The Gore Hotel, Kensington

If London was a flat, the surrounding areas would be bedrooms, The City and the East End would be the kitchen, Soho would be the toilet where people come to shag and snort cocaine off faux marble counters, and anything west of Picadilly would be the parlour. The Gore hotel is swept under a chair in a sunny part of the parlour, close to the balcony of Hyde Park.

Anabelle and I opted to take our tea in the bistro as opposed to the bar. The establishment exuded the familiar Victorian comfort often encountered in London without feeling overly fusty. Giant gilded-frame mirrors offered near infinite reflections of the room and its vintage chandeliers and 19th century prints.

We were a bit taken aback to find ourselves ushered to a nearly empty restaurant. Save for a jovial birthday celebration we were the only guests there. I like when a restaurant is busy, when the waiters are gliding from table to table in their quiet efficiency. Servants become waiters, their dreaded destiny becomes a job. It's something my lower middle class origin can process and justify. The service was very good, although the maitre'd (cum servant in my twisted perception) looked a bit flummoxed when we asked for Champagne. The waiter was very attentive to timing, making sure we were ready for the food after having our Champagne and doing his best to make us not feel rushed.

Ladurée at Harrods

Last Saturday, running errands in Knightsbridge, Anabelle and I found ourselves in desperate need of refreshment. It was tea time and we decided to visit Ladurée at Harrods. Although a French import the house seemed to offer a decent selection of tea and the pastries. Anabelle and I are familiar with Ladurée's macarons from our Parisian jaunts and we are both very fond of them indeed.

The beginning of our tea was not promising. We got shuffled around a vague queue until a friendly waitress showed us to our table. I'll take this opportunity to remark on the setting and the clientelle. The restaurant is very busy with people using it as an entrance to Harrods. The atmosphere is a bit hurried for my taste, more like a café than a tearoom but it fits well with the maison's Parisian provenance. The patrons seemed to consist chiefly of groups of bored rich macho males – who didn't converse but vacantly stared and used grunts to communicate their orders to the staff – peppered with appropriate female counterparts and the occasional tourist. Expensive but vulgar clothing dominates. If you want to blend in wear an expensive factory-tattered t-shirt and sunglasses with a large Chanel or Dior logo. If clothing expresses one's beliefs the patrons at Ladurée worship wealth way ahead of aesthetics.

Now to the tea. With the exception of substituting croissants and other "viennoiserie" for our traditional scones the tea menu looked unremarkable albeit promising. The menu offers a choice of two each from four sandwiches, four aforementioned pastries and four cakes. Anabelle and I like to sample so we exhausted the choices of the menu with our order. While Anabelle trekked to the toilet a pleasant waiter chap asked me to accompany him to the cake counter to select our cakes. The pastries and cakes at Ladurée looked truly splendid. I picked a praline mille-feuille, raspberry tart, rosewater cupcake and a creation they call Isphahan, which is an oversized macaron filled with berries flavoured with rosewater. Pleased with my selection I returned to the table to find Anabelle just arriving back from the toilet. Wanting to refresh myself I set out on the journey through the basement wine shop to the toilet. When I got back Anabelle told me that the pleasant chap was new and he didn't know what he was  doing and that we wouldn't get the magnificent cakes I selected and we had to select cakes from the menu. This was not a disaster as the only cake we had to substitute was the rosewater cupcake. We opted for the last remaining choice on the menu: carre de chocolat.