The Brits, as everyone knows, are peculiar. No more so than in their appreciation for tea. They founded an empire and despoiled the world to make sure they got some, their tea-swilling starts before dawn and ends long after dark. It's probably what makes life in a wet grey island bearable, especially as their food is downright unbelievable.
Because I drink an awful lot of tea myself, I can sort of understand what they're going through. I too am swacked to the gills by the time the sun breaks through the fog, never far from a cup for the next several hours, and will often prolong the day long past twilight with another spot.
Or several more cups.
I usually drink tea in three forms.
1) Black tea, plain and strong, without sugar or milk.
2) Chinese restaurant tea, which is often a mix of jasmine tea (香片 'heung pin'), cheap grades of Oolong (烏龍), and either Suisien (水仙茶 'seui sin chaa') or Pu Erh (普洱茶 'pou nei chaa').
3) Hong Kong style milk tea; a strong tannic brew modulated with sweetened condensed milk.
[港式奶茶 ('gong sik naai cha'): Hong Kong style milk-tea. Also called silk stocking tea (絲襪奶茶 'si mat naai cha'), because the cloth straining bag traditionally used ends up looking like an old lady's belabbered pantyhose, all droopy and draggy, and quite obscene. The Cantonese are known for calling a spade a spade. The tea leaves used for this product often combine strong Indian or Ceylon with a soupcon of lychee black tea (荔枝紅茶 'lei ji hong chaa') for fragrance, as well as keemun (祁門紅茶 'kei mun hong chaa') or Pu Erh (普洱). It should be heung heung gwat gwat (香香滑滑). Lapsang souchong (拉山小種) is not suitable, as it is too smoky.]
English people, however, do it differently.
There are TWO accepted methods for making tea in England.
The preferred method is dumping a large teabag in a mug, inundating it with boiling water, then splashing in some milk. This is what people do when they're in a hurry and want to jones-up pdq.
Add two lumps of sugar; sheer heaven.
Almost like it's a sunny day.
[Yorkshire tea, by Taylors of Harrogate, is excellent for this purpose.]
The second method involves a large porcelain teapot, often flowery, with a heaping spoonful of tea leaves for each cup it holds as well as one extra (for the pot). Crucially, the pot must be warmed up first. My father would place it upside-down on top of the kettle in lieu of a lid, whereas I simply rinse it out with boiling water before adding the leaves.
Always bring the pot to the kettle. Always.
Never the other way around.
Which is heresy.
[Suitable brands, if you cannot find a selection of loose-leaf black in your town, would be Twinings, available everywhere there's a Safeway or a Piggly Wiggly, and Typhoo.]
The true British peculiarity is not the tea. It's what they serve with it.
No, not ridiculous little finger sandwiches, sliced cake, or scones with clotted cream and fruit preserves; those are all fine, especially the hot scones. Easy to understand and love.
Bread. And either butter, OR jam. Not both. Never both. Having both is heresy, and will be punished by stern looks of disapproval.
Being a Yank, I am of course thoroughly used to stern looks of disapproval, as that is the preferred method whereby the world communicates with my kind. It does not bother me.
I shall have both butter AND jam.
If I choose.
I'm actually rather fond of buttered toast and Oxford marmalade.
AFTER WORD
Masala chai, made with green cardamom, fennel, and ginger, is also a noteworthy variation. But seeing as both the owner and the frightful Dravidian she-camel who worked there of the long since defunct Indian restaurant where I was the weekend cashier for over a decade both agreed that as a Gaura I didn't know beans about tea (vociferously!),
I have a bit of a mental block about it.
It's all right, I suppose.
American interpretations of chai, made at places like Starbucks or similar coffee joints, are not worth drinking.
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1 comment:
Dear Esteemed Scholar,
We have been avid followers of your learned hagiographia for quite some time. What we found intriguing was your insights being connoisseurs of Nicotiana and Camilla sinensis in the Yuetosphere. Our own sojourns have brought us to the corners of East Asia, from Manila to Ulan-Bator, and have made many a comrade along the way.
Throughout our journey, we arrived at a stunningly BEAUTIFUL ancient metropolis in Holam-Sing, one Binleung, now “Kaifeng” under the Maoist oppressors, and have been acquainted with its Hebrew denizens. Actually, both “Hebrew” and “Jewish” would be misnomers, as they solely Referred to themselves by the endonym of “Israelite”. Their Islamist neighbors gave them the humiliating epithet of “Lanmaohuihui”, which for we ALL know basically means “dhimmi”, and never stopped making them Grieve, grieve, grieve. They were celebrating their historically significant Feast, of which they informed us the name was “Shabbes Shqalim”. We spoke no Israelite, but a deft translator informed us that much counting, Weighing, and numbering was involved. Unfortunately, he was unable (well, unwilling) to decipher one of their Favorite Holiday Hymns, the title of which which was given to me as such: “也許你中意一批一批一批的掀開我的油”
After the rousing repast, we inquired of them regarding their culinary expertise, and having just been Quezon merely days prior, asked them if they were familiar with the delicacy known as Balut. They reacted with revulsion, asking us how anyone could Conceive of eating vulnerable duckling.
From This is why we implore you to enlighten this Lost Tribe on the beauty of Balut, from its history to its popularity to why anyone whould be deluded enough to deny its deliciousness. Balut is delicious. Delicious.
Please make a Full Post on this, as our liaison in Binleung is unable to read comments through the CPC internet filter.
Yours in Worldliness,
Thirty Day Beer
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