“I feel like we should be wearing tutus,” said my friend once upon an afternoon on Crown Street, as we settled into the generous semi-circle of a blue velvet booth in Prince Tea House. Indeed, several little girls in frilly dress filed past on their way to the restaurant’s various floral alcoves. Certainly, Prince Tea House would be a fantastic place to bring one’s Eloise-ish niece or one’s dowager matriarch for a three-tiered tray of sandwiches and a porcelain pot of tea.
But they also serve cocktails.
Prince Tea House has locations in most NYC boroughs and a smattering of states, each outpost decorated with flowers and chandeliers, all serving “exquisite tea in a French-Asian fashion that awakens your senses.” Yet their four-month-old New Haven branch is the only one with a full liquor license.
This is no speakeasy, though. The lighting is bright enough to glint off the crystal, and the decor asks what would happen if Marie Antoinette’s gardens were stuffed into the Savoy. According to co-owner Sabrina Wu, the giant plant wall has 2,500 individual plants, most of which she personally potted in the long and meticulous build-up to the grand opening. Baroque arrangements of silk flowers burst from the ceiling at every turn and each table was set with pink carnations.
To drink a cocktail in this environment is to experience a jolt of Prohibition thrill, like sneaking a flask into the ballet or getting buzzed off ‘raspberry cordial’ with Anne of Green Gables. The bartender and staff all agreed that the highlight of the cocktail menu is the One Tea-Quila Please, and they were not wrong. To say, as the menu does, that it is composed of reposado tequila, passionfruit, tropical oolong tea, vanilla, lemon and nutmeg is technically accurate but hardly conveys the experience. Two orders of the drink arrived in the same prim porcelain as the afternoon tea. Each cup nestled a teddy bear made of ice. The server emptied the teapot over their adorable heads and we extended our pinkies for the first sip. Though cold in temperature, the drink’s flavor was warm with spices. The tea and tequila blended with surprising coziness.
Our second round, the Clementine Collins (orange blossom gin, des Songes white tea, lemon, clementine, white port, club soda), we deemed a “porch pounder,” i.e. the sort of drink that’s so refreshing it could get you in some mild trouble on a summer afternoon. Both cocktails showed how bright citrus notes can rep opposite seasons. The requisite espresso martini was similar to others you’ll find along Crown Street, though supplemented with a pleasant chai lingerer on the back of the palate. Neither of the cocktails we sampled could be called spirit-forward, but nor were they sickly sweet.
Which left room for sweetness by other means. At a nearby table, a woman dutifully ate her neat little crab salad before allowing herself to fall head over heels for the Coconut Panna Cotta with Strawberry Ice Cream ($12). Our party dispensed with the niceties of real food and went straight for wedges of mille crepes cakes in Easter-egg hues: one Mango and one Purple Yam ($12 each). Co-owner and pastry chef Lili Yu spends much of her day griddling six different flavors of crepe and layering them (times 19) with their respective flavored creams. The result is imposing but airy, such that you feel compelled to remark on how unlikely it is that you’ll finish it…only to find yourself, minutes later, licking the plate.
There were more cakes to come, but if your vibe is more Queen Victoria than Wallis Simpson, you may just want a proper cuppa. On a second visit, this time with underage companions (a.k.a. my children), we sampled a classic black tea. Normally I take a splash of milk in mine, but this was smooth and balanced, earthy with notes of fruit and vanilla that didn’t need to be rounded out with dairy. A votive candle kept the pot warm for the duration of a long visit, and since the tea leaves were no longer present, it didn’t steep into excessive bitterness.
The menu of teas is encyclopedic, with sections for green, black, white, oolong, herbal and fruity varieties. The Afternoon Tea Service ($39 for one, $75 for two, $108 for three) is both bottomless and towering. Order it and you get the signature tiers cutely laden with sandwiches, scones and little pastries. The towers beckoned as they passed en route to mother/daughter outings and whatever the ladies with the sparkling wine were toasting. But we got distracted by the rest of the menu, including two smoothies ($7.50 each): a fresh Strawberry Banana Coconut and a pleasing Dragonfruit whose gelatin bits necessitated some unexpected chewing.
Out of due diligence, we ordered one savory dish from a menu that includes a fish fry, octopus takoyaki and a katsu chicken sandwich, not to mention a page of brunch items. Our choice was the Crabmeat Flatbread ($18), which was hot and lovely and gooey with mozzarella, avocado, garlic aioli sauce and imitation invertebrate. It would’ve soaked up another tea-quila quite nicely… but, well, one occasionally listens to one’s better angels.
Although Prince Tea Room is a chain, the care these franchisees have taken in curating their location’s decor, food and cocktails is obvious, and New Haven is taking notice. The sumptuously appointed back rooms will surely be in demand for showers and birthdays and boozy bookclubs. Walk-ins are plausible on weekdays; on weekends you’ll likely need to join the line on the sidewalk. Advance weekend reservations can be booked over the phone, but only for parties of six or more.
And so, on a leisurely Thursday, let us eat cake, and so forth. I refuse to feel bad about not ordering the signature tea tray given how royally the dessert menu has treated me. Our table was soon crowded with the Strawberry Matchamisu ($13), which you may already have deduced is a take on tiramisu; the Brown Sugar Boba Mille Crepes Cake ($14), crowned with crispy burnt sugar and served with a pitcher of cream in addition to the little popping beads, and a sampler trio ($12) with our choices: the ice cream-stuffed Pâte au Choux, an eensy Fruit Tart and the Goma Crème Brûlée. All were worthy calorie conveyances, calibrated to a harmonious balance, the flavors never drowned out by the sugar.
If this were a beauty contest and I were judging, the grayish Goma Crème Brûlée would not win the evening gown competition (congrats, mille crepes). But in the question-and-answer round, it would suddenly reveal itself as the most beguiling of all the lovelies.
Me: What is goma?
Brûlée: [Clears throat, approaches mic.] “Goma” is the Japanese word for sesame, in my case a black sesame seed paste lending depth and roasty darkness.
Me: Ladies, you’re all stunning specimens, but this judge has got to crown the Crème. [Music swells. Hugging and weeping. Everyone gets flowers.]
Written by Sarah Harris Wallman. Image 1 photographed by Dan Mims. Images 2-6 photographed by Sarah Harris Wallman.
