Review: The Lobby Lounge @ The Langham

Much like in Bogotá, Colombia, the mountains are the perpetual backdrop in Los Angeles. Here though, it’s the San Gabriel Mountains that loom large. Where the Andes Mountains cradle the South American capital with verdant tropical foliage, the San Gabriel Mountains are feel like a hard northern wall of rock, comparatively angular with a forlorn expression. It is only softer looking during the rare dusk where a pastel pink light reflects off the grey-blue slopes, giving the image that it was dusted by a fairy on all the western facing peaks.

As far as I am concerned, the mountains are the only redeeming quality of LA.

During the summers, a generally listless time, the mountains are often alight, quite literally, with activity. The Santa Anas blows, and acres of brush turn to ash. The cloudless skies provide no shield against the heat. There is no mistaking that this is desert country.

Autumn fights for ground, constantly beat back into retreat by the sun. We take refuge in The Langham’s Lobby Lounge.

The Lobby Lounge is located in a rather posh part of Pasadena, not far from the vaunted “Millionaire’s Row”. In an area where tea rooms that skew upscale are a rare breed, business is expectedly brisk, and for a weekend afternoon, reservations are recommended. Though as I soon discovered, prior notice is suggested not because of The Lobby Lounge’s excellence but simply for lack of better options (with a decent courtyard) in the area.

$52 gets you a tea of your choice and a tiered tray of typical English high tea edibles. There were profiteroles with a garish pink filling, bit-sized waffle cone with diced peach (canned, of course) filling, and various items coated in chocolate. Regarding the scones, I would give the advice that seasoned New Englanders gave me to brave the winters: layers. Lacking in flakiness, the kitchen decided to attempt to make up for it with butter and sheer density with the result that they were just a hair away from being cloying.

The sad-looking finger sandwiches posed an interesting conundrum. When they could have stuck to traditional mainstays like cucumber and cream cheese, they opted for inferior combinations that were so uninspired that I can no longer recall what the exact filling but can recall a distinctly dismayed attitude in my mind. Every single item was uninspired—mirrored by the similarly tired window drapes.

But casting an eye over the fading décor, I remind myself that there is always a positive. And here it is: this is a good place for tea with a big group amongst old friends who have much to catch up on and just want an airy environment with some live piano music as a soundtrack.

The conversation will distract from the mediocrity of the sustenance and attendees, in their ebullience over reuniting, will be in too high of spirits to pay too close attention to the uncomfortable chairs and clunky Wedgewood china (sidebar: pass on the biography of Josiah Wedgewood, which is forgettable at best), which turns out to be rather heavy and coarse. Certainly not the image of refinement though the elegantly designed website conveys a different story. Perhaps in the 18th century, his glazing techniques were worthy of acclaim, but that was then. There is no “elegance of antiquity,” just a rather heavy pot that strikes one as being incongruous with the elegant sensibility that is supposed to come with the notion of high tea. Indeed, I can tell you from experience that it is difficult to appear elegant when struggling to lift a two-pound ceramic pot.

Which finally brings us to the tea, which I have left for the end as it barely deserves mention. There is a large selection of Indian black teas and a drinkable but unremarkable house blend. It seems little effort was made to build a well-balanced and diverse menu. The landscaping and service left more of an impression than the tea.

For the visually inclined, I apologize but there are no photos. I did not feel anything was worth the memory space on my phone.