Sometimes, it’s nice to step out of your dining comfort zone. And that’s what I did for a high holiday tea at the Four Seasons Hotel One Dalton Street last weekend. This was out of character for two reasons. I’m not a big tea drinker, and the Four Seasons is definitely beyond my typical food budget.
But a group of friends and I have an annual holiday teatime tradition, with all the accompanying fanfare. (Plus, a couple of us had just binged that new “Harry & Meghan” documentary.) Finally, it seemed like we could throw a tiny bit of caution to the wind and head downtown for a splurge.
Just seeing the happy crowds felt life-affirming and reassuring (if a little disconcerting). Downtown is back, baby, or at least it was on Saturday: We waited half an hour to be seated for our 2:30 reservation. Valets busily parked cars. Throngs of high-heeled ladies glided through the lobby, which was bedazzled with Christmas trees and neon-mod bookcases straight out of Austin Powers’s lair.
A boisterous fellow in what appeared to be designer cowboy boots swaggered around the dining room. Champagne flowed, corks popped, and laughter rang in the air. I suddenly felt a very long way from home, and I didn’t really mind.
While a top-floor condo unit at One Dalton was recently listed at $38 million, teatime is a tiny bit more affordable. At Trifecta, the hotel’s lobby-level cocktail lounge, it will run you $99 — not cheap, but the food and sweets are plentiful, and a champagne and a liqueur pairing cushions the blow.
I’ll get the criticisms out of the way first: In addition to being seated a half-hour late and milling about awkwardly in the lobby, we had to wait another 15 minutes for a (very apologetic, clearly busy) server to appear at our table. But, hey, it happens.
Less understandable: At 4 p.m. sharp, the lights dimmed. We were informed that teatime was a “90-minute experience” and that, ahem, it was time to vacate our table, while we were still eating. There was a curfew! For nearly $100, 45 minutes does not a leisurely tea experience make. But we got the picture: Time to find our car and decamp to the suburbs. For us, the Four Seasons was more like the Two Seasons. Oh well.
But the 45 minutes we did spend? Absolutely lovely. The Four Seasons does not skimp on food. First came an amuse-bouche of foie gras, improbably topped with a sliver of caramelized banana: sharp, creamy, savory, sweet. Next was a plentiful, multi-tiered tray of sweets and savories. First tier: plump currant and vanilla bean scones with mini-trays of strawberry jam and Devonshire cream as thick as a face mask. I’m not a scone fan — the texture reminds me of dry pillows — but, here, there’s no other word to describe them than moist, especially as that cream burrows into the scone. Bliss.
If Alice in Wonderland were a socialite, she would have designed the savory tray at the Four Seasons: bright, colorful, unabashedly indulgent, all in geometrically restrained proportions. I’m still dreaming about the smoked salmon squares layered with roasted beets and goat cheese on pumpernickel bread. It looked like magenta birthday cake. A pear and brie finger sandwich was topped with one lone candied walnut sitting atop a square of whole wheat, like a rich lady’s jewel. And I’m still wondering how they got a deviled egg to look like a spaceship with a domed yolk on top, cylinder of whites below, topped with caviar.
The desserts were works of art: a vanilla biscuit layered with eggnog buttercream, painted with a wafer of party hats; a fat chocolate tart dotted with peppermints; a praline and hazelnut mousse shaped into cute woodland creatures. They had chocolate eyes and ears, and they were delicious.
I usually write off tea as nothing more than meekly scented hot water reserved for sinus infections. Their cranberry apple spice blend infused with vanilla made me reconsider my prejudices. It was calming, warming, flavorful. A thimbleful of paired liqueur — crème de cassis? Grand Marnier? a palate-cleansing St. Germain? — didn’t hurt, either.
At 4 p.m., I swilled the last droplets of champagne, gathered up my slush-stained coat, and trudged back to the sidewalk with my pals. Teatime at the Four Seasons is a portal to another world: artful, joyful, exuberant. I just wish it could have lasted a little bit longer.
Trifecta, Four Seasons Hotel One Dalton Street, Boston, 617-936-4876, www.fourseasons.com.
Kara Baskin can be reached at kara.baskin@globe.com. Follow her @kcbaskin.