The Dowager Countess: Oh! My Dear, what on earth are you serving now? Some kind of dreadful dental biscuit such as one would feed a dog?
Cora: No, Violet — Mrs. Patmore came up with them. She’s calling them Grantham Biscuits.
The Dowager Countess: Is this what we’ve come to? Allowing our cooks to invent things for us to eat?
Cora: I think they’re rather delicious. They’re made with ginger.
The Dowager Countess: It might be the sort of thing you Americans like, but not the English. We like our tea to look familiar, so we know what to reach for. A slice of shortbread. A petit-four. It’s how you avoid being poisoned, you know.
Cora: Don’t be so dramatic and give it a try. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.
The Dowager Countess: Pleasantly surprised? Like that time I bit into the plum pudding and nearly cracked my tooth on a penny? It took until New Year to recover from the shock!
Cora: That’s just tradition — you were simply the lucky one that year. Getting the penny brings good luck.
The Dowager Countess: Hardly. It’s the sort of thing the working classes do for fun. Next thing you know common laborers will be eating “Grantham Biscuits” with their tea. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
