Finger Food

This past weekend, I discovered two things: that there is such a thing as a free lunch, and that you should never take your eye off the mandoline when slicing cucumbers at recklessly high speed. Both of these resulted in a titular state of affairs, but with staggeringly different enjoyment levels.

Not a musical instrument, unless
you consider 'aaaarggjgh' music

While I won't indulge the gorehounds among you with every minute detail of my little accident, I will just say that it has thoroughly driven home the sheer number of things that you use your thumbs for. Typing this post alone was a bit of a pain in the ass (metaphorically speaking) and everyday tasks like getting your bloody wallet out of your back pocket are suddenly an exercise in delicate maneuvers, as if someone had mischievously snuck a mousetrap into your jeans for a laugh. Still, frantic panic-bandaging and a hilarious number of first-aid supplies later, and all is on the mend I am happy to report.

Instead, I thought you might like to hear about my little trip to Harvey Nichols Fifth Floor Restaurant, for the Sharpham Park afternoon tea promotion. As part of British Food Fortnight, head chef Jonas Karlsson has adeptly put together a lovely collection of mini-sandwiches and sweet treats, with a little bit of a twist. Instead of using normal flour, he's using Sharpham Park's spelt flour, which has a denser and nuttier texture and is apparently easier to digest. I was very kindly invited along to sample this little excursion, and given that I can't remember the last time I actually had afternoon tea, I leapt at the opportunity.

In a funny way, afternoon tea has always felt somewhat old-fashioned to me. An occasion marked with lashings of cream and grandmother's pearls, draped in the embrace of freshly-brewed tea and cucumber sandwiches. Like a quick glimpse back to the turn of the century when social gatherings were largely more civilized and slightly less drunken. It also seems like a much more feminine encounter, where girlfriends swap gossip or mothers collectively plot their next campaign for their children's hearts and minds. It's not quite the territory of burly men discussing the transfer market, let's be honest. Nonetheless, on the back of my experience on Saturday, I think it could enjoy a healthy new lease of life. Whether you're there with friends, family or a loved one, there's actually a lot to like about spending a bit of time on a rainy afternoon munching on delectable treats. Not only do you get a brief, fleeting injection of civility into everyday life (where I mostly shout at tourists on the tube), but you also get to feel a bit like a giant eating tiny little sandwiches.

The Fifth Floor restaurant is a modern, sleek affair, with warm and welcoming browns and beiges (you can tell I've been decorating recently). It's a nice big open dining room, which gives the whole place a relaxed, chatty vibe. The service was absolutely impeccable, getting that rare balance in London between being charming and friendly, while also leaving you alone long enough to actually enjoy your meal and company (take note, Shoreditch establishments: asking if everything's ok every four minutes is not good service). One immediate thing that I appreciated was that even though the clientele is clearly on the wealthier side, there was no snottiness on the part of the staff towards me taking photographs of the food. This is something that american waiters do brilliantly, and it's nice to see behaviour like this prevail in a place where some might turn up their nose at my plight. This was further reinforced by the Japanese group sat behind us who produced a real-time photo catalogue of every single element of their entire meal. And no, I'm not stereotyping here people.

The Coronation chicken was switched to Roast Beef on the day

After choosing our teas (Earl Grey for her, Darjeeling for me) with all the panache of a blind man in a stripclub, they brought out the sandwich platter. Each little sandwich was lovingly crafted, as if they had been built by pixies on miniature scaffolds. The Smoked Salmon bagel, for example, is deceptive in the photo because it was actually about the size of a large walnut. It was here however, that my first surprise lurked. As with most food, I tend to save the best bit for last. This always used to be my downfall as a child, where I would save my crispy bacon for last and then my dad would nick it under the auspices of not wanting it to go to waste. So I decided to leave the Roast Beef focaccia for last, and start with the Egg Mayonnaise. Imagine my surprise, then, to discover that the Egg Mayonnaise sandwich was actually the standout. The egg itself was perfectly seasoned with the chives and cress giving it a hearty, herby backbone, and the bridge roll was crispy and soft. I was thankful that it was the biggest of the bunch, because it was undoubtedly the best.

The Bocconcini was also lovely, two bites of perfectly balanced tomato, mozzarella and toasted sourdough. The sourdough also had a nuttier flavour, thanks to the spelt, and enough substance to comfortably hold it's toppings without fail. I am a huge fan of smoked salmon bagels, so it's miniature cousin was eagerly anticipated. While the density of the spelt bagel was more than I'm used to from my soho bagel man's sesame seed versions, it worked well thanks to the thickness of the salmon and the restrained layer of cream cheese. So it was with relish that I arrived at the final sandwich, a Dedham Vale roast beef with horseradish cream on focaccia. Unfortunately, despite looking all the world like a winner, the foccaccia was excessively dry and immediately sucked all of the moisture out of the beef and the cream, leaving me to swallow a rather crumbly, monotonous lump. The beef is undoubtedly of high quality, so a lighter and less aggressive bread base would have been superb.

It probably seems at this stage like I have microscopically pored over four mouthfuls of food, but that would be rather unfair. While the sandwiches themselves were smaller, they were expertly crafted and surprisingly filling. I certainly wasn't looking around fervently for a BLT, as you occasionally get in joints where the food has been downsized in favour of quality ingredients. Which is a good thing, because the real winners of the afternoon tea came on the next platter.

Your eye should naturally be drawn to the thing that looks like a confectioner's Troll Doll. Mine certainly was. So once again, I decided to leave this little beauty for last. Instead, I turned my attention to the scones, and proceeded to cover them in a near-fatal amount of cream and jam. Interestingly, the scones are really where the difference between spelt and normal flour is most apparent. These scones were slightly denser, darker and more hearty. The nuttiness also had a slightly bitter aftertaste, which mixed nicely with the sweetness of the cream and jam. Washing this down with a glug of tea hit my inner nostalgic lobe (this is its medical name) like a lightning bolt, and was a definite highlight.

The awesome little cake in the background that looks like a miniature Mr. Whippy was the amazing Hazelnut Sponge Cake. The tower of cloud-like icing contained within it a small oasis of unctuous hazelnut essence, bringing both halves of the cake together like a nutty hadron-collider. This was swiftly followed by the Sour Cherry tart, which was nice but somewhat pedestrian - nothing especially memorable about it, although I was impressed that they'd managed such a soft and sticky texture with such a stronger flour. Anyone that has discussed cake with me before will know that I am a big afficionado of the battenberg, particularly as the pastry chef at our work canteen makes an absolutely monstrous battenberg slice that you could build forts out of. So my curiosity was piqued by the tiny little windowpane, wrapped in ruby red marzipan. It almost seemed like a treat straight out of Alice in Wonderland, a fiery remnant of the Mad Hatter's tea party. Interestingly, it was much more restrained than I expected and not overly sweet which is a welcome measure when dealing with marzipan. Its wilder and more raucous relative was definitely the Passion Fruit Pavlova with popping rocks. Cracking the exterior of this little blob revealed a sunburst yellow gooey centre, which transformed into a reassuringly fizzy mouth-party once the poprocks got to work. Childish, fun, and hugely refreshing.

And so it was that I finally came to the green-haired monstrosity that was left remaining on the platter, like a surly bouncer with a silly wig. I'm not entirely sure what a palet au chocolat actually is, but in simple terms it was a rich chocolate mousse encased in a hard milk chocolate shell, all draped in a colourful green candyfloss swirl. Now the candyfloss itself was amazing, practically sublimating the second I tasted it, and the chocolate was lovely, mild and not overly acidic. The one rather funny thing about this particular treat was the fact that as I continued to dig into it, the candy floss mixed in with the chocolate and I was eventually looking at a rather hairy chocolate mess. Something akin to a Chia Pet homicide, if you will. It tasted amazing, but it might be somewhat alarming to those of you with a more fragile disposition.

All in all a tremendously enjoyable afternoon. I'd highly recommend it to anyone that's a fan of afternoon tea, or even if you're just looking for a different place to catch up with an old friend. Whether you're just retreating from the horrors of weekend tourist shoppers, or just spending some time with your parents, this is a perfect place to enjoy an afternoon at a much more leisurely pace.