Teapots by the pound

Baskets full of teapots for sale at a weekend public market
in my neighborhood. Teapots by the bushel!

Real poetry about tea!

Normally, I'm loath to promote the cutesy side of tea culture. I tend to be allergic to anything with an embroidered cat on it or a purely decorative cozy. I've read my share of dreadful tea-themed "poetry," too — but there's a book available (Amazon shows it slated for Dec. 1, but you can buy it now directly from the author) of real poetry that happens to sing of tea.

Distinguished Leaves: Poems for Tea-Lovers by Elizabeth Darcy Jones is a neat volume of pert verse celebrating tea and its accoutrement. Cute by occasional default, most of the poetry here is quality and at least strives for literate standing beyond being a mere gift book from the acquaintances who perhaps know you as "the tea person." Try this sample:

"Afternoon Tea from Cornwall"

My gaze falls on the Fal – it’s dead on three
Tregothnan’s sun makes butter of my bones
Someone’s thinking, ‘Now’s the time, it’s time for tea!’

Tourists talk of Eden, Marazion and the sea
While clotted cream is spread on fresh baked scones
My gaze falls on the Fal – it’s dead on three.

Torn leaves – from bushes only feet away – are free
To swell, and fill the pot until it groans
Is someone thinking, ‘Now’s the time, it’s time for tea?’

It’s young, organic, grown right here and, naturally,
It tastes of rivers steaming smoky tones
My gaze falls on the Fal – it’s dead on three.

Best check your watch and travel West with me
Read the signs! Switch off your mobile phones!
Everybody’s drinking. ‘Now’s the time, it’s time for tea!’

The villain line that I forgot comes back to me
I reconnect to that which no one owns
My gaze falls on the Fal – it’s dead on three
This someone’s thinking, ‘Now it’s time, the time for tea!’

Tuesday tea tunes: Autumn is your last chance

We're getting some autumn breezes around Chicago now, for sure, so this week's tune is "Autumn Wind" by a 20-year-old Canadian indie-folk guy who records as The Irish Tea Room. It's a song that definitely sounds like its subject ...

'Whose kettle scarcely has time to cool'

Happy birthday to Samuel Johnson (center, taking tea, above), one of the world's most formidable tea drinkers. A prolific writer in London in the mid-1700s, Johnson self-described as "a hardened and shameless tea-drinker, who has, for twenty years, diluted his meals with only the infusion of this fascinating plant; whose kettle has scarcely time to cool; who with tea amuses the evening, with tea solaces the midnight, and, with tea, welcomes the morning."

Amen, sister.

If you haven't read the entirety of his critical essay, "Review of 'A Journal of Eight Days' Journey,'" from whence that comes, it's worth a Sunday afternoon perusal. Johnson eviscerates a fellow author who proclaimed tea to be an evil influence in Britain (and got most of his facts wrong in the process). You can find the text here, after you've poured a cup.

In-tea-lligence from India and China

As I write this, I'm sipping a Japanese bancha from a new mug, one emblazoned with the logo of the grad school where I'm now a master's student. I have a typically windowless, cinder-block office on campus in a typically weird, strangely designed university building, and I've already scoped out where the hot water taps are in the building so I can at least approximate a decent cup of tea as I slave away writing papers, conducting research and reading, reading, reading.

One of the many aspects of campus life I appreciate once more, after having been away as a student for nearly two decades, is the regular contact with people of different backgrounds and experience. In my graduate cohort are several students from India and China, for example — so, of course, we started talking tea.

Raj, a student I'm collaborating with this week, hails from India. She scoffed at the shop in Calcutta I've written about before — Dolly's, from which another friend of mine sends me tea whenever she visits. "That's where you go to show off, not to drink real tea," she said.

She recommended something I tried this weekend, too: a strong cup of Darjeeling with a bit of lemon, a pinch of sugar and a tiny bit of ... black salt. Fabulous, I have several colored salts given to me ages ago by a chef, and I always forget to use them. A big proponent of salty-sweet combos, I encourage this. Salt in tea is something everyone should try at least once, and this balance of sweet, salt (with the added clean smoky flavor of the charcoal-blended black salt) and lemon is as perfect as the world's greatest cocktail, the sidecar.

Another thing Raj said that I loved, as we discussed the ideal spice blend for chai: "Mostly cardamom, no cinnamon. Americans are obsessed with cinnamon. You put it on everything!"

Raj complained that India's tea businesses export all their good quality teas. Another student, Qian, from Beijing, said it's the opposite in China: they keep the good stuff in the country and export the crud.

Tuesday tea tunes: Hot tea, cold beer

Back to the working week, folks, so step lively. Here's a beat for you, courtesy the Herbaliser and rapper Jean Grae — who boasts of bringing "100 gallons of flow" to this contemplation of a curious cocktail. Eventually, she concludes: "You know what tea and beer would taste like if you put them together? Not good." (Warning: some strong language, etc.)

The Boulder and the beautiful teahouse

A friend and colleague, Mark G., drove into the Rocky Mountains for the first time in his life this week. On his way through Boulder, Colo., he followed my recommendation to revive himself at the Dushanbe Teahouse.

Just because it's such a beautiful place, here are some of the photos he sent to taunt me about where he was, while I was at work ...







Thanks, Mark. Ya bastard.

Darling, where's the tea chest? (gasp!)

One of the free books I nabbed off of iBooks (long live the public domain) is Henry Fielding's Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon, which I dove into because of my previously mentioned fascination with Portugal. The book is true to its title, however; it's all about the journey, and very little about Lisbon itself. What it illuminates is just how excruciating and slow 18th-century travel was, and during the journey Fielding and his companions were bereft when they feared the absolute worst had befallen them: they thought they'd lost their tea chest ...

We promised to be ready as soon as breakfast was over, but this was not so soon as was expected; for, in removing our goods the evening before, the tea-chest was unhappily lost. Every place was immediately searched, and many where it was impossible for it to be; for this was a loss of much greater consequence than it may at first seem to many of my readers. Ladies and valetudinarians do not easily dispense with the use of this sovereign cordial in a single instance; but to undertake a long voyage, without any probability of being supplied with it the whole way, was above the reach of patience. And yet, dreadful as this calamity was, it seemed unavoidable. The whole town of Ryde could not supply a single leaf; for, as to what Mrs. Francis and the shop called by that name, it was not of Chinese growth. It did not indeed in the least resemble tea, either in smell or taste, or in any particular, unless in being a leaf;...

When a good deal of time had been spent, most of it indeed wasted on this occasion, a thought occurred which every one wondered at its not having presented itself the first moment. This was to apply to the good lady, who could not fail of pitying and relieving such distress. A messenger was immediately despatched with an account of our misfortune, till whose return we employed ourselves in preparatives for our departure, that we might have nothing to do but to swallow our breakfast when it arrived. The tea-chest, though of no less consequence to us than the military-chest to a general, was given up as lost, or rather as stolen, for though I would not, for the world, mention any particular name, it is certain we had suspicions, and all, I am afraid, fell on the same person.

The man returned from the worthy lady with much expedition, and brought with him a canister of tea, despatched with so true a generosity, as well as politeness, that if our voyage had been as long again we should have incurred no danger of being brought to a short allowance in this most important article. At the very same instant likewise arrived William the footman with our own tea-chest. It had been, indeed, left in the hoy.

(Speaking of tea in Portugal, here's a recent article about the tea gardens in the Azores, Europe's only tea production, with some nice photos. It looks better than it tastes, but what a vacation this visit would be!)

Marketing 101, with Prof. Earl Grey

You can create all the funky new flavors you want, but don't mess with the original.

Twinings found that out recently when the venerated British tea company decided to "refresh" its Earl Grey recipe, adding "a dash of lemon and a touch more bergamot," and relaunching it under the company's Aromatics line of flavored teas. "The Earl himself couldn’t have imagined how wonderful his favourite tea could taste," Twinings claimed.

The reviews (many via a Facebook protest page) came in quickly, and they were not "wonderful":

• "I took a big gulp expecting it to taste lovely and bergamotty but to my utter dismay (and horror as I nearly spat it out) it tasted like lemon cleaning product - vile."
• "I have to say it is utterly gross. We wont be buying it in the office again."
• "It stinks, rather like lemon Fairy Up Liquid and is unpleasant to taste. I threw the contents of my box out into the compost."
• "I can't drink the new blend. The false lemon flavour is just horrid.
• "I cannot describe how awful this new tea tastes. The old award-winning tea was in a completely different league to this foul-tasting dish water."

A Twinings spokesman reported that, of course, the company had conducted "rigorous consumer tasting" before unleashing the new product and received a "strong preference feedback over the previous blend."

In a move that brings back memories of the New Coke scheme, Twinings announced last week on its website that they were giving in to popular demand — "Whilst many love the new Earl Grey, a group of Earl Grey fans have asked us to make the previous blend available. Not wishing to disappoint, we have introduced Earl Grey The Classic Edition," the statement reads — thereby shrewdly and cheaply reminding the British public of its national treasure.

The origins of Earl Grey tea and its bergamot-tinged recipe have been debated for ages, but Twinings made it the household name it still is today. The company first sold the blend in 1831, naming it after then-Prime Minister Charles Grey.

Tuesday tea tunes: 'Summer's good times are gone'

I like this folkie shuffle, a song about reflecting on summer's good times over a cup of tea: "Tea for One" by Jake Roche:

Tea for one by jakeroche

Keeping the multitasking out of the moment

It's not easy to do nothing, but I'm trying.

The tea is on the tray, hot and steaming, and I'm finally stealing a half hour — OK, maybe an hour — to enjoy it. My life is increasingly harried of late, and I could use this time to read, to catch up on my journal, to do personal tasks that I enjoy but are still tasks. The pile of magazines. The poor, ignored novel.

But, no. This isn't a moment for multitasking. Just sit and drink the tea. That's all that's required now, in this moment. Sit, think, maybe chat with company. All the work being done, the tasks executed — they will be better for this tea time, this downshift, this empty space. I read an article a while back about how the mind requires empty time like this to process the thoughts from the busy time. It cited President Obama, saying he and his advisers are aware of this kind of thing and that he makes an effort for empty mind time during the day. (Go ahead, riff on a joke there.) Balance and moderation in all things. It's how the world works.

I do allow myself a notepad. The thought bubbles that arise sometimes need jotting down; if I pin them to paper then I won't worry about remembering them, and my mind can stay loose and free.

One of my favorite stories is about the poet Allen Ginsberg at a meditation retreat. He kept a notebook and pen by his side, scribbling thoughts that occurred and felt like keepers. Later, sitting around a fire with other meditation students, the leader asked Ginsberg what he'd been writing. "Little thought bubbles," he said. The leader asked to see his notebook — and promptly threw it in the fire. He was missing the point.

But this is tea time, not strict meditation. It's mulling. It's mindful. It's a rare moment — to breathe and relax and reboot. We'll return to the world and the work soon enough.

Nothing on my knee but my tea cup.

Tuesday tea tunes: 'The Old Beatnik'

I officially progress further into my 40s this week. Today's tea tune, "The Old Beatnik" by the Steaming Heads, thus cuts across many lines for me — it's a punkish and British folk tune (love all that), it's about growing old without regrets ("I didn't wait till I was dead to have a good time"), and the band wraps it up with a fiddle breakdown of a traditional tune called "Cups of Tea." Live long and prosper ...

THE OLD BEATNIK / CUPS OF TEA by B3ckst3r

Blemishless virgins! Teenage boys! Drunk architects!

My news feeds have been peppered with strange tea-related stories recently. Here's a round-up:

— Women in China usually do the bulk of the tea picking, but at least one garden is looking for a few blemishless virgins to pick tea with their teeth. Stay classy, China!

— A British architect claimed in court to have no memory of grabbing a waitress and holding a knife to her throat after she asked him to pay for his cup of tea. His lawyer told the court he had enjoyed a successful career as an architect "before alcohol sadly took a hold."

— Teenage boys love afternoon tea. Really.

— They'll probably also really dig this hemp iced tea.

— I'm never clear on the ultimate legitimacy of overseas news outlets, and I run into links to newspapers like The Hindustan Times quite often. And I must say, this is one of the strangest columns I've ever read.

A hurricane of protest in North Carolina

This week, as Hurricane Irene turns north and heads toward North Carolina and the rest of the East Coast, I read an interesting piece by Bruce Richardson about a revolutionary tea protest that occurred in 1774 — not in Boston but in North Carolina.

I'd heard this mentioned before, but Richardson's piece in Tea Time magazine neatly sums up the Edenton Tea Party, an organized political action by several women in this Carolina seaside town. As angered in the South as they were in the North by the Tea Act of 1773, residents of Edenton sent shipments of food to Boston to show solidarity after their harbor-brewing experiment in December of that year.

Those protesters, however, wore costumes to disguise their identities. In Edenton, 51 wives and mothers signed their names on a letter sent to King George announcing a boycott of British tea and cloth. "This brazen act of civil disobedience," Richardson notes, "was one of the earliest organized women's political actions in United States history."

The document of Oct. 25, 1774, was published in a London newspaper by January, stating that the women had "resolved not to drink any more tea, nor wear any more British cloth, many ladies of this province have determined to give memorable proof of their patriotism, and have accordingly entered into the following honourable and spirited association. I send it to you to shew your fair countrywomen, how zealously and faithfully, American ladies follow the laudable example of their husbands, and what opposition your matchless Ministers may expect to receive from a people thus firmly united against them." The London papers also mocked the event with caricatures (like the one shown).

Signing their names had consequences, at least for one of those laudable husbands. Penelope Barker coordinated the protest, but her husband John was stationed in London as North Carolina's liaison to Parliament. "When word came that his treacherous wife had organized a rebellion at home," Richardson writes, "he was forced to flee to France."

The Barkers' home is now a tourist attraction in Edenton, and we'll be thinking of them this weekend and hope home and teacups survive the storm.

Tuesday tea tunes: Getting schooled

God help me: This week I begin a master's program. I'm excited, but the work load — in addition to my full-time job and, of course, tea blogging — is daunting. I'll be needing more tea than ever, primarily for its stimulant properties.

So here's a song from a Japanese anime band called After-School Tea Time; I love it because of its amazing production and obvious aping of American garage rock, especially in those opening organ strains ...

Tuesday tea tunes: Moonies

Last night as a full moon, and tonight it'll still be brilliant and bold in the summer sky (weather permitting). As you sip and stare, here's Enya's "Tea-House Moon," which some lovely YouTuber has uploaded with accompanying images of Chinese art and tea scenes:

Tuesday tea tunes: From China to Carolina

Here's a funny take on tea history and the Southern insistence on "Big Ol' Sweet Iced Tea" by Christian comedy singer Anita Renfroe:

The first day of autumn, at last!

There is no sign of autumn wind.
Is it really risshu?
— Onitsura

Have faith, tea friends! Autumn begins today!

Old-school autumn, anyway. Aug. 7 or 8 corresponds to risshu, the first day of autumn, on the old Japanese lunar calendar.

It certainly doesn't feel like it, of course. So many of my friends and family live in areas of the country that have positively baked for two solid months now. Even in Chicago, it's been considerably hotter than last summer. Some days I can't conceive of any tea other than iced.

While risshu, this early in the planet's actual revolution, doesn't correspond with any real or noticeable changes toward cooler weather, it's at least a comforting reminder that, yes, the earth is moving and we will be in sweaters before we know it. Summer downpours recently shut down Chicago's Lake Shore Drive, but six months ago a blizzard did the same.

Sasaki Sanmi writes of risshu: "It is still the middle of the lingering summer heat: shining hot, sultry or sweltering. It is not easy to seek out chashu in this month. ... Clear your mind of all mundane thoughts, and you will be able to find coolness. This is true; whether you can beat the hot weather or not depends on your state of mind."

It's all in your mind, yeah, right. But we'll make it. We always do.

Tea cozies (cool ones!) and drip catchers

I only own one tea cosy — just a silk kimono for one of my yixing pots, given as a gift (pictured). I've never fully considered their utilitarian value, until we blasted the A/C recently and I found myself draping the teapot with a cloth napkin to keep the brew warm. When cooler weather rolls around, I think I might be in the market for one.

I am, however, allergic to all things "crafty," so I'm not interested in the plethora of yarny, knitted offerings out there. So I was thrilled to find this: the HOB. It's a line of tea cozies that doesn't go for cute, just slightly stylish and highly functional. (Not sure why they go for all caps, but a "hob" is an old-fashioned term for a spot in the fireplace to keep things warm.) I could do without the backpack-like plastic straps, but these certainly look great — the earth tones, the geometric pattern, the polka dots, all really sharp looking.



In related teaware: I recently read about a marvelous invention, via the English Tea Store blog. I've not encountered a "drip catcher" before, but in lieu of cozies, as mentioned above, this sounds ingenious. Says A.C. Cargill: "A drip catcher — simple, humble, and effective — is designed to prevent your teapot from dribbling after pouring. You slide it over the spout (obviously), and it absorbs the errant drops of tea making a quick getaway down that spout." Check out theirs (pictured); many seem to be similarly styled like citrus slices.

Tuesday tea tunes: I will try to fix you (a cup)

I'll be spending this weekend in the heat and dust of Lollapalooza 2011 in Chicago's lakeside Grant Park. One of the headliners is Coldplay, and here's singer Chris Martin doing Cat Stevens' "Tea for the Tillerman" — over the end credits to an episode of "Extras," which unfortunately ends in a duet with Ricky Gervais ...