The Teatosterone Theory

This weekend I played hostess to another client dinner event - the usual business banquet that allows for strategic 'offline' networking yet, despite the abandonment of laptops, still manages to reflect a conclave of papal standards that almost surely reminisces on results past, present and future goals ahead.

Perhaps somewhat tongue in cheek, but these events rarely tend to have much variation – a crustacean starter (I’m convinced this allows for phallic prowess of de-shelling, whereas I tend to opt for the lazy pescatarian choice of squid or smoked salmon), steak of course (any kind, but always rare) and a steady flow of vin rouge (du chateau cher).

Competitive business chit chat never fully relaxes although it gains more fluidity and colour as the wine doth flow and we graze our way through courses towards after-dinner liqueurs. But, just as I awaited the fluffing of feathers that signals the time to engage on the important selection of brandy, port and, on occasion, cigars to wrap up the night, what caught me completely by surprise was that the tipple to tickle the post-meal palate was tea. Yes, let me repeat....Tea.

Faster than we could say one lump or two my conclave had turned Mad Hatters Tea Party, and in true MH character was quickly immersed in stories of limitless fantasy on the chill-factor of chamomile, the soothing refreshment of peppermint and its double invigoration with eucalyptus to fight flu, green tea and nettle tea to cleanse and fight sickness, fruity, red bush caffeine free tea….never did I expect there to be so much manthusiasm for his infusion.

Precariously adding my blasphemous order for double espresso to the tea trolley, I felt like I had somewhat pushed Alice through the looking glass and straight to the dark side, convinced I would undoubtedly face teaspoons at dawn as the Queen of Hearts order me to be beheaded.

But as the table of steak-eating, lobster breaking, wine guzzling machos extended their pinkies to sip their heavenly herbals it seemed our business men were happy to discard their coveted blackberry, as long as they at least had it infused in their leafy night-cap.

So as I considered the working week ahead  I wondered if I was better placed to reschedule my business lunches and brunches to morning elevenses and indeed, if our men folk were turning totally tea-total, is the future of blind dates destined to meet over scones and clotted cream…?

 

‘Til next time, Pandora