I’m starting to sound like my great aunt but a hallmark of a civilized life surely must include a porcelain cabinet taking pride of plane in la maison. Back in the first Pharaonic era I landed a job with a minor royal in London. Thanks to Her Liz-ness, I became personally acquainted with the heightened mannerisms of the English aristocracy. It’s enough to stuff a book (…) but one of the few aspects that made me briefly lust for that eccentric way of life was her collection of Flora Danica. 

And pray do tell what might that be, I hear you mutter. 

It is the utterly delicious and all round eye-popping wondrous Danish porcelain. Briefly, it’s history has something to do with a stoush between the Danes and the Russians back in the 18th century. The Danes, to gloss over some contretemps with their large neighbor to their East, commissioned one Christoph Bayer to make the most exquisite porcelain collection to curry favor with Catherine the Great. As one does. Back in those days, the toffs lusted after hard paste porcelain and Catherine was a collector par excellence. 

To put this into historical context: while Governor Phillip was offloading the first boatload of convicts at Circular Quay, Australia, Mr Bayer was firing up the kilns to produce 1802 pieces of porcelain with hand painted flora and fauna from the Flora Danica botanical encyclopedia of 1761. Why 1802 pieces? I believe it was meant to be ready in time for her the 40th anniversary of her reign in—yes—1802. Clearly Catie the Great-y went in for excess and with all those serfs, why the heck not. But life being life, she died some years before this event and the collection never made it to the palace in St Petersburg. The pieces are utterly jaw-dropping in their gorgeousness—think triple glazing and that’s not even counting the intricate plants and still life hand painted onto its surface or the pure gold that is buffed with glass brushes—it elevates eating steak and chips to another level entirely.

Fast forward a few centuries and I’m in the dining room of Lady Liz's London residence in Holland Park and all the walls are lined with custom-made shelving displaying her personal collection of Flora Danica. And suddenly I’d like to be Lady Muckerty-Muck if that’s the kind of loot that gets passed from generation to generation. I logged endless miles trotting up and down the staircase with trays laden with it for her, her guests, for my meals (what was good enough for Liz, was good enough for me). She insisted on a delicate Flora Danica teapot with lemon tea on her breakfast tray each morning. Having these pieces in daily use improved the taste of pretty much anything.. They demanded a certain reverence as you sipped or ate off them—regardless if that was standing by the sink or lounging about in the drawing room. 

Strangely, she had a surprisingly egalitarian spot when it came to its use. I drank endless cups of tea from its delicate cups and saucers, and the only thing she’d bark at me was never, on pain of death, dump it in the dishwasher. And I’d mutter under my breath, I may be from the colonies but even I can recognize art when I see it. One does not need to be the Empress of Russia to clock quality when it’s put in front of them. 

So if you were wondering what I’d like stuffed in the Christmas stocking: Flora Danica dinnerware. The only uncivilized note is its eye-watering price. Melamine it’s not.