When preparing for a recent girl's weekend in Chicago, I had two goals: check out the art museum's Chagalls and sample the Windy City's world-famous deep-dish pizza.

Plans changed a few weeks from departure with a single phone call.

"I booked us for high tea at the Palmer House," my mother blurted out.

Immediately, I pictured myself, saucer in hand, chatting up the Queen of England. Oddly enough, my deceased cat, Chester, also was seated at the table, leading me to believe that despite my tom girl disavowals, I probably did organize a tea party or two as a toddler.

"High tea?" I asked. "They still do that?"

My mother paused -- biting her tongue and vowing not to encourage my sarcasm and otherwise unbecoming behavior with a chuckle.

"It'll be fun," she said. "You'll see."

A few days later, my curiosity got the better of me. So like every red-blooded yuppie with an iBook, I Googled "high tea." More than a million hits came back.

I cruised through a Cliff Notes description of the ceremony on Wikipedia (Did you know that high tea was fundamental to the creation of the Model T? Kidding �), then headed for more reliable Web pages operated by honest-to-goodness Anglophiles. I knew I'd come to the right place when one of the sites featured a kitten motif.

Here's the gist of what I discovered: What us Yanks call high tea is actually the Brit's afternoon tea.

It's a formal affair usually served between 2 and 5 p.m. Fancy dancy loose-leaf tea is featured (bags be banished), with an assortment of finger sandwiches, scones and pastries.

I started to get excited. Not only would I be able to binge on desserts (scones and pastries is code for carb-loaded sugar high), but the outing provided the perfect opportunity to go shopping. After all, a girl can't show up to her first high tea in jeans and a tank top.

By the time my mother, my sister-in-law and I touched down in Chi-Town, our high tea appointment at the famed Palmer House lobby was at the top of my trip list -- and it did not disappoint.

For nearly two hours, the three of us sipped our brews -- Earl Grey, Armenian Mint and Darjeeling Champagne, respectively -- and sampled some of the most delectable (and unpronounceable) finger foods not available in the freezer section. My favorites: the traditional cucumber sandwich (featuring watercress and dill); and the sweet Nun âte à choux (high culture in two bites or less).

As other tourists hurried through busy streets outside, we gazed at the ceiling adorned with Grecian frescoes by French muralist Louis Pierre Rigal and 24-karat gold Tiffany chandeliers.

I still ended up getting my deep dish pie (stuffed with tomatoes, mushrooms and Canadian bacon), but you know what? High tea was better.