This blog has not been shy about the virtues of whisky; we’ve discussed the undoubted glories of coffee, and of course wine has made an appearance on numerous occasions. And there’s always room for more. There’s also a special space set aside for beer, which we will fill when the time is right. But today let’s talk about tea.
It’s difficult to overstate the fundamental importance of tea. It’s not just the pleasure and satisfaction you imbibe with every cup, or the necessary rehydration and refreshment, but also the fragrant draught’s ability to plumb the realms of pleasant memory and recreate the sensations of serene reflection.
Some people get an emotional lift from cooking; we’ve become accustomed to the idea of comfort food that wings us back to infancy’s rosy glow when we’re unhappy or stressed. This very blog has examined with characteristic superficiality the effect of a single Madeleine on the mental processes of Marcel Proust. Well, around here that sort of thing happens with tea.
It’s a deeply ingrained ritual that when we step through the door of Corner Cottage after being out for any reason – barring perhaps a late night on the tiles – the kettle has to go on and a nice cuppa must result. It’s the ritual that marks the end of activity and the onset of rest; by the same token, on rising in the morning, tea signifies the transition from sleep to full wakefulness and sets up body and soul for the day ahead.
As the seventeenth-century poet and royalist Edmund Waller so niftily put it, “Tea does our fancy aid / Repress those vapours which the head invade / And keeps that palace of the soul serene.” Having battled through a bunch of his writings as a student – who could forget “Of the Lady who can Sleep when she Pleases” or “On the Friendship betwixt Sacharissa and Amoret”? – I think this by far the best thing the old fellow wrote.
Of course, this idea that creating and consuming our tisanes, brews and stews is a process of significance is pretty old hat. The Japanese tea ceremony raises the ritual of tea drinking to an art form – an elegant ceremony, unfolding in measured steps, with every form duly observed in such a way as to create a moment out of time, when the upsets and vexations of daily life are suspended and perfect harmony prevails. I do get it, but don’t really have the time or patience. As for whether to use bags or leaf, or milk first – if at all – why be so dogmatic? Strong and hot, that’s the ticket.
We’re all familiar with the history of tea. From pre-Christian consumption in China, it made its way to Europe by the seventeenth century – and was considered a valuable commodity, giving rise to the ornate lockable tea caddy to prevent the help from dipping into the precious leaf. The British carried it to the far corners of empire, along with beer, gin and ideas of racial superiority – and encouraged cultivation in India, Sri Lanka and (in my experience), Zimbabwe and Malawi.
Along the way there have arisen a plethora of blends and kinds, from many shades of green tea to the black varieties like Oolong, Pekoe, Darjeeling, Assam, Earl Grey and Lapsang Souchong. Their names alone trace the long global journey tea has endured. And then there’s the herbal kind: peppermint and camomile and rose hip: they’re all in the pantry here for when required, plus a nod to Africa in the form of Rooibos, which is the best thing for sleep you can possibly drink.
But when it comes down to it, tea should be strong – what some call builders’ tea: a good, dark, fragrant cuppa with a dash of milk. At home we always drank Five Roses. The TV ad with the singing butler swims back into memory:
Hello, it’s me, I’m here with the tea
That superior new blend
Of Five Roses tea!”
Over the years in the UK, the charms of PG Tips with their talking chimps held sway with this consumer, and we found a reliable source for PG in Singapore. And while the knowledgeable shopper can root out a box of PG here in Aus, it’s the forthright Northern charisma of Yorkshire Tea that stirs us as we stir it: our addiction has taken us to the darker side – it’s a tea for committed drinkers, hard-core ten-a-day tannin junkies.
Yes, coffee is essential too, but it’s tea that gives us those essential transfusions when the time is right and the palate parched. Anyone stopping by Corner Cottage for a visit will be plied with the stuff – and that’s the best welcome we can offer. Everything else follows on from the tea.