A few weeks ago, I grabbed some girlfriends and we went to afternoon tea at the Crosby Street Hotel! It was a beautiful afternoon. Below, a review.
High tea at the Crosby Street Hotel is happily unhinged. It’s not totally sure what it’s doing, what sort of eclectic it should look like, what time is just cool enough or generally what country it should live in. Everyone who comes to high tea at the Crosby, however, seems to like that sort of unconventional breed of a place.
There are two tables. Otherwise, sitting is reserved in low down booths in a light-filled room, crammed in shoulder to shoulder. It’s loud and smiley and sophisticated because of that ‘I’m a New Yorker in London!’ air. There are two giant stencils of colorful fireflies on one wall. The opposite wall shines a yellow light onto early twentieth century black phones jutting out in an organized cluster. On another, cows that look scrapbooked. It’s your set-in-her-ways grandma’s kitchen with the dainty, hand-painted teacups and saucers but in a Matrix context — round metal industrial tables are just beneath the finger sandwiches and Americanized scones (because of all the added brown sugar crystals — no one complains).
Those who sit at the booths look to be in their 20s and 30s with generally handsome faces. A couple decades past that sit at the bar dressed in business attire, with seemingly no real business transacting. By 3:30, there isn’t an open seat for either young or old. The music is a morph of these two sorts of people – it sounds elevator-y but with an undertone of fist pumping.
The universal movements in this diverse sanctuary on Crosby Street are cups of tea lifting to lips, fingers tapping on smart phones and shared, relaxed gazes traipsing across the timeless, placeless space.