My post today is in regards to the almost fearful approach some people have to taking their tea. The proper way to drink an Earl Grey, the right way to drink a Chai tea. Well, I say thee nay! If I was interested in doing everything right and proper, I wouldn't be writing a blog about tea and hedonism. Or, considering doing body shots of iced tea and vodka off of a stripper.
But I digress.
First time teetotalers are always nervous, I find. They walk into the store of loose leaf teas, all wide eyed and gawky looking, like deer wandering into a suburban area. They may talk softly, or stutter a bit, or talk too loudly, to puff themselves up. But I can read nerves in any language the body throws at me. Questions spill out of them as their fingers fiddle with coats and purse straps, skitter down the bright enamel of porcelain or the mesh surfaces of tea balls. How much do I put in? What should I heat the water to? Do I need a timer? Then how long should it sit?
I try to be as gentle with them as possible, as not to scare them away from the wonderful, delicious world of tea (also, to not lose my sale; at the center of my voluptuous core beats the iron cold heart of a business woman). The second thing I'd take care not to do is overload them with information. "What the hell is matcha, anyways?" has various answers, depending on how skittish the person is; either "Powdered green tea from Japan" or "A special variety of green tea which is babied during its growing process to become sweeter with higher antioxidants, hand picked and sorted, then ground to a powder to be whisked together with hot water to make a special kind of tea, central to the tea ceremonies hosts and guests would preform in ancient Japan."
Saying all that in one breath takes practice. Moving along.
But the question that scrapes along my nerves is "What do I put in it?" All careful and soft answers flee, and my eyes pop open, with out fail. "What ever you want!", I inevitably shout, throwing my arms up in the air, "If it's tasty, do it!"
Cue the gasps of many die hard tea enthusiasts. But it's true, though... why would you deny someone the right to enjoy their delicious hot health beverage the way they want it? You want to put milk in your white tea? Have at it! You want maple syrup in your green pomegranate? Agave in your Chai? Soy in your rooibus? Go for it!
Booze in your Ceylon? Make me a cup while you're at it!
I only have a few qualms when it comes to dressing your teas, and that's when it comes to the quality of the brew. Lets be honest; you wouldn't take a $200 red wine vintage, throw in some fruit and a carton of Tropicana, then shout "Sangria everyone!" I shudder at the thought. Such a wine deserves to be drank at the right temperature, with the right cheeses and meats to bring all the flavours to tremble at the tip of your tongue, before slinking through you to warm the base of your soul. Any less treatment deserves a bitch slappin'.
The same applies to certain vintages of teas. My favourite oolong in the world is Tie Kuan Yin, for two reasons. One, it tastes like magic; sweet lilac flavours, soft fermented aromas, and the leaves just unfurl into tender nests, begging for infusion after infusion. Also, because Tie Kuan Yin translates to Iron Goddess of Mercy... and how freaking cool is that? Tie Kuan Yin sold for $40 for 50g, I think, at our store. Likely, our grade wasn't even the best, and you can pay even more for this lovely tea.
I once had a customer request Tie Kuan Yin. Iced. With a squirt of green apple syrup. I almost wept preparing it. Sometimes, I lay awake at night, tossing and turning. Why didn't I stop them from ordering it? Why did I cover my hands in that shame when I made it? How could I do that to tea? HOW?!
But afterwards, I relax and make a cup of tea, then get on with my day. It's not all bad, anyways, not when the kettle's on.
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