In with the old
Scone Spy enjoys a traditional day out.
IGUESS you’ve noticed there’s been a bit of a boom in this old tearoom lark.
Coffee culture, they say, has taken over the country.
Doesn’t matter what your poison is really – don’t have poison, stick to a nice cuppa is my advice – you’re spoiled for choice for somewhere to have it.
Little tearooms and coffee shops are springing up everywhere. But there’s nothing like a bit of tradition.
And the Willow Tea Rooms in Glasgow have that by the big, old-fashioned teapot full.
Back in the day, the 19th Century that is, Kate Cranston broke new ground with the opening of her establishments in Glasgow.
They had the look, as well as the taste, thanks to the individual style of a certain Charles Rennie Mackintosh.
Now that feel and style live on in the shape of the Willow, which currently has branches in Buchanan Street and in the Watt Brothers department store in Sauchiehall Street.
It was the former that took my fancy after an early start for a bit of Sunday morning shopping.
Surprising how much of an appetite a bit of retail therapy works up.
In fact, I’d worked up a bit more of a hunger by the time I’d climbed the steep flight of steps to the first floor.
If you weren’t sure you
were in the right place, the Mackintosh memorabilia in the gift shop (tea towels to mugs, jewellery to mirrors) would swiftly reassure.
But the biggest giveaway, literally, is the high-backed chairs.
Did I say high-backed? I mean flipping enormous. So big, they’re taller than the waitresses, who, in keeping with the traditional theme, are in black uniforms and white aprons.
Sitting down was like being a child again. Or wee Jimmy Krankie for the day.
The giant theme continues in the glass counter at the end, stacked with sweet goodies including meringues, strawberry tarts and slices of cake.
All are more than on the generous side. Honestly, a couple of them would be a meal by themselves.
Being as it’s still before noon, though, my dining companion and I are tempted by the breakfast menu we are handed alongside the regular one.
The French toast with berries and yogurt was healthily scrumptious and the scrambled egg, three rashers of bacon and toast went down a treat.
There was still room, naturally, for the scone.
I’d picked a homemade fruit one and I soon found out they were freshly-made as the waitress came to explain they were still in the oven.
Even without a raisin to be cheerful – sorry – the plain one was no fruitless poor relation, lovely and firm outside but fluffily soft inside.
Tradition lives on happily at the Willow.