Over Afternoon Tea

Tea is not only a drink but a ritual over which people have been relaxing, talking, and catching up on each other's lives for centuries. This blog is intended to serve as a virtual cup of tea, helping me keep in touch with friends and family in my physical absence.

How to Get a Good Cuppa
Without spending more time or money

So you've heard me raving about tea for awhile now. Maybe you're starting to think there's something in it. But when I start discussing heading down to Cha Fahn to pick up some sakura or maybe some more iron-goddess-of-mercy-oolong, you raise an eyebrow. That's an extra trip, not to mention a bit pricey ($7 the ounce for that fantastic oolong). Also, you don't know how to pronounce sakura. (Neither do I, but it's never stopped me yet.)
So is it possible to get a decent cuppa without a lot of extra expense or trouble? The answer, of course, is yes, or I wouldn't be writing this. Here are a few tips for those interested in improving their brew but unwilling so far to commit to the bother of reading a whole book or brewing loose-leafs.

1) Stick with the classics. There's a good reason that breakfast blends, afternoon blends, Ceylon blends, Assam, Earl Grey and so on have been around forever. You should be as suspicious of a "mango-strawberry white tea" as you would be of a fruity-flavored wine or beer. If produced by a respectable company (like Twinings) they can make a nice iced tea but rarely (not never) do well hot. This is because newer flavors are usually "sprayed on" to inferior tea. Older flavorings have more natural methods of use; jasmine tea, for example, requires layering the tea with jasmine overnight to allow it to absorb the flavor.
2) Be brand-conscious. Price has almost nothing to do with it; fifty cents a box separates junk from excellent quality. Avoid Liptons and Celestial Seasonings. Tazo is hip and sometimes of decent quality but Twinings, which is less expensive, produces a much better brew (with the exception of Tazo's decaf lotus, which has a smooth, buttery flavor that helps make up for the inevitable decaf bitter). Stash, of course, is my favorite. Their teas are bright, smooth, and full-bodied. As a rule of thumb, the fancier the outside of the box, the worse the contents.
3) When you've obtained a decent tea, brew it properly.
Blacks should be brewed with boiling water. They rarely want to brew longer than three minutes, and never more than five (unless they're loose leaf) or they will develop a bitter flavor which will have to be drowned with milk and sugar. More delicate blacks, such as Darjeelings, may prefer shorter times.
With all but the most delicate green teas, you needn't watch the timer as carefully, but you must never use boiling water on a green. Allow the water to cool for approximately one minute before brewing. Greens generally prefer shorter brewing times. Most bag greens I've tried do well at about two or two and a half minutes.
4) Serve the tea as suits it. Very few teas are improved by sugar. Many, however, are suited by milk, particularly breakfast blends and Assams. Experiment to find out what you like. If you want to drink your tea with milk, buy a tea that will stand up to it. Milk does not go in most flavored teas.
4) Be very, very careful with white tea. It is currently a fad, which means that nearly everyone is doing it, and scarcely anyone is doing it well. Avoid any brands which exist solely to sell white tea. I currently do not know of a source for a respectable, bagged white tea. Republic of Tea is all right, but tends to brew a little bitter. If you are interested in white tea, I recommend trying Stash's Green and White Fusion, which produces a pleasant brew a little stronger than white. If you purchase a white tea flavored with anything heavier than jasmine, don't expect to be able to taste the tea, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Finally, a few hints on finding the right tea for you: here's a rough gradation of a few blacks.
Darjeeling is very light and delicate, even when it's strong;
Ceylon breakfast blends are mild and very pleasant;
English breakfast is stronger, often drunk with milk;
Irish breakfast or afternoon is bolder, usually drunk with milk;
Assam is bold, strong and malty; I drink it with plenty of milk;
Russian Caravan is dark and smoky, my husband's favorite black-coffee alternative.

My husband just put away the chocolate ice cream.
On top of the freezer.
For three hours.
I love men.

Mama's Spirit

They waited five years.
They were young and inexperienced and they hadn't much money. So they waited five years, and worked, and saved. They bought a car and a house. Finally she got pregnant, and they paid the money in advance to the hospital, because that was the way you did it, in those days, and then the insurance company paid you back.
At seven months she quit work. "You won't have any insurance, you know," they told her, and she said it was all right, they had insurance through her husband's job. She was glad to go home.
And then his company failed. He lost his job, and the baby was born. Two weeks later, baby was back in the hospital with pneumonia, and they had nothing. His parents wired money for her hospital bills.
He found work as a tree-trimmer, but winter is the rainy season in Texas. If he could've worked every day they'd be fine, but half the time he was home. He was still looking for something better. Her conscience ate at her, a gnawing dread. Finally she went to him.
"Do you want me to go back to work?"
There was a long pause. "Do you want to go back to work?"
"I'd almost rather give her up for adoption," she said, exaggerating like she often did when very upset.
"We'll find a way," he said.
He found a new job, and they never looked back.
Twenty-five years later, is it any wonder I chafe at my desk, wanting to be home with kids?

Surprise Inspection

The doorbell rang.
You wouldn't think that would cause much of a sensation. It's a small campus, true, and in an age of laziness and cell phones most of our friends do call before dropping by, but not always. Nobody, however, rings the doorbell. The one belonging to our upstairs neighbors doesn't work, and I got so out of the habit that I've never tried anybody else's. They, likewise, have never really tried mine.
Accordingly, I moved to the door with a cheery "Hey, the doorbell works!"
"Of course it works!" replied the priest as the door swung open. He stood outside in his petrahili and rasso, the foundational garments of an Orthodox priest, and his little monk's cap, holding a bowl, a cross, and some basil. Obviously, he had come to bless the house.
Given the fact that I had just returned from the service blessing the water that he was now planning to sprinkle us with, I wasn't as surprised as I might have been. After a moment of awkward surprise, my husband collected the music he'd used for the same service at another parish this morning. Father started sprinkling and we started singing. The apartment is small and it took only two rounds of "When You, o Lord, were baptized in the Jordan" before the blessing was finished. Then we got sprinkled and kissed his cross, and he headed for his next apartment.
When the door had closed behind him, I collapsed into giggles. My husband did a quick tour of the rooms to see if anything unsuitable for priest-monks had been left lying out, then came to hug me with a mild and amused relief. "It's fine. A mess, but fine."
I giggled some more. "Of all the idiotic things to say to the priest."
"Hmm?"
"The doorbell works."