Closed Dates:
Sept 15-16,
22, 27, 29
Treasures Sale Sunday Sept 27!
~Holiday Announcement~
We will be decorated for Christmas by November 1 (but maybe October 31!)
Holiday Open House Nov 29!
The first teacup I bought at eight years old. A gift for mum. Even then I knew to buy English Made!
I bought my first teacup with my allowance when I was eight, but long before I formally entered the world of Tea, music played a huge part in my life. I loved choosing music to shape the feeling of an occasion—the way the right song could change the mood of a room or stir something in you. I especially loved the art of mixing—hearing a beat or a few notes and knowing instinctively which song I could layer over it.
I got my start on-air at my college radio station, went on to produce the morning show at WBCN, Boston’s legendary rock station, and spent weekends DJing private events with my bestie. By the time I was a bride-to-be, I’d seen enough conventional receptions to know they weren’t for me. Perhaps after all those years of rock ’n’ roll, I was simply ready for something different.
Enter: Afternoon Tea.
Back then, who ever heard of Afternoon Tea as a wedding reception? Even today, Tea is a familiar choice for bridal showers but far less so for the reception itself. Truth be told, that was part of the appeal.
On September 16, in the year Two Thousand, Brad and I exchanged vows at the original Ritz-Carlton on Arlington Street in Boston. Our ceremony took place in the French Room, once part of the hotel’s original ballroom but by then considered a more intimate space.
We chose the Ritz partly for its history. Open since 1927, it seemed like one of those grand Boston institutions that had always been there and always would be. Plus, where better to have Tea? (And it was surprisingly affordable before 5pm!)
Planning took two years, with every detail carefully considered.
Dinner the night before our wedding at the Hard Rock in Boston. They loved our shirts so much, they snapped this pic.
September 15, 2000
This Gibson Girl Bride Doll was the inspiration for my wedding dress.
My dress began with a picture of a Gibson Girl bride doll. Long before Instagram, the Gibson Girl was the original illustrated “It Girl”, known for romantic high-necked lace collars, statement sleeves, voluminous hair and a tiny cinched waist. When I imagined myself as a turn-of-the-century bride, she was it. I fell in love with everything about her and brought the picture to a dressmaker, who recreated it for me. To our surprise, a custom-made dress wasn’t unreasonable given what I would have spent for something off the rack. Even my shoes were custom: two sisters at a little shop in Ireland handmade them for the occasion.
And, perhaps predictably, there was pink. Our elaborate pink Victorian-style wedding cake, flavored with French orange blossom water, was created by renowned cake artist Cile Bellefleur-Burbidge. After a celebrated career creating cakes for society weddings, she was by then semi-retired and accepting very few commissions, so having her create our cake was both an indulgence and a privilege.
September 16 was a beautiful fall day. It had poured the night before—so much so that the Ritz staff told us an opulent rooftop wedding had been rained out—but by morning the skies had cleared. I remember how genuinely delighted they were that the weather had turned in our favor.
Brad and I chose to walk hand in hand into the French Room. It seemed fitting, since we approached life the same way—side by side. With such a small gathering, there was no formal aisle; our family and friends simply parted as we entered, creating a path between them.
After the ceremony, we settled in for Tea to the soft strains of harp music.
Escort cards, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy, led our guests to tables named after tea blends—Earl Grey, English Breakfast and the like. Courtship Tea, billed as a “romantic blend for lords and ladies,” was served, and each guest went home with a tin. To this day, its distinctive scent takes me right back, and it's one of my favorite blends to serve and sell at the Tea House.
Our gorgeous wedding cake. The top two tiers including the topper itself, were made of sugar, the bottom two tiers were actually cake.
Looking back now, there is something else I remember about that time.
It felt like there had never been a better time to be alive.
In the year Two Thousand, we stood at the beginning of a new century and a new millennium. The music scene of the 1990s had been extraordinary, with wildly different genres coexisting in the mainstream. The internet was transforming how we communicated and discovered the world. Cell phones were becoming part of everyday life. The dreaded Y2K catastrophe had failed to materialize. Everything seemed faster, newer, increasingly possible.
For much of our lives, that year had sounded impossibly far away—almost futuristic. And now, somehow, we had arrived.
We were living in the future.
And yet, for our wedding day, we embraced an old-world aesthetic:
a grand hotel, handwritten calligraphy, a Gibson Girl dress and a Victorian cake. Little did we know that our fondness for the past would have a future of its own.
At the end of our celebration, the Ritz wedding coordinator, having borne the brunt of my detailed planning, asked me a question I still remember:
“Is this what you do for a living?”
It wasn’t. Not yet.
Mostly, though, I remember how optimistic we were. We felt buoyed by each other, certain that together we could accomplish anything. And beneath that ambition was an even more important certainty:
Even if we accomplish nothing at all, and no matter what happens, we will still have each other.
And that will be enough.
In a funny bit of synchronicity, our officiant turned out to be another connection to my radio days. He recognized me from BCN, where I’d worked with him when he married couples live on the air one Valentine’s Day. When we met about the wedding, he pulled out an old photo album—and there I was in my rock-chick era!
As it turned out, we've managed to accomplish a thing or two. Together, we've created this quirky little place, shaped by so much of what we have always loved. Perhaps the medium has changed, but my instinct hasn’t. I’m still creating a mood, still trying to shape how an occasion feels. And Brad is still right by my side, the steady force that helps keep it all going.
Over the years, thousands of people have walked through our doors to celebrate birthdays, friendships, engagements, new beginnings and ordinary afternoons made a little less ordinary.
Pieces of our September day can be found throughout the Tea House. My dress is on display in the Pink Room, as is our invitation—a hand calligraphed scroll, its entire wording flowing in one continuous line. Instead of a bouquet, I carried a fan which now hangs on the wall in the Yellow Room in an ornate frame. It was hand made in Barcelona with the same lace as my dress.
Looking back, we can now recognize glimpses of a place that had yet to exist—
a place filled with Tea, history, Victoriana, beautiful things…
and, of course, a whole lot of pink!
The sugar portion of our cake is still on display at the Tea House. Once pink, it has aged to a beautiful shade of ivory.
Our wedding invitations were hand-calligraphed scrolls, rolled and tied with ribbon, then placed in clear tubes with a sprinkling of dried flowers and tiny gold wedding bands. They were meant to be mailed as-is, but were simply too beautiful to cover with a mailing label. Instead, we nestled each tube into a gold box with tissue paper and a classic wax seal. They were so substantial that many were brought right to the recipients’ door by the postal service—an unintended consequence that made their arrival feel even more special. I wasn’t aiming for extravagance. I just wanted our guests to feel the anticipation of something magical to come.