The Tearoom at the QVB
The previous night...
"So, are we doing high tea tomorrow?" he asks.
"Quick, look up some places. I'm going to get dressed up for the occassion" I tell him, implying that I also wanted him to get dressed up a bit, or at least make a half assed attempt.
The next morning. After a slow start to the day, with family obligations pissing us both off, we finally meet each other at the station. Me, in a nice little short sleeved top and a-line skirt and heels, and him wearing an open shirt over a t-shirt and jeans... and what the hell is this? You're wearing thongs?
"What?" he innocently replies, as if he didn't know.
"I thought we agreed on getting a bit dressed up?"
"You never said anything about that..."
Hmm, which on hindsight, might have been true. Meh. The point is, I now felt overdressed in comparison. And I couldn't help but let my resentment show a little.
But what could I do? He did make a half assed attempt, after all. So we make it to the city, walking through Sussex Street. We happen upon this little place called Sushi Rio, which had probably some of the best sushi I've tried since Makoto. And I can't go past a place that has caramel coloured suede leather bar seats and sheer curtains, with a chandelier right by the reception. The place just reeks of taste.
Thinking, hey, god if this eating experience is this good, what's the high tea going to be like? A little eagerly, we taxi it to the Observatory Hotel, on Kent Street. We arrive at this beautiful sandstone building, on the high end of Sydney. So this is where the other half live. We wait patiently as the concierge makes a show of giving directions to a couple to the surrounding Rocks area. Yes, very good, my man, I was thinking. Finally he attends to us. He seemed to know we were here for the high tea. Little did we know, we needed a booking for the place. "High tea is quite popular on Sunday afternoons, and would we like to make a booking for next week?" "Next week? But we came all the way just for this?" I whine, hoping he'd succumb to my feminine charms.
Well. Fat lot of good that did, and next thing you know, we were politely turned away. GOD. The nerve of that guy. Bookings for high tea? He didn't even make us feel welcome by enquiring whether there were any places available. Well you just lost yourself a customer buddy. I said, you just lost yourself a customer.
I was unreasonably disappointed after that exchange, and honestly, I thought the Observatory would treat its patrons better. But I guess it was only fair. Perhaps they really didn't have any space available. Damn it. Feeling a little miffed, I was almost put off my appetite for high tea at all, until one bright spark suggested that we high tail it to the QVB, for a spot of tea at the blatantly named The Tearoom. Capital idea, I thought. Yes, 'tis almost the hour for tea. Oh god I can't stop speaking like this.
At the QVB, we make the lift, and a cleaner steps inside, pushing the close doors button, just as a rather large woman appears outside the open walled elevator, asking, "Does this lift..." The lift closes and I couldn't help but remark, "Lucky..." making the cleaner laugh out loud and making us all breathe little sighs of relief. What? I'm sure there's a restriction on the numbers of persons on the lift.
So we step out onto the plush surroundings on level 3, and we were warmly greeted as though they had been expecting us. The maître d' also asked if we had a booking, and asked us to wait on the plush velvet seats while a table was found for us. Smugly, we walked in after a short while, and were promptly given table napkins and the menu. God, it was just so extravagantly decadent. The room itself had the highest, decorated ceilings and even the hallway to the toilets was elegantly furbished with large mirrors and subtle lighting.
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We were left to choose our teas, and I was pleasantly surprised when the waitress apologised for one tea being out of stock, and would I like to select another? "Silvertips?" I enquired. "Excellent choice, madam". I've always wanted someone to say that to me, it almost brings a tear to my eye. She also made sure our drinks were topped up, without asking mind you. I haven't felt so pampered in ages. The food itself consisted of little pastries, cakes and other petit fours, served with Nicolas Feuillatte french champagne. Yes, one must do this again. Oh god I have to stop talking like that.
.jpg)
So we did manage to have a lovely time. And the funny thing was, he wasn't the only one wearing thongs after all.
"So, are we doing high tea tomorrow?" he asks.
"Quick, look up some places. I'm going to get dressed up for the occassion" I tell him, implying that I also wanted him to get dressed up a bit, or at least make a half assed attempt.
The next morning. After a slow start to the day, with family obligations pissing us both off, we finally meet each other at the station. Me, in a nice little short sleeved top and a-line skirt and heels, and him wearing an open shirt over a t-shirt and jeans... and what the hell is this? You're wearing thongs?
"What?" he innocently replies, as if he didn't know.
"I thought we agreed on getting a bit dressed up?"
"You never said anything about that..."
Hmm, which on hindsight, might have been true. Meh. The point is, I now felt overdressed in comparison. And I couldn't help but let my resentment show a little.
But what could I do? He did make a half assed attempt, after all. So we make it to the city, walking through Sussex Street. We happen upon this little place called Sushi Rio, which had probably some of the best sushi I've tried since Makoto. And I can't go past a place that has caramel coloured suede leather bar seats and sheer curtains, with a chandelier right by the reception. The place just reeks of taste.
Thinking, hey, god if this eating experience is this good, what's the high tea going to be like? A little eagerly, we taxi it to the Observatory Hotel, on Kent Street. We arrive at this beautiful sandstone building, on the high end of Sydney. So this is where the other half live. We wait patiently as the concierge makes a show of giving directions to a couple to the surrounding Rocks area. Yes, very good, my man, I was thinking. Finally he attends to us. He seemed to know we were here for the high tea. Little did we know, we needed a booking for the place. "High tea is quite popular on Sunday afternoons, and would we like to make a booking for next week?" "Next week? But we came all the way just for this?" I whine, hoping he'd succumb to my feminine charms.
Well. Fat lot of good that did, and next thing you know, we were politely turned away. GOD. The nerve of that guy. Bookings for high tea? He didn't even make us feel welcome by enquiring whether there were any places available. Well you just lost yourself a customer buddy. I said, you just lost yourself a customer.
I was unreasonably disappointed after that exchange, and honestly, I thought the Observatory would treat its patrons better. But I guess it was only fair. Perhaps they really didn't have any space available. Damn it. Feeling a little miffed, I was almost put off my appetite for high tea at all, until one bright spark suggested that we high tail it to the QVB, for a spot of tea at the blatantly named The Tearoom. Capital idea, I thought. Yes, 'tis almost the hour for tea. Oh god I can't stop speaking like this.
At the QVB, we make the lift, and a cleaner steps inside, pushing the close doors button, just as a rather large woman appears outside the open walled elevator, asking, "Does this lift..." The lift closes and I couldn't help but remark, "Lucky..." making the cleaner laugh out loud and making us all breathe little sighs of relief. What? I'm sure there's a restriction on the numbers of persons on the lift.
So we step out onto the plush surroundings on level 3, and we were warmly greeted as though they had been expecting us. The maître d' also asked if we had a booking, and asked us to wait on the plush velvet seats while a table was found for us. Smugly, we walked in after a short while, and were promptly given table napkins and the menu. God, it was just so extravagantly decadent. The room itself had the highest, decorated ceilings and even the hallway to the toilets was elegantly furbished with large mirrors and subtle lighting.
We were left to choose our teas, and I was pleasantly surprised when the waitress apologised for one tea being out of stock, and would I like to select another? "Silvertips?" I enquired. "Excellent choice, madam". I've always wanted someone to say that to me, it almost brings a tear to my eye. She also made sure our drinks were topped up, without asking mind you. I haven't felt so pampered in ages. The food itself consisted of little pastries, cakes and other petit fours, served with Nicolas Feuillatte french champagne. Yes, one must do this again. Oh god I have to stop talking like that.
So we did manage to have a lovely time. And the funny thing was, he wasn't the only one wearing thongs after all.
posted by Linhy @ 2:43 pm
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