There are many things I expect to do during school holidays; stand barefoot on a Lego brick, rewatch Encanto until my ears bleed glitter, possibly rewire the broadband router because “Roblox keeps lagging, Daddy”. What I didn’t expect last half term was to find myself at One Aldwych, seated at a table across from my Little Nest of Vipers as she dissected a scone with the focus of a forensic pathologist.
“Daddy,” she said, eyes narrowing, “is this a real tea, or just a trick to make me eat fancy sandwiches?”
“It’s a whimsical culinary journey,” I offered proudly, quoting the website, and immediately regretting it.
She sighed. “So, fancy sandwiches.”
To be fair, the Charlie & the Chocolate Factory Afternoon Tea is whimsical. Possibly even magical. From the moment you descend into the hotel lounge, passing the sweet counter and the nut weighing machine, you are greeted with the scent of cocoa and anticipation, and it’s clear this isn’t your average cucumber-and-regret affair.
We started with a Fizzing Lifting Drink. Well, I did; a Havana Club with passion fruit liqueur, peach and mango soda, called Just Like Gold, because nothing says “I’ve lost control of my child” like gilded alcohol. My daughter chose a Delicious Purplicious that featuring apple, lemon, blackberry purée and rhubarb lemonade, smoking from a glass teapot as it was poured into a Champagne flute.
“Don’t drink it all at once,” I said. She locked eyes with me and drank it all at once. I think I might have made the wrong choice.
Next came the savouries. Not just sandwiches, thank you very much, but a mushroom toastie, a leek and Shropshire blue cheese quiche, and beetroot ‘hot ice cream for cold days’, with added horseradish for the grown-ups. They were spoiling the adults as much as the children.
“Phew,” she said, “normal sandwiches,” spying squares of ham, cheese and jam varieties on her plate. “You can have this one, though…” trading her cream cheese and cucumber for my coronation chicken. I would have called that ‘fancy’, but there’s no accounting for an 11-year-old’s culinary whims.
“What about the ice cream?” I asked.
She considered it. “Beetroot ice cream, Dad. I mean, really.” My daughter the food critic, everyone.
The scones, always a favourite, warm and fudge-like, went down a treat. Then came the sweets, and the table began to resemble a Mad Hatter’s bake sale; butterscotch & soda, Augustus Gloop’s strawberry fudge, ‘Hair toffee’ mousse and a tiny macaron that looked like a joke but tasted like Michelin-starred mischief that would turn Violet Beauregard, well, violet.
“This,” she said, cradling a chocolate and caramel confection that reminded me of a Walnut Whip, “is my new favourite food group.”
“You mean dessert?”
“No, hair toffee mousse.”
At this point, I attempted to have a gentle conversation about the importance of a balanced diet, but was drowned out by her spooning ‘snozzberry’ jam into her mouth like she was at a competitive eating contest.
And then, just as her sugar levels reached ‘mildly vibrating’, the waiter brought it: a custom-made stand, fashioned into a contraption that Wonka might have mustered, featuring a mini bottle of chocolate milk (mixed by waterfall, we’re told) and a stick of the fluffiest, pinkest, most unapologetically joyous cotton candy.
She gasped. “You didn’t tell me there’d be candy floss.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I said.
She blinked. “Daddy. I googled the menu. This is why I agreed to come.”
The candy floss was devoured with the same reverence I imagine one reserves for religious relics. Strings of spun sugar looped around her fingers, her nose, her very soul. She moulded it into animal shapes, and stuck cutlery to the table with it. I sat back and watched her glow, equal parts E-number and satisfaction, shaking my head at the table manners dredged from a foetid pond – what have I taught her.
Later, as we stepped out into the hubbub of the Strand, she slipped her slightly sticky hand into mine and looked up.
“Dad, I enjoyed that…” I smiled. Perhaps there are some things parents can do right. “But next time,” she added, “we can skip the savouries and go straight to the floss.”
“Yes, dear.”
She grinned. “There’s a good Dad.”
And just like that, I realised I’d been outmanoeuvred by an eleven-year-old with an acerbic wit and a sweet tooth sharper than any viper’s fang.
The new menu at the Charlie & the Chocolate Factory Afternoon Tea is now available at One Aldwych. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.onealdwych.com.
