“They should have Wicked music, Daddy…”
It’s a canny observation from my little nest of vipers as the strains of Sabrina Carpenter (I think) waft into the dining room from the nearby lobby. That we are here to experience the ‘Wicked Wizard of The Franklin’ afternoon tea for these pages, conjuring up the critic in my daughter at the precocious age of eleven, has me wrestling emotions somewhere between pride and self-consciousness. “…but look, there’s the Tin Man, that’s a nice touch.”
I glance over my shoulder to spot a trio of homages to the story – the stoic metallurgist alongside a sequined pair of Dorothy’s shoes and a bronze bust of a lion – propped on plinths along the mirrored wall. “Aren’t they from the Wizard of Oz, though?” I ask. “It’s the Wicked Wizard tea, Dad,” she corrects me sternly, “so it’s both.” It feels like a tenuous connection to the Wicked mania sweeping the nation, but then the original Wizard of Oz is as good as theme as any on which to hang a narrative for afternoon tea. Something then occurs to me, too, in reference to the film.
We’re in The Franklin, the boutique hotel in a majestic Edwardian terrace a stone’s throw from South Kensington; its interiors a distinct monochrome of greys and gun metal set against a beautiful emerald lawn that dazzles in the first sunshine of spring through the window. It conjurs up the black and white Kansas scenes in the film, before the colour arrives, and makes me think this seems more classic, more tasteful than a gimmicky cash-in on the Disney phenomenon.
The idea comes into its own when the tea itself arrives. A substantial Dorothy-style wicker basket is presented on the table, and my daughter is wide-eyed, craning over the brim to see what’s inside. It’s the pastries, presented on a display bed and red gingham, with each confection designed around one of the film’s characters; a lemon meringue tart moulded into a lion’s head, a chocolate mousse scarecrow (complete with erratic hair from a chocolate dipped cape gooseberry), a red raspberry jelly shoe capping a chocolate shortbread.
We don’t know what to go for first. She selects the ‘tin’ of tiramisu – and puts it straight back down. “It’s coffee, Daddy!” My reaction is very different. “Tiramisu? Fantastic!” I reply. “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll get to like it when you’re older…” Before I have a chance to finish, I see she’s already devoured the scarecrow. “Enjoy that, did you?” And she nods with a grin as broad as a beam.
While we’re poring over the basket, wondering what to have next, our waiter arrives with an air of ceremony. We pause, mid-mouthful, to see what’s on offer. He presents a red and white striped picnic box, and proceeds to remind us of a scene in the film – the ‘original’ film – where our heroes, at once hungry, encounter the talking apple trees. Inside are finger sandwiches; chargrilled chicken with sweetcorn dressing; tomato, avocado and roasted vegetables, and a rather indulgent egg mayo with black truffle on a mini brioche. Each are given a rather token title – Over the Rainbow, Yellow Brick Road and the like – and, again, they split opinion. Not unlike the scene in the film, in fact. I wolf them down, giving an encouraging murmur as to the enjoyment of the brioche, but across the table, an “Ugh, what’s that?!” utterance suggests the truffle might be something of an acquired taste.
And what of the tea? Well, that happens to be the surprise of the afternoon. Often the afterthought, ironically, of afternoon tea, and in contrast to many a menu of multiple choices, The Franklin has just one with this offering. It’s their own blend of specially selected black Kimun infused with apple, orange and hibiscus. It smells intoxicating. I’m about to ask for some milk when I take a sip, out of curiosity, and realise the lack of it was not a mistake; it’s meant to be drunk without. It doesn’t need it, and it’s delicious. The little one, not quite into tea yet, is more than happy with her apple juice.
We put our preferences down to a matter of taste, and they certainly do not detract from the pleasure of the afternoon. Much like Dorothy’s venture into Oz, it’s been an afternoon of surprises and delights in equal measure. “What’s been your favourite? I enquire, and she points to where the chocolate chip scones had been. “Oh, have I got one, then?” “No, Dad,” she replies, “I’m taking this one back for Mummy,” and she opens the box, in which she’s squirrelled away everything we couldn’t finish.
“Back to Kansas?” I suggest. “Very funny, Daddy…”
The Wicked Wizard of the Franklin afternoon tea is available now, priced £49pp. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.collezione.starhotels.com.
