The Rose Tea Table

(la table du thé aux roses)...

I write of roses.

J'écris sur les roses.

And someone sends me roses, as if they know my Valentine’s tea table will soon be wanting them.

The day after the roses make their appearance, I clip two full blooms from the bouquet and put them in La Fermière terracotta pots, one rose for each girl to find on the counter on Valentine’s morning. “Be mine,” says one of the pots. “Bisou, bisou,” says the other. (Kiss, kiss.)

My girls spend the afternoon making tea sandwiches, little pineapple upside down cakes, and a small lemon cake. Right before we sit down together for what has become our supper, I make tea. Palais du Thés’ Rooibos Des Vahines (with tasting notes of almond and vanilla).

I set the table with my girls’ morning roses, our Royal Albert “Country Roses” teacups and plates, the crimson bird votive candle from my mom’s place, and clear glass goblets.

It is “the chef’s kiss” (le baiser du chef)! — not so much because of culinary perfection, but for the sweetness of love shared and celebrated in a simple way.

The pineapple upside down cakes rival any I’ve had before, and you’d never know they’re gluten-free. (Secrets, secrets.)

Despite (malgré) the bitter cold outside, the night is warm and beautiful, and I feel gratitude for my rose table—and my sweet-hearted girls.

(translation: as always, L.L. :)

below ↓ a closeup of the tea sandwiches caught in their moody moment