What Afternoon Tea Really Means

Afternoon tea is not the same as high tea, and it is certainly not a meal. It is a small, civilised pause in the late afternoon — traditionally somewhere between three and five o'clock — built around a pot of tea, a plate of thin sandwiches, warm scones and a few small cakes. It came to prominence in the nineteenth century as a way of bridging the long gap between an early luncheon and a fashionably late dinner, and nearly two hundred years on the appeal has not dimmed: it is the easiest way to make an ordinary Saturday feel like an occasion.

The good news is that you do not need a tiered stand, a starched cloth or a butler. You need a little organisation, a hot oven and decent loose-leaf tea. Everything else is negotiable.

Plan the Order of Play

Most home attempts at afternoon tea fail on timing rather than cooking. Scones are at their best within an hour of leaving the oven, and tea goes flat quickly in the pot, so work backwards from the moment you want to sit down.

• Two hours before: make the scone dough, cut out the rounds and rest them in the fridge. Cold dough rises better.
• One hour before: bake the scones, then wrap them in a clean tea towel on a wire rack so they stay soft.
• Half an hour before: assemble the sandwiches, cover them with a dampened cloth and keep them away from the radiator.
• Ten minutes before: warm the teapot with hot water, then empty it. Boil the kettle. Bring the cream and jam out to room temperature.
• At the table: brew the tea. Everything else is already done.

Scones Worth the Effort

A good scone should be tall, craggy and slightly pale, with a soft crumb that splits rather than crumbles. Technique matters far more than the exact recipe. Weigh out 450g of self-raising flour with a generous pinch of salt and two teaspoons of baking powder, then rub in 100g of cold butter cut into cubes until the mixture looks like fine breadcrumbs. Stir through 50g of caster sugar, add 250ml of milk in one go and bring it together with a knife — handle it as little as you dare.

Pat or roll the dough to about 2.5cm thick and cut with a sharp 6cm cutter. Press straight down and lift; never twist, or the scones will lean as they rise. Brush the tops with a little milk or beaten egg and bake at 220°C (200°C fan, gas 7) for 10 to 12 minutes. Add a handful of sultanas, or a little lemon zest, if that is how your household likes them.

Clotted Cream, Jam and the Old Argument

Buy proper clotted cream — the thick, pale-gold sort with a crust on top — and let it come up to room temperature, which takes at least an hour out of the fridge. Serve it in a small dish with a spoon, never piped and never squirted.

As for the order, Devon traditionally spreads jam first and spoons cream on top; Cornwall insists on cream first, with jam as the lid. Both are correct, both are delicious, and the argument is best conducted cheerfully and left unresolved. What matters is that the scone is warm, the cream is thick and there is plenty of both. If you are making your own jam, a sharp raspberry or a dark strawberry works better than anything too sweet.

Sandwiches and Small Cakes

The savouries should be dainty but generous in flavour, and above all they must not be soggy.

• Cucumber: slice thinly, salt for twenty minutes, then pat dry and squeeze. Butter the bread right to the crusts to keep the water out.
• Smoked salmon: with a scrape of cream cheese, black pepper and a squeeze of lemon.
• Egg and cress: mashed with mayonnaise and a little mustard, the cress snipped in just before serving.
• Ham and mustard: the plainest of the lot and usually the first to disappear.

Cut the crusts off after filling, then cut each sandwich into fingers no wider than your finger. For cakes, keep it simple: a small Victoria sponge, a lemon drizzle cut into neat squares, or a plain fruit cake sliced thinly. Nothing that needs a fork, and nothing that fights with the tea.

The Tea Itself

Loose leaf makes a noticeable difference, and the small ritual of measuring it is half the pleasure. An Assam is malty and takes milk well; a Ceylon is brighter and cleaner; an English breakfast blend sits comfortably in the middle. For something lighter, a first-flush Darjeeling is lovely, though it should be drunk without milk.

Use one rounded teaspoon per person plus one for the pot. Pour water that has just come off the boil — not boiling furiously — and let it steep for three to four minutes, no longer, or the tannins will turn it bitter and stewed. Strain into warmed cups. Offer milk in a jug and let people help themselves; sugar too, though few will take it.

Then sit down, pour properly and stay a while. The whole point of afternoon tea is that it is unhurried — and in the end the company matters at least as much as the scones.