The Singing Kettle - A perfect tea parlor in Dartmouth!

When I hear the word ‘tea,’ I immediately think of England. Cozy parlors. Painted porcelain cups.  Little cubes of sugar.  Lots of silver and all that.  Found the quintessential place in Dartmouth:  The Singing Kettle.

Although tea is served all over the world and some of the places I’ve drunk it, I better not mention.  After all, I have a wife, and friends, who say they bend in a broadminded sort of way, but look at you strangely when you do even the most innocent things, like pop a beer for breakfast, or point-out you can see the waitress’ nipples when she’s standing in the sunlight.  Closet Puritans.

As I was saying, England for me is the epicenter of the tea world.  Of course, a couple of billion Asians may feel slightly differently.

Tea hasn’t always been a cornerstone of English sociability.   Got to the shores in the mid 17^th Century and took a while to catch-on. Samuel Pepys, of diary fame, wrote in 1660 (or thereabouts):  "I did send for a cup of tee, (a China drink) of which I had never had drunk before".

George Orwell (the novelist, 1984) also had some specific ideas about making and serving tea:  http://wikilivres.ca/wiki/A_Nice_Cup_of_Tea  You’re welcome to read the full list of his eleven, ironclad rules, but leave you only with this: 

“First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays — it is economical, and one can drink it without milk — but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase 'a nice cup of tea' invariably means Indian tea.”

In Devon, where the city of Dartmouth nestles on the banks of the River Dart, you’ll find the specialty is cream tea.  That doesn’t refer to the added liquid, which is almost always milk, but to the famous Devon clotted cream.  Clotted cream is rich cream, cooked in a specific fashion to make a spread with a consistency similar to sweet butter.  Clotted cream is served as a topping for scones or other pastries. Want to make your own scones?  One of my previous posts shows you how: http://stroudallover.blogspot.de/2012/02/biscuits-go-to-london-magnificent-cream.html

Note the clotted cream on the uppermost plate.

Ah, the romance of tea.  Types range from dark and strong to light and simple.  You’re missing the point if you resort to bags.  Either that or you’re a wearied mother of two or three or (god pity you) four, in which case a pause is measured in seconds and silence is more valuable than bricks of gold.  Then, ok, even the most fastidious would understand if you simply put a tea bag in your mouth and sucked.

For the rest of us:  Use loose tea.  More flavorful by far.  Easier to gauge the strength of the tea.  Here’s a handy reference from The Republic of Tea:  http://the.republicoftea.com/library/tea-information/tea-101-how-to-steep-tea/

At The Singing Kettle you won’t have to worry. Your waiter will advise you on how long to let the tea steep.

Sugar or not?  Of course the sugar should always be cubed, not sifted. Stir gently.

How about milk, as the English usually take it?  Before or after pouring the tea?  Your choice.  Let the authorities quibble over the difference.

A couple of things I liked about The Singing Kettle, besides the tea, which comes in several excellent varieties, and the scones, which were perfect.  The Kettle was steps away from our Bed & Breakfast, in the heart of old Dartmouth.  Inside the tea room, the only sounds I heard were the soft, metallic sounds of teaspoons, and the gentle, subdued tones of conversation.  My feeling is, if I want noise and crowds, I’ll go where the noise and crowds are.  Definitely not for tea.

Did you know that the English consume more tea per capita than anyone else?  But, the other side of the coin is that tea consumption is going down.  Nope, coffee isn’t taking it’s place.  Herb tea and other healthful liquids are the culprits.

But, back to Dartmouth!  I would talk on and on about the virtues of The Singing Kettle.  Professional, efficient wait-staff.  Reasonable prices.  Luxurious atmosphere without making you feel uncomfortable in your street clothes, and of course the scones and clotted cream!  But, I think the photos tell a better story than mere words.

When you’re in Dartmouth, you will want a break from feverish shopping and a breakneck pace of sightseeing.  The Singing Kettle is the perfect place to relax, have a cuppa, nosh a bite or two and remember that you came to Dartmouth for a vacation from life’s cares.  Settle back.  Now, one lump or two?

The Full English Breakfast - tradition marches on

The Real Thing

The magnificent hotel reception

Later in the evening the bar gets hoppin'

Everything is bustling at my coffee shop

I like to stay at a rather nice hotel in the Kensington area of London.  Thick towels and a large bath, rooms judged perfect in every way, an exercise room, a full lobby bar that sings and whistles when the sun goes down, and a lavish reception area with mountains of fresh flowers.  The nearest tube station is across the street.

There’s also a sumptuous breakfast room, with plush chairs, an able and attentive wait staff, and a buffet the envy of every restaurant in the city.  But, I don’t dine there for breakfast.  Breakfast isn’t just a meal, it’s a comfortable way to greet the morning, outline the day, and relax before dashing around one of the most wonderful cities on earth.  For all those reasons, I choose to face the breaking dawn with a trip around the corner, across from a pub.  Tucked into a busy side street, there’s a bustling little Italian coffee shop where I can read the morning news and watch London’s commercial heart begin to beat.  Wrapped in tight skirts, hair done perfectly, legs swathed in shimmering stockings, shop girls trail in to grab a white napkin, croissant, and a carton of coffee.  Businessmen, stand in line, adjusting their ties, nervously fingering their cell phones, and using a calf to put a touch of sheen on the toes of their shoes.  Everything in the café is a steaming, aromatic hustle.  Tables along the wall are crammed.  Newcomers fit in where they can. Waiters, male and female, both sorts sporting black and white attire, waltz through the flowing traffic, twisting and turning to deliver plates of this, and cups of that.  “Full English?” a waiter calls out and there’s a nod from a back table.

Behind the bar a cashier scratches out new orders, rakes in cash and delivers change at the speed of sunshine, while another waiter hustles between the fresh orange and the coffee machines.  “Will you have a croissant with your coffee?”  The croissants are light, airy, buttery.  Best rendition outside of Paris.  But, I need something sturdy.  A Full English.

The fresh orange juice machine is a thing of wonder.  A large, gleaming metal basket cradles a few dozen ripe oranges.  On demand, they slide down a chute on either side, allowing the machinery to accurately slice and squeeze.

What is a full English breakfast?  You see the words chalked on menu boards outside every London restaurant and coffee shop that flourishes with the morning trade.  To tell the truth (Have I ever lied to you?  Really?  Well, I meant to correct that.), a full English can mean many things, but here are the basics:  Fresh bread, toasted or fried in butter, an egg or two, sunny side up, a couple of bangers (pork sausages), a couple of slices of very lean bacon, a grilled tomato and grilled mushroom, and baked beans.  Add to that coffee or tea, and fresh orange juice and you have about a thousand or so calories to crank your engine.

I’m told the Full English Breakfast began with the Industrial Revolution, when hearty slaves of industry needed more than gruel and tea to give them strength.  Then came World War I and pork sausage fell victim to the meat shortage.  Bangers marched on stage, still pork sausages, but diluted with bread, pork trimmings, and water.  The water tended to pop during the cooking, hence the name bangers. Another thing to consider if you try to duplicate a full English is that English bacon is nothing like American bacon.  The English version is barely salty, almost like a cured pork chop, sliced to bacon thinness.

 I know that look….that look that begs the question:  So, when did baked beans join the fray?  Seems that happened in the 1960s, courtesy of an ad campaign by Heinz Foods.  Somehow ‘Breakfast of Champions’ morphed to ‘Beanz Meanz Heinz.’  By the way, Heinz baked beans evidently started in the U.K., although I’m sure Bostonians will beg to differ raucously, at the tops of their lungs.

If you’re watching calories or cholesterol, which I insist on calling C², you may want to make up for breakfast by drinking a lot of English ale to boost that HDL.  Write it down and remember to do that.   Another day, I’ll recommend a dozen pubs to add to your list and help you save your heart.