When I was a kid, I had no respect for tea, or tea drinkers. I viewed tea as the weak-tasting middle ground between water and coffee; a sort of holy grail for the lost and indecisive. Growing older, you begin to learn the practical applications of tea. Namely that it can replace coffee in the two hours before bedtime, allowing you to fall into blissful slumber without the caffeine-demon screeching in your ear.
Sometimes you don’t want to be perked up. Sometimes you don’t want to get up and go. Sometimes you just want hot, comforting liquid sliding down your throat.
From those early sickly-sweet herbal brews foisted upon me by my much loved Grandmother, to the rich tannins of Morning Red, enjoyed bleary-eyed on balconies with a beautiful girl, tea has been a lonely constant in my life. Through queasy mornings, late night rambles, ecstasies, and heartaches, one of life’s greatest comforts has been ever near to my hand.
In recent times, my libationary intake has been subsumed by the dark allures of that euro-trash upstart known as espresso, but it will always be tea that is closest to my heart. Merely pondering on tea these last few minutes has brought on a flood of nostalgia, a longing for those moments inexorably lost to time. Expect to see me leering at English Breakfast blends in some overpriced, upmarket tea store some time soon.
Tea is what a cat is to a dog.
A woman to a girl.
A Leica to a Canon.
A scotch to a beer.
And of course a cup of tea to a cup of coffee.
It’s not needy, its not flashy, its not sugary (unless its that dumbass fruit tea, which in my opinion is worse than Hitler). It’s got subtlety and dignity. Something you can enjoy over and over again. That’s not to say that a dog doesn’t have its place or a cold beer or a nice little DTF hoodrat, for that matter.
But nine times out of ten you best believe I’m gonna hit up the cat, woman, Leica, scotch, and a cup of tea.
Tea, My Love.
Recently I went on a tea-spree. I bought a lot of tea. Tea that uses feelings and emotions for sweet, dreamy titles.
Titles that make you want to buy ’em so you can feel ’em.
Like refreshed and vitality and love.
Yes apparently a tea can make you feel loved…
Anyway, it is my thinking that tea is a beautiful thing, one of those things that you spend weirdly large sums of money on, but never regret purchasing.
Because Sylvia Plath said there’s not much a hot bath won’t fix (I’m paraphrasing), I say there’s not much a hot chai wont fix.
Especially when served in an elegant antique pot.
I usually start each day with a big, some would say soup-bowl sized, cup of coffee. But from then on, tea is my master. Those little caffeine top-ups inevitably mark the passage of each day. Now, I’m not a stickler for fancy tea. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dabbled in the delicate Lady Grey, the odd in-between world of Oolong, and the glorious subtleties of Darjeeling. That said, I always return to the cheap stuff.
This is mainly from laziness, I’ll admit, but I like to think it’s also because perfection is hard to improve on. And perfection is a mug of hot black tea. Give me a simple Twinings teabag and a dollop of milk. Forget brewing temperatures, infusers or strainers. Quick and dirty. A milky tea in a novelty mug is all I need to get through the day. Hell, you can even leave the teabag in.
But, offer me sugar, and you sir, have gone too far.
Tea, soft in every sense of the word, is perpetually coffee’s loser relative. One whom I wouldn’t even bother exchanging pleasantries with at some sort of hot beverage family reunion.
A lack of creativity.
Coffee beans, sourced from numerous sun-burnt countries often surrounding the equator, are shipped to masterful roasteries. From here, they are roasted with precision (depending on the flavours that they intend to be released) then handed over to the skillful barista who intelligently extracts a beautiful espresso, which is then combined with expertly caramelised hot milk and a delicate piece of latte art on top for garnish.
Tea? Pick leaves. Add hot water. Milk? Yeah great… why did I pay $4.50 for this?
A lack of flavour.
Coffee, while consistently delivering it’s amazing caffeinated punch, provides an ever changing range of flavours and delicate notes from the one blend depending on its roasting time, its grind, its extraction time and how it is served. Tea is either good or old: You buy one pack of tea leaves and you can expect the same drink until the blasted foliage is stale.
A lack of speed.
Esspresso? Thirty seconds. Tea? Four to five minutes. I ain’t got that kind of time.
Fuck tea… Coffee is all I need.
