Listen up, my beloved and fabulous readers: I have a thing for tea. Tea is my solace. Tea is my comfort. Tea is the steaming hot cup of calm that keeps me from throwing hands when life gets spicy. And because of this borderline religious devotion, my partner and I like to indulge in the occasional afternoon tea at our favorite local teahouse. You know the type—fluffy scones, delicate cucumber sandwiches, and enough clotted cream to make a dairy farmer blush. It’s perfection. It’s my happy place.
So when we visited Victoria, British Columbia, there was exactly one thing on my bucket list: afternoon tea at the Empress Hotel.
Now, for those unfamiliar, the Empress is the place to get fancy in Victoria. British royalty has stayed there, celebrities have sipped its tea, and the price tag on a single night’s stay would make my bank account burst into tears. Naturally, I was expecting the kind of lavish, life-changing experience that would transform me into a more refined and elegant person—someone who suddenly understands jazz and wears cashmere on planes.
The Rocky Road to Tea Time
Did I roll up to the Empress like a dignified lady of leisure, ready to sip Earl Grey in quiet sophistication?
No. No, I did not.
See, our hotel wasn’t ready when we arrived in Victoria, which meant I got to experience the sheer joy of changing in a public restroom and attempting to fluff my travel-worn hair into something resembling “intentional.” Reader, I failed.
But no matter! I was here! I was ready! I was about to be served a meal fit for a queen—or at least a meal fit for the people who serve the queen.
The Tea (And The Disappointment) Begins
As luck would have it, our visit coincided with a special limited-time menu in honor of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s wedding. The concept? A high tea inspired by Prince Harry’s favorite foods, served on the same fancy-pants china used for visiting dignitaries.
“Oh hell yes,” I thought. “This is going to be so extra.”
And yet… it wasn’t.
Let’s start with the tea itself. Now, don’t get me wrong—the Empress Hotel does know how to brew a good cup. Their signature Empress Blend was smooth and fragrant, with notes of vanilla and bergamot. But was it dramatically better than the tea I could get at my local teahouse for a fraction of the price? Nope.
Then came the tower of treats. You know the drill: three tiers of tiny, adorable foods meant to make you feel posh while you attempt to eat them in two dainty bites instead of cramming them whole into your mouth like a gremlin.
The Savories (a.k.a. The Letdown Begins)
• The cucumber sandwich was… fine? A cucumber sandwich is never going to be thrilling, but this one was aggressively meh.
• The smoked salmon on rye was also just okay. I think it was supposed to be a nod to Harry’s British roots, but it mostly just tasted like something you’d get at a corporate networking event.
• There was some kind of chicken salad situation, which was acceptable but completely forgettable.
The Scones (Where I Started to Lose Hope)
• Look. I am serious about scones. I want them warm, buttery, and so flaky they threaten to collapse into a pile of crumbs if I look at them wrong.
• The Empress scones? They were okay. Just okay.
• Not bad, but not oh my god this was worth the price of admission good.
The accompanying clotted cream and jam were tasty, but clotted cream and jam are always tasty. That’s like saying “The fries were good because they were fried.”
The Desserts (Where It All Fell Apart)
Now, as a person who operates on sugar-based enthusiasm, I should be able to recall the dessert tier in vivid, drool-inducing detail. And yet? I cannot for the life of me remember what I ate.
• There was a chocolatey thing.
• A fruit-filled thing.
• And a pastry thing.
That’s it. That’s all I got. And that, my friends, is a problem.
If I pay an entire grocery budget’s worth of money for a single meal, I should be haunted by the memory of its flavors for years. I should be waking up in the middle of the night salivating over that pastry. Instead? It was a fog of blandness.
Final Thoughts: Was It Worth It?
Listen. I am not here to yuck anyone’s yum. If afternoon tea at the Empress is on your dream itinerary, by all means, go forth and be fancy. But for me?
I paid a completely unreasonable amount of money for a completely forgettable tea in a very beautiful room.
And you know what? I already had a better, more affordable version of this experience back home.
So next time, instead of chasing the illusion that fancy = better, I’ll be parking my butt in my favorite teahouse, drinking my favorite tea, and eating my favorite scones—for a fraction of the price.
Moral of the story? Sometimes, the grass isn’t greener on the other side. Sometimes, the grass is just wildly overpriced.
*This is a rewrite of a previous post
