An Englishwoman in New Orleans

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Dear Aunt Julianne

Again, I must thank you for your graciousness in taking me on as your ward after the death of my parents. I have been privy to the best life has to offer, and I feel myself privileged to be a part of your household. 

I have enjoyed my trip to the United States of America. New York was exciting; Boston, educational. The trip to Martha's Vineyard was truly delightful. However, I'm afraid I am not enjoying my time in New Orleans at all. In particular, summer tea time was not the joyous occasion I expected. What I hoped for was:

• thin sliced white bread sandwiches with the crust cut off, lightly buttered with the best Normandy butter, and filled with mandolin-sliced cucumber (peeled of course) sweating minutely from a delicate salting
• raspberry tarts with melt-in-the-mouth shortcrust pastry and freshly cooked raspberries with just enough sugar to bring out the natural sweetness whilst retaining a hint of tartness
• angel cupcakes with fresh whipped cream and a dusting of icing sugar
• a light, fluffy, melt in your mouth jam sponge made with 12 egg whites and filled with last season's strawberry jam and chantilly cream
• shortbread petticoat tails, the best Scotland can provide
• a selection of the finest teas – Lapsang Souchong, Earl Grey and Russian Caravan – brewed in individual teapots, each reflecting the character and origin of the tea.
• a small jug of cream and a larger jug of milk
• a sugar bowl with fine white sugar
• bone china tea cups with matching saucers and plates
• silver teaspoons and serving utensils and
• crisp, white linen serviettes

all served indoors in the afternoon room.

Instead, I was served:

• a mint julep
• large sweet biscuits unfathomably called cookies (At breakfast they serve scones and call them biscuits - and they smother these with gravy. Really.)
• sweet potato pie (A dessert pie made from a vegetable. Ludicrous.)
• some fried dough concoction called a beignet
• strange tasting coffee with chicory served hot milk called café au lait

all served on the porch with a blue coloured cotton cloth in my lap.

What savages these Southerners are! I don't believe I will ever fit in here. I know you think that travel is good for the soul and the intellect, but I truly wish to come home now.

Yours respectfully

Caroline Beaumont