Tea Time
Just tea for two and two for tea
Me for you and you for me alone -Caesar/Youmans, 1924
After water, tea is the most consumed drink in the world: People imbibe more of the brew than do coffee, soda, and alcohol combined. I contribute more than my fair share to this statistic, and here reflect upon the ubiquitous beverage and its appeal.
East
I perched in “toe sit pose” - toes curled under, my bum resting on my heels. This gave the soles of my feet a delicious stretch, but I knew I wouldn’t last the full hour in the semi-kneeling position. Only a thin blanket separated me from the concrete floor; it was neither a deterrent to the cold that radiated into my lower limbs, nor an adequate cushion. The surface on which I sat stubbornly refused to yield comfort of any kind - maybe the tea would.
Ting, founder and director of the nonprofit Tea Arts & Culture had, unlike the concrete floor, welcomed me warmly to the tea talk/ceremony offered by Westport’s Museum of Contemporary Art. A chill activity for a chilly winter afternoon.
“You can sit here,” she motioned gracefully to the empty space closest to her, in front of one of eight small wooden trays, home to an even smaller simple white handle-less tea cup. I instinctively bowed ever so slightly as I lowered myself to the floor, feeling reverential.
Others filed in quietly while Ting knelt over her tea set up, head bowed until everyone had settled in. During the hour we shared, she explained the origin of her fascination with tea, the content of the multi-year course on tea she had completed, and the content of the elixir she mindfully prepared for us. She spoke admiringly of the farmer who grew the very rare China white silver tea; she had visited him often in his very remote village. She intimated that this particular strain would unlikely be her regular morning brew; I sensed that an ounce likely cost more than I spent at Starbucks in a typical month.
She poured the golden/green potion into the thimble-sized cups that we cradled in both hands like so many fragile robin’s eggs. She asked that we sip the brew slowly, and try to notice all the nuanced flavor notes. As I did, I tried to heed Thich Naht Han’s advice. The Vietnamese Buddhist monk said, “Drink your tea.” If you choose to do something, do that thing, only that thing, mindfully and fully present. And although I felt as silly trying to parse the flavors of the tea as I do looking for “sourdough and crunchy apple” in a chardonnay, it did taste pretty special.
Only after she had served everyone, and after everyone had savored the liquid gold, did she ask that we reflect on the experience.
West
“Put the kettle on.” It’s the British answer - which I have happily adopted - to everything. First thing in the morning. Mid-morning and mid-afternoon. When you get home. When anyone comes to visit, especially if distressed. At funerals, intermissions, meetings. For gardeners, plumbers, roofers…
I am convinced that Brits facing the apocalypse or welcoming little green aliens would depress that button on the electric kettle. It makes everything better or at least more bearable. Keep Calm and Drink Tea.
Those same Brits (and Anglophiles like me) can be very militant about their steaming cuppas. The PG Tips vs. Yorkshire choice rages like the Coke vs. Pepsi rivalry. I’ve seen customers indignantly return a cup of tea with the wrong amount of milk added. A friend posted a meme displaying an array of colors, from dark, burnt-sugar-brown to pale, barely discernible off-white. She jokingly claimed she could never marry someone who took their tea outside a certain “acceptable” range; I’m not sure she was joking.
Getting to the Root of It
Why, then, is this humble plant product so revered, craved, and ubiquitous? Is it because it is the epitome of a natural food? Dried leaves steeped in boiling water. I will try not to mercilessly disparage the pseudo-teas: those innocent leaves mercilessly bastardized by well meaning but mercenary Dr. Frankensteins: S’mores flavored? Orange-peach-mango? No thank you. To each their own, but for my money, it ought to be illegal to add anything to tea besides raw honey, milk, sugar, or lemon. Or at least have the decency to call it what it is: tea-adjacent. Adulterated.
Purist digression fully acknowledged, back to the query. The ritual itself approaches the religious, whether in a formal Japanese ceremony or in a London bedsit kitchen. The filling of the kettle, the heating of the water, the choosing and depositing of the tea - loose leaf or bagged - the murmuring and then the roiling of the boil, the rising of the steam as the hot liquid bathes the dried flakes, the changing of the color from clear to lemongrass green or dark caramel brown. The warm ceramic against a perhaps cool or even jittery palm, and oh… that first sip. The eyes close and the head bows, almost reflexively, as if in prayer. The shoulders drop away from the ears, the jaw unclenches, and the breath deepens, and in that moment, everything is right with the world.
And, unlike some other refreshments that might achieve the same physiological release, tea happens also to be very healthy. A recent issue of Hello magazine claims that “People who drink between three to five cups of tea a day have the lowest risk of stroke or dementia, compared with non-tea drinkers.” It is said to boost mood, ease indigestion, and reduce the incidence of cancer, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and arthritis (according to the NIH).
It’s no wonder, then, that cultures around the world partake in this warming ritual so often. Personally, I always have a canister full of PG Tips on the counter - in Connecticut and Stratford Upon Avon - and a quart of whole milk in the refrigerator so that come hell or high water - or both - I can always put the kettle on and enjoy a steaming, just-right-color cuppa.