A trip to Fortnum’s turned me into an expert gift-giver

I had only been to Fortnum & Mason once before. The first time I went, I wasn’t sure what I was getting in to. I remember that the distinct, pale eau-de-nil (mint green) exterior – its signature color – was framed by cream trim and Georgian sash windows stacked neatly across several stories. It was charming and slightly whimsical, like a confectioner’s box scaled up to building size.

My maiden voyage was with the British skateboarder and artist Blondey McCoy, who excitedly led my wife around the hallowed halls as an unofficial tour guide during the bustling Christmas season last year, sporting an infectious Cheshire-cat grin. I was jetlagged and generally not festive, but the energy was palpable. I began to turn from a Scrooge into a believer.

I had never heard of the famous hamper, a sturdy, honey-colored wicker basket with leather straps and brass hardware with the F&M monogram stenciled across the front in bold black lettering. I learned that you fill them with biscuits, chutney, crackers, thick-cut marmalade and loose-leaf tea. It lands like a curated picnic from the royal household, equal parts tradition and light performance art, with just enough snobby appeal to make it fun. I left with a small selection of sweets and didn’t think I would ever be back.

That changed when I got invited to return to Fortnum’s by my beloved pal Plum Sykes, a successful author, longtime Vogue contributor, and expert present-giver. Everything about her is effortless, but there’s a sharpness under the surface; she has a reporter’s instinct dressed up with social ease and genuine curiosity. She is an expert at cataloging the rituals and anxieties of upper-crust London and, for some reason, has taken pity on a tattooed American podcaster. She moved her diary around to take me shopping.

America has no equivalent to Fortnum’s; the best we have in New York City is Dean & DeLuca (RIP) and Zabar’s, but neither has the gravity, footprint, or upper-crust excess. Fortnum’s was kind enough to open the doors early for us. Plum and I grabbed our baskets and began to stroll around the store, and I realized our shopping styles were different. I am not a browser; typically, I go into any retail store with an objective in mind. If it is merely to kick the tires and sniff around, I still move swiftly; if it is for a specific purpose, then I go in like a SWAT team: efficient and quick.

Plum was going to leave no stone unturned, stopping at the tea counter and peppering the knowledgeable sales girl with questions before loading up on her favorite blends. We kept it moving, and I was struck by how many things in the store I was unfamiliar with. In all my years I had never heard of a tayberry, much less seen one in preserve form. Did I need pickled walnuts, Stilton in a ceramic crock or gentleman’s relish? Thank God I was with an expert.

With Plum as my translator and tour guide, I began to build a hamper for my parents, who live in Atlanta, Georgia. I wouldn’t call them adventurous eaters. I chose to focus on things they would like: branded tea towels, chocolate pearl biscuits, and cacao-dusted almonds. While Plum was ogling the Christmas ornament selection and trying to resist the tea sets that looked like they belonged in a costume drama, I was focused on finding a high-end, Lorna Doone-style shortbread cookie for my father.

After checking out honey varietals and several different fragrances, we made it upstairs to formally assemble the hamper, with the assistance of a young woman named Dare. She was striking and, if lucky, will be cast and photographed by the fashion photographer Angela Hill before she leaves for university in Dublin. The three of us made small talk until it was time to discuss shipping. My heart sank as my American Express card was returned to me; shipping to the US is only available from the Fortnum & Mason website. A combination of logistics issues and tariffs thwarted our wonderful morning of shopping.

I couldn’t leave empty-handed, so I bought a few tins of biscuits as a consolation prize. Plum made her purchases, and we took the elevator downstairs. The store was busy now, not quite in full swing, but the energy had changed. I love an institution, and Fortnum’s is just that, a special place with a fantastic history that means a lot to people. I will buy two hampers online when I am back in New York City: one for my family and one for Plum. It is Christmas, after all.

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s December 22, 2025 World edition.