The Right Cuppa - In Praise of Tea

I'm going to use again a line that I used to talk about cheese with a vegan: 'Leave it alone!'

This time, I'm not going to defend my addiction to cheese whilst chatting with someone who tried to label it as animal abuse; it's all about tea.

I must admit that when I saw the title, I blinked. As I read the article, I kept blinking. And I kept thinking that someone was in need of a good cuppa, or he needed to admit to himself that he's a closet coffee-lover (and that it's not a sin).

I can drink the lowest kind of tea (I stop at Lipton, for personal reasons), and I can have milk, or not.

Usually, when I'm home, I don't have milk, so I drink my tea black (sometimes, I don't even add any sugar - for literary reasons that I shan't explain here).

A delightful Oxonian lady taught me to brew properly (she was on the "tea first" side; then again, if we're to believe that it all boils down to the quality of our china cups, she had outstanding pieces and was brought up in a very good family, who probably poured tea first since the 19th century).

I'm quite Zen in the kitchen, but there are a few things that I buy that are on the posh side. My Korean soups are cheap, but I love them. My rice is the best Thai quality. I make my bread and pasta from any kind of flours.

When I'm at home, I'm extremely picky with my teas. I buy exotic flavoured and scented blends from Mariage Frères. I have a "baby kettle", and a special spoon-filter for the lovely leaves that will brew in one of my favourite cups. I don't have to scratch my brain or turn into philosophical mood to know that my evening cuppa is a treat I love. Not because of tradition. Because I chose my blend wisely, and it happens that I do enjoy it.

If one was to pour Lipton down my throat, I'd probably growl and bite, but since I get to choose what I drink, there's no problem.

I see many issues in the article that brings me here today:

- unless you're offered a cup of tea in a blend that you loathe, what the heck is wrong with being offered a cup of tea when you visit friends or family. It's a ritual. It's friendship. It's being polite. It's taking time to stop the world and get to catch up on one another's lives, share things, and be nice (and it can make Nana or Cousin Charlotte happy).

- Mr Golby writes 'It’s a lukewarm mug of leaf water, presented as a cure-all for life’s ills'. What's coffee then? A lukewarm mug of crushed-bay water? Perhaps he prefers coffee or water or whatever, but now that several other options are easily available, I just can't picture so many people being such masochists and keeping drinking something they loathe out of tradition. I may be wrong, though, judging by the state of the world, but... I'll try to be optimistic.

- the "when to add the milk" issue is ridiculous. Add yours whenever you want, let me add mine whenever I want, and everything will be all right. We've got three sides: 'milk first', 'milk last', and 'I bloody don't care!!!'.

- the tea-making-at-work fantasy is irrelevant as it could be a nightmare scenario with any kind of beverage. It could be tea; it could be hot cocoa... but the nastiness of tea has to be spread everywhere. [I'm beginning to spot a pattern here]

- speaking of everywhere, tea becomes a symbol of colonialism, and then you know it's evil: if you drink tea, you must be missing being a slave owner (that's how far I read this, and I shook my head in disbelief - okay, my tea is French... which is a double offence, it seems!).

- when I read this: 'Once we examine tea, once we put that central tenet of British culture under the microscope, what else will we start to doubt? Gin? The royal family? Dancing dogs on TV talent shows? Black pudding? An inherent hatred of the French?', I growled loudly, because of the last item. 'An inherent hatred of the French?', but of course! Hello, Cliché! My father is British, and my mother is French; should I wonder if Father is nuts or if I should kill half of me for being such a despicable creature (a bit as if I were an Irish woman with Catholic and Protestant parents, you know)?

I think the colonialism and "French hatred" thingies got my Mrs Hyde a bit out. Then I Googled the writer's name, found his Twitter feed, realized what his line is, and... I went to brew a cup of "Mangue" by Mariage Frères in a lovely china cup.

Some of the comments on the article are worth your time, actually (so click the link, and scroll down to them right away).