My favorite memory of taking tea did not occur in the meticulously beautiful St. James teahouse, my family’s usual venue for tea parties, but in the stately comfort of my childhood home. In 2018, my sister and I decided to throw our mother a birthday tea party. Although this special occasion is not her favorite day of the year, we hoped to bless our mother with beauty, good company, and a personalized menu.
We brainstormed the details on our walks over the high desert plateau. Under the pure blue sky and golden spring sun, memories of past pleasures reincarnated in edible form. Our family trips to Ireland manifested in homemade scones with honey from our own hives. Remembering our puppy’s penchant for gobbling cicadas on summer walks brought about cheeky and more palatable “cicada chips” (pretzels with chocolate wings). We searched out the recipe for the famous raspberry dessert from her childhoodvisits to grandparents in Connecticut. Finally, chocolate-covered strawberries, which were our first Mother’s Day breakfast-in-bed gift, made a reappearance.
On the day of the party, Mom beautified herself in the primary bedroom while my sister and I flew around the kitchen, whisperingly seeking and giving counsel oneverything from which set of china to use (we decided on the wild strawberry pattern) to where the dainty, heaped dishes of delicacies should be placed. When our mother emerged in her vintage dress of leaf-green silk, our canary-and-rose table looked nearly as pretty as she did. White-tipped pink roses, sparkling sugar cubes, and the cheerful yellow teapot beckoned the birthday lady to her place of honor at the table.
We spent the afternoon in a perfect blend
