Yauatcha

Every so often even the most seasoned tea-goer finds themselves out
of their comfort zone. For us this has seldom been more pronounced
than the day we were graciously proffered a table in the (allegedly)
4.2 million pound basement space-station that is Yauatcha on
Broadwick Street W1. We walked right past the business-like
glass-fronted facade several times; unless you know where you're
going, or what you're in for when you get there Yauatcha can take
you by surprise. Skipping distance from Regent Street and lightyears
away from preconception alley, we found ourselves enjoying it
vociferously.

The decor is undeniably bold. Fish tanks are set into the walls,
through which rippling armies of white-hatted chefs can be seen
preparing dumplings for the acclaimed dim sum restaurant
downstairs. Blocks of pale yellow light, illuminating soaring pillars
and squat little tables, lend it the slightly kitsch appearance of
somewhere that has tried very hard to make an impression. Which
isn't far from the truth, by the way; apparently it took three very
expensive attempts to 'perfect'. The china was extravagantly
imported from Taipei and even the elaborate kung-foo get-up in
which the waiters and waitresses swagger around has been overtly
commissioned.

The tea, of course, is excellent. We plumped for delicate Silver
needles - presented with textbook correctness -followed, out of a
sense of unprecedented propriety, with an entirely undissapointing
tea smoothie. The miniature works of art that are the cakes (no
scones alas!) were the clincher. Incorporating lattices, flower petals
and gold leaf, they represent mouth-watering taste, if not jaw
dropping value.

Somewhere this ostensive will never remain a secret but we are
always delighted to recommend it as a somewhat unusual (dare we
say exotic?) gem in our Capital's fine afternoon crown.