Tea

I love tea. I would say that it borders on an addiction.

When I was a kid, I spent my allowance money on books and tea. Yeah, I was a weird kid. My twenty dollars a week went to Jane Austen and Earl Grey; Mark Twain and Sassafras; and The Raj Quartet and Darjeeling.

My grandma was my first pusher. As far back as I can remember, she would make big pots of tea. Not charming little ceramic pots. Grandma’s tea consisted of about half a dozen Lipton tea bags dropped into a big metal pot of full of water---the strings from the bags wrapped around the handle to keep the tea bags in place while the water boils. Not steeps. BOILS. The tea bags could simmer on the stovetop for hours. A few years later, during a trip to the mall, a girlfriend pointed out that someone nearby was smoking pot.

“How do you know?” I innocently asked.

“Because it smells like burnt tea.”

This was a smell I knew. Apparently, so did she. I guess all grandmas were taught to boil their tea bags. Maybe it’s a Southern thing. Or Polish. Who knows? But until the age of seven, I firmly believed this was the proper way to make tea. But, I have to say, if you poured a cup before it burned to a crisp like old 7-11 coffee---it was pretty good. Grandma made tea the English way---lots of sugar and whole milk. Mmmm. Not only did I begin to ask for tea---I started ordering it out.

Yes, I was the precocious child ordering tea. I remember the first time as if it were yesterday…

A diner. Somewhere around Grand and Gravois in the Southside of St. Louis. It was a rainy, fall day. I don’t know how I remember all the details, because I couldn’t have been more than seven. But we were on our way to Sears to do some early Christmas shopping and the three of us ducked into our regular diner for a bite to eat. On the jukebox, I could hear Dionne Warwick singing “I’ll Never Fall In Love Again”. Although I should hasten to mention that I’m sure the song had come out several years before---I’ve been told I date myself when I mention popular songs.

In any case, my mom and grandma ordered their regular cup of tea. And, though this was a pivotal grown-up moment for me, they didn’t seem shocked when I informed the waitress that I would like a cup of tea as well.

A few moments later, I was surprised to find an elaborate set-up placed before me: A pot of hot water, cup, saucer, spoon, tea bag, sugar, milk and a lemon.

Hmmm.

This was a dilemma. I was used to my pre-made boiled tea with all the extras lovingly added in by Grandma. Nevertheless, as they continued their conversation over who wanted what for Christmas, I tried to follow their lead and assemble my tea. I felt so grown-up and mature. I was one of the shopping ladies. Dropping in for a club sandwich and a cup of tea. I felt so grown-up that I decided to take Dionne Warwick’s advice to never fall in love again. After all, what do you get when you kiss a guy? Enough germs to catch pneumonia---that’s what. Ick. And, even though I’d never kissed Jeff from Kindergarten--- he’d been more interested in the free popsickles at recess--- I was now a grown-up woman and I could be as bitter and jaded as Dionne. After all, I was tossed aside for a cherry popsickle. And that didn’t make such a good song.

I looked down at my tea. The hot water had turned that beautiful brown tea colour. I added the sugar and the milk. But what was the lemon for? Well, for lemon-scented tea, of course. I went ahead and squeezed it in. Because I was a lady at lunch. With my gal pals. I had no time for a guy with a pin who’d burst your bubble. And what kind of jerk pops a girl’s balloon?--that’s what I’d like to know.

A moment later, my milk began to curdle in my tea cup. This wasn’t right. Grandma’s tea didn’t look like this. My mother seemed upset with me as she called the waitress and explained that I’d squeezed lemon in with the milk in my tea and it curdled and she’s so sorry and is there any way I could get a new pot of tea?

It was at that point, that I decided to learn a little something about tea.

I won’t attempt to distill all my years of tea wisdom into an over-written and under-edited blog. However, I will say that my love of tea has grown and expanded tremendously since my Early Boiled Lipton Period.

For starters, Grandma also made sassafras tea. That, you actually HAD to boil. A big metal pot full of boiling roots---which, a few years after she died, were declared to be a cause of cancer in lab rats. But, boy, was it tasty. Once again, lots of sugar and milk and you had yourself a hot, soothing beverage. How could cancer taste so good?

From there I branched out on my own. I fell into the Twinings line of teas that were conveniently packaged in affordable packets of ten. Earl Grey. Prince of Wales. Russian Caravan. Jasmine Tea. English Breakfast. Irish Breakfast. Ceylon Breakfast. I felt like I was breakfasting all over the world.

In high school I started sampling the herbal teas. Chamomile. Lemon Balm. Orange Spice.

In college, I wore out my hot pot boiling water for cup after cup of Blackcurrant, Green Tea, or something warm and decadent with fruit and almonds.

I think it’s now time to say that I’ve never been a tea snob. I’ve got all the paraphernalia---the little metal tea brewing thingys and the pots and special cups and saucers and the tins of fresh tea leaves blah blah blah. But I would never turn up my nose at a tea bag. Never. I came from tea bags. I would never look down on my roots. No pun intended.

Over the years, I’ve developed a tea fetish that can often get out of control. My brother came to New York to visit me a few years back and noticed all the teas in my kitchen. The next day, we made a visit to Chinatown. As he saw me gathering boxes of tea in my arms, he suddenly burst out, “You’re buying MORE tea?”

Yes. I am.

I guess, as far as addictions go, it’s a pretty healthy one. When they announced the antioxidant properties of tea a few years back, I did a little dance of joy. Like Grace Adler on Will and Grace, “Told you so! Told you so!”

Nothing can stop me now. Just yesterday, I made my bi-monthly pilgrimage to the New Yorker’s Tea Central---Chinatown.

I love going to Chinatown to shop for tea. I have all my special tea stores and am always on the lookout for new and exciting teas. I will be the first to admit that I haven’t tried them all. Someday, I hope to have a full and thorough knowledge of tea. However, for now, I LOVE the adventure!

I will now share with you a secret. For those of you who absolutely LOVE tea---I will suggest that you cheque out the New Kam Man shop on Canal St. It’s my special secret tea-finding place. It’s unimposing. From the front, it looks like a simple Asian grocery. On the way there, you’ll be bombarded by several Asian men who will approach you offering to sell you handbags. Pay them no mind. You don't need a new knock-off handbag. You don't. Just walk away. A few young Asian boys will see you and say, “Hey, baby.” I have no idea what that is about. Just keep moving. But if you can locate New Kam Man, and find the stairs leading to the basement, you will see an amazing collection of wonderfully varied, yet low-cost, teas. Everything from tea bags for 55 cents for a box of twenty to fresh tea leaves at $40 a pound. Nothing is old and dusty. The teas are regularly stocked and fresh. And there’s always something new and interesting. Yesterday, I spent $20 on tea and came home with a treasure.

The inventory:

A small tin of Black Persimmon Tea Leaves
A box of 20 Green Apple Green Tea Bags
A medium sized bag of Roasted Green Tea Leaves
A bag of fresh Pur-Eh Tea Leaves
A box of 20 Lichee Black Tea Bags
A small tin of Lotus Tea Leaves
A small package of Mini-Bowls of Tea Tou Cha
A bag of freshly dried Chrysanthemum Tea
A large box of 100 Yunnan Bo Nay Tea Bags

All this for about twenty dollars. A fabulous deal. If you’re ever in Chinatown in NYC, be sure to pay them a call. The workers who doll out the fresh tea leaves don’t speak much English, so you pretty much have to point and tell them to give you another scoop or stop. Let’s face it---it’s sign language. But they’re ever so nice and more than happy to help you with your tea needs. They also carry a large supply of tea mugs and traditional Chinese and Japanese tea pots. Basically, all your Oriental tea needs will be met at New Kam Man.

I’ve come a long way since Lipton, baby!