hall would be very nice indeed, so I popped in and booked and tried not to gulp when the very nice young waiter told me it would cost £15 per person. That's a lot of money for a smoked salmon sandwich, a scone and a cup of tea. Still, it is posh and Mr Blackiston is on the telly, so it has to be worth it.

Dad, mum and I turned up yesterday afternoon at 3.30 pm, our appointed time. It was a gorgeous afternoon. We strolled into the cool of the quarry tiled floor of the entrance lobby. No-one around. I peered into the dining room on the left. No-one. Finally I ambled into the reception area just after a couple who were trying to order lapsang sooshong (forgive the spelling). Curiously, Morston Hall doesn't have that particular type of tea. I say curious because it's posh. Eventually we were told to seat ourselves in the conservatory and, after a momentary wait to check it was OK, we then walked out into a really lovely garden and sat in the shade to enjoy our long-awaited comestibles. I'm a bit of a buff when it comes to afternoon tea. I've been to the Ritz, ai'll hev you know. I made the mistake of having a baguette for lunch that time, and found that getting through 15 quid's worth of tea, sandwiches, cake and scones extremely heavy going. I've also had a free afternoon tea at the Carlton Ritz in Dubai. That was probably the most memorable because I was able to choose the Kir Royale version. That's a cake-stand of dainty sandwiches and cakes, accompanied by a glass of champagne with a dash of Kir. Very nice. This time I had paced myself and had eaten nothing since mum's bacon and eggs for breakfast. By 3.30 pm my blood sugar was oozing out of my toes and I was pretty tetchy. Bring on the sandwiches. At last they arrived, with the silver pots of Earl Grey tea and hot water. Strangely, the handle of the teapot had a Moroccan protector on it. It's a piece of cloth sewn into the shape of a man wearing a fez and a djellaba. The teapot leaked and I was disappointed that they had used bags rather than loose tea. Very naughty. The tiny triangles of smoked salmon sandwiches were gorgeous. The bread was home-made - a thin rye bread containing apricots, sultanas and nuts. Delicious. As we devoured the sandwiches, I started worrying that there would be nothing to follow. I realise that Mr Blackiston is supposed to be good, but surely this wasn't afternoon tea. Another very nice young man arrived to warn us that more was to come. He brought along a plate of cakes and scones, along with a side dish containing butter, raspberry jam and clotted cream. We had a slice each of crumbly fruit cake which tasted like Christmas pudding. We each had a warm, fresh scone (fabulous). There was a miniature pavlova each and a pistachio and almond thing which was a bit dry and disappointing. I ate my scones with the clotted cream, which was very tasty and light. As we chewed and drank and smiled, a young lady wearing a white apron, presumably a sous chef, came out into the garden to gather fresh herbs. Very cheffy, I thought.

Was it worth the money? Yes, for the occasional treat and to hear my mum telling the neighbours about the experience. However, I do hope that they sort out the loose tea and fix the leaky teapot. In the meantime, I could try to recreate the scones with clotted cream. I became a little lightheaded with the sugar rush of all that cake and wondered if they grew their own clotted cream. I enquired about the source while I paid the bill. Turns out it's Rodda's clotted cream which you can buy in the Rainbow in Cromer. While I'm there I could pick up a jar of cockles and we could have those on toast. Very North Norfolk.