In setting a tea-table, see that there is not only enough, but more than enough of cups and saucers, plates, knives and forks, spoons, napkins, &c. Let the extra articles be placed near the lady of the house,—to be distributed, if wanted. We have known families who had the means and the inclination to be hospitable, that never sat down to table without several spare covers, as the French call them, ready for accidental guests.
Unless you have domestics on whom you can implicitly rely, it is well to go into the eating-room about ten minutes before the announcement of tea, and to see that all is right; that the tea is strong and properly made, and the pot (which should be scalded twice) is not filled nearly to overflowing with a superabundance of water. The practice of drowning away all the flavour of the tea is strangely prevalent with servants; who are also very apt to neglect scalding the tea-pot; and who do not, or will not, remember that the kettle should be boiling hard at the moment the water is poured on the tea—otherwise the infusion will be insipid and tasteless, no matter how liberally the Chinese plant has been afforded.
If your cook is not habitually a good coffee-maker, the coffee will most probably be sent in cold, thick, and weak—for want of some previous supervision. Let it have that supervision.
We have heard of tea-tables (even in splendid establishments) being left entirely to the mismanagement of incompetent or negligent servants; so that when the company sat down, there was found a deficiency in some of the indispensable appendages; such as spoons, and even forks, and napkins—butter-knives forgotten, and (worse than all) cooking-butter served in mistake for the better sort. By-the-bye, the use of cooking-butter should be abolished in all genteel houses. If the butter is not good enough to eat on the surface of cold bread or on warm cakes, it is not good enough to eat in the inside of sweet cakes, or in pastry, or in any thing else; and is totally unfit to be mixed with vegetables or sauces. The use of butter is to make things taste well; if it makes them taste ill, let it be entirely omitted: for bad butter is not only unpalatable, but unwholesome. There are houses in which the money wasted on one useless bauble for the drawing-room would furnish the family with excellent fresh butter for a whole year—enough for all purposes.
We know, by experience, that it is possible to make very fine butter even in the State of New York, and to have it fresh in winter as in summer, though not so rich and yellow. Let the cows be well fed, well sheltered, and kept fat and clean—the dairy utensils always in perfect order—churning done twice or thrice every week—all the milk worked well out—and the butter will surely be good.
If cakes for tea have been made at home, and they have turned out failures, (as is often the case with home-made cakes, where there is not much practice in baking them,) do not have them brought to table at all, but send to a shop and get others. It is rude to set before your guests what you know is unfit for them to eat. And heavy, tough, ill-baked things are discreditable to any house where the means of obtaining better are practicable.
In sending for cakes to a confectioner, do not a second time allow him to put you off with stale ones. This many confectioners are in the practice of doing, if it is passed over without notice. Stale cakes should at once be sent back, (with a proper reproof,) and fresh ones required. Let the confectioner with whom you deal, understand that he is not to palm off his stale cakes upon you, and that you will not keep them when sent. You will then find that fresh ones will generally be forthcoming. It is always well to send for cakes in the early part of the afternoon.
Have a pitcher of ice-water on the side-table, and a tumbler beside every plate—as most persons like to finish with a glass of water.
Do not, on sitting down to table, inform your guest that “you make no stranger of her,” or that you fear she will not be able to “make out” at your plain table. These apologies are ungenteel and foolish. If your circumstances will not allow you on any consideration to make a little improvement in your usual family-fare, your friend is, in all probability, aware of the fact, and will not wish or expect you to incur any inconvenient expense on her account. But if you are known to possess the means of living well, you ought to do so; and to consider a good, though not an extravagantly luxurious table, as a necessary part of your expenditure. There is a vast difference between laudable economy and mean economy. The latter (whether it shows itself in bad food, bad fires, bad lights, bad servants) is never excused in persons who dress extravagantly, and live surrounded by costly furniture, and who are universally known to be wealthy, and fully able to afford comfort, as well as show.
If you invite a friend to tea, in whose own family there is no gentlemen, or no man-servant, it is your duty previously to ascertain that you can provide her on that evening with an escort home; and in giving the invitation, you should tell her so, that she may know on what to depend. If you keep a carriage, it will be most kind to send her home in it.